Chapter Twenty-Five Maren
Maren Brooks won the campaign at two seventeen in the afternoon.
She knew because Carter Vale had said the words.
She also knew because Paige stopped looking smug and started looking strategic, which in Paige language meant the floor had moved.
Winning should have felt bigger.
It should have come with a soundtrack. Confetti. A slow-motion spin. Tyler Donovan attempting a cartwheel and being stopped by three adults and common sense.
Instead, Maren stood behind the snack shack, staring at a stack of release forms, trying not to feel like she had been handed a dream with Griffin Hayes’s name written in the fine print.
Ridiculous.
Unfair.
Not entirely untrue.
Ava found her beside the ice machine.
Of course she did.
Ava had spent the summer developing an alarming talent for appearing at the exact second Maren wanted to pretend she had no emotions. It was one of friendship’s more invasive features.
“You disappeared,” Ava said.
“I am standing in public.”
“You are hiding behind frozen water.”
“It is a respectable material.”
Ava leaned against the wall beside her. “You won.”
Maren looked at the release forms again. “I did.”
“And you look like someone handed you a raccoon in a gift bag.”
“That would be Tyler’s proposal for the closing ceremony.”
“Maren.”
There it was.
Soft voice.
Horrifying.
Maren closed her eyes. “I know Griffin was trying to help.”
“I know you know.”
“That makes it harder.”
“Usually does.”
“He just said yes.”
Ava did not rush to defend him.
Maren loved her for that.
Hated her a little too, because silence made room for truth.
“He said yes like it was automatic,” Maren continued. “Like my chance showed up and his first job was to make sure it did not get away.”
Ava watched the lawn, where Nate was setting up relay cones with the younger players. “That sounds like Griffin.”
“Yes.”
“And also not what you asked for.”
Maren’s throat tightened.
“No.”
There.
The word was tiny.
It still cost her.
Ava bumped her shoulder gently. “Tell him that.”
“I did.”
“Tell him the rest.”
“The rest is messy.”
“The rest usually is.”
Maren laughed once. It came out thin. “You are annoyingly calm for someone whose own love story involved a fake relationship and a public bet.”
“I earned my peace through humiliation.”
“Beautiful.”
“Also, Nate and I fought about the same thing in different clothes.”
Maren looked at her.
Ava’s expression softened.
“He wanted to be useful,” Ava said. “I wanted to be seen as capable without needing him to be useful. It took both of us a minute to figure out love is not someone standing in front of you so nothing hits. Sometimes it is someone standing beside you and trusting you can take a hit without breaking.”
Maren swallowed hard.
“Everyone keeps saying beside.”
“Maybe because you keep needing to hear it.”
“That was aggressive.”
“That was friendship.”
“Friendship needs a softer outfit.”
Ava smiled. “Noted.”
From the lawn, Tyler’s voice rose through the speaker. “Alumni relay teams, gather near the dock. If you are wearing sandals, make smarter choices than your heart has historically made.”
Cooper’s voice followed, not amplified but somehow carrying. “Who gave him phrasing?”
Denise shouted, “I did not approve that.”
Maren’s mouth twitched.
The weekend was still moving.
That was the unfair thing about emotional collapse. Events did not pause for it. Metrics kept climbing. People kept needing water. Players kept finding microphones.
Ava nodded toward the lawn. “Five o’clock is still coming.”
“I know.”
“What do you want before then?”
Maren looked across the grass at Griffin.
He stood with Coach Doyle and Carter near the alumni tent, listening while Doyle talked. His posture was straight, but not relaxed. His gaze kept searching the lawn, finding her, then moving away like he did not want to pressure her by looking too long.
That hurt more than if he had followed.
Because he was trying.
Because he had heard her.
Because love, or whatever dangerous pre-love thing was forming between them, seemed determined to be complicated by the fact that both of them were decent people with bad timing.
“I want to know that if he says yes,” Maren said slowly, “it is because he wants the work. Not because he thinks I need him attached to me to be valuable.”
Ava nodded.
“And I want Carter to know that too.”
“Then tell Carter.”
Maren looked at the release forms.
Then at the field test.
Then at Paige, who stood near the sponsor tent with her tablet, head bent as she spoke to someone from her agency team. Paige looked composed. Of course she did. Paige could take a loss and turn it into a footnote with excellent margins.
Maren had spent years trying not to look small beside that kind of polish.
She was tired.
Not tired enough to stop.
Tired enough to stop shrinking.
She pushed away from the wall. “I need Denise.”
Ava’s smile turned proud and immediate. “There she is.”
“Do not be emotionally supportive in a smug way.”
“I cannot control my face when you are magnificent.”
“That sentence had glitter on it.”
“You love glitter.”
“Unfortunately.”
Maren found Denise at the dock, where she was telling Tyler that a relay baton could not be replaced with a pool noodle for thematic continuity.
“It has brand equity,” Tyler said.
“It has teeth marks,” Denise replied.
“From history.”
“From you.”
Maren stepped beside her. “Denise, I need Carter for two minutes before the relay starts.”
Denise looked at her once.
That was all.
No questions.
No pity.
Just assessment.
Then she handed Tyler the approved baton. “Do not chew this.”
“I am twenty-two.”
“I stand by my instruction.”
Denise turned to Maren. “Come on.”
Carter met them near the side of the alumni tent. Coach Doyle stayed a few steps away with Griffin, but Maren felt Griffin’s attention anyway.
She did not look at him yet.
If she looked, she might soften before saying the thing cleanly.
Carter slipped his sunglasses onto his head. “Everything okay?”
“Yes,” Maren said. “And I want to be clear before the five o’clock meeting.”
Carter’s expression changed into business mode. Not cold. Focused.
Good.
She could work with focused.
“I want this campaign,” Maren said. “I can lead it. I can build it. I can deliver the numbers and the story without making Griffin the center of the plan.”
Carter did not speak.
Maren kept her hands still at her sides.
That felt important.
“The audience trusts the work because we set boundaries,” she said.
“If the campaign becomes dependent on whether Griffin and I are together, then I have already failed the whole point. He can be part of it if he chooses the role because he wants the role. But I will not accept an offer that makes him a condition of my credibility.”
Denise’s mouth twitched.
Carter studied Maren for a long second.
Then he smiled.
Not wide.
Enough.
“That,” he said, “is the version I wanted to hear.”
Maren blinked.
Carter looked toward the Trust Wall. “Do you know how many young creators say yes to any terms if the door is big enough?”
Maren thought of herself two days ago.
Her mouth went dry.
“A lot,” she said.
“Most,” Carter said. “And sometimes the big door leads to a room where someone else owns the story. You just told me you understand the product.”
“The product is trust.”
“Exactly.”
Relief moved through her so fast she nearly swayed.
Carter continued, “For the record, Griffin would be a strong liaison. But I do not want a hostage. I want someone who believes in the campaign. If that is him, great. If it is Nate, Cooper, Ava, or rotating players, we can build around that.”
Maren nodded.
Once.
Professional.
Not crying near an alumni tent.
Growth.
Denise looked at Carter. “She is right, by the way.”
“I know.”
“She usually is.”
Maren turned. “That sounded painful for you.”
“It was,” Denise said. “Treasure it.”
Before Maren could answer, Paige stepped into the conversation.
Of course.
She had timing like a tax notice.
“That is admirable,” Paige said. “Risky, but admirable.”
Maren turned slowly.
Paige’s smile was gentle enough to be insulting.
“Most clients want the strongest hook,” Paige said. “It is not personal. It is business.”
Maren felt the old reflex rise.
Laugh.
Deflect.
Make Paige comfortable so Paige could keep pretending she had not drawn blood.
No.
Maren was done helping other people underestimate her politely.
“The strongest hook is not always the loudest one,” Maren said.
Paige’s eyes sharpened. “That is a nice line.”
“It is also true.”
“True does not always convert.”
Maren smiled.
Not bright.
Sharp.
“It did today.”
Behind Paige, Tyler stopped mid-argument with Beckett and whispered, “Oh, I felt that in my ancestors.”
Cooper said, “Your ancestors changed their number.”
Paige’s jaw tightened.
Only for a second.
Then she looked at Carter. “We will be ready for the five o’clock review.”
“I am sure you will,” Carter said.
Paige turned back to Maren. “Good luck.”
Maren held her gaze. “Thank you.”
Paige left.
No dramatic exit.
No final insult.
Just a woman walking away from a fight she had expected to win more easily.
Maren breathed.
Carter checked his watch. “Relay in three minutes. Final call at five. Denise, can you send the updated live metrics?”
“Already exporting,” Denise said.
Carter looked at Maren again. “Enjoy the last challenge. You built a good weekend.”
A good weekend.
Not cute.
Not lucky.
Good.
Maren walked back toward the lawn alone.
Not because nobody was there for her.
Because she wanted to feel what it was like to move under her own power after choosing the harder thing.
Griffin waited near the water station.
He did not step into her path.
He stood where she could choose him or pass.
That, annoyingly, almost undid her.
Maren stopped in front of him.
“I talked to Carter,” she said.
“I saw.”
“I told him you cannot be a condition.”
Griffin’s throat moved. “Good.”
Good.
Not defensive.
Not wounded.
Good.
Her heart hurt.
“I also told him you can be part of it if you choose it for yourself.”
Griffin nodded.
He looked like he had a hundred things to say and the discipline to know this was not where they belonged.
“I am sorry,” he said.
Maren looked down.
The grass was bright around her sandals. Her toenails were chipped from the canoe disaster. There was something ridiculously grounding about that.
“I know.”
“I answered like helping you was the same thing as hearing you.”
Her eyes snapped up.
He had found the sentence.
The exact one.
Griffin Hayes, apparently, was dangerous when he had time to think.
“That is unfairly good accountability,” she said.
His mouth curved. “I am working with a strong content lead.”
“Do not flatter me while I am trying to stay mad.”
“I would not dare.”
“You would. Quietly.”
“Yes.”
Her laugh came out soft.
The space between them changed.
Not fixed.
Not fully.
But honest.
Then Tyler yelled through the microphone, “FINAL RELAY TEAMS TO THE START. ALSO, THE BATON IS NOT FOR BITING. THAT HAS BEEN CLARIFIED.”
Maren closed her eyes.
Griffin looked toward the dock. “I should go.”
“You are racing?”
“Doyle put me on anchor.”
“Of course he did.”
Griffin looked back at her. “Watch?”
The question was simple.
Too simple.
It held more than the relay.
Maren nodded. “I will watch.”
He started to turn, then stopped.
“Maren.”
Her name again.
Always worse from him.
“I am going to talk to Doyle and Carter after the relay,” he said. “Before the meeting.”
Her breath caught.
“About what?”
“What I want.”
The answer was not enough.
It was exactly enough.
He left before she could ask for details, jogging toward the dock where Nate was waiting with the baton and Tyler was making a speech no one had approved.
Maren stood in the grass, holding her phone, the campaign, her fear, and the shape of a future that might still have room for him if both of them stopped trying to earn love by being useful.
Ava appeared beside her.
“Are we okay?” Ava asked.
Maren watched Griffin take his place at the final leg of the relay.
Strong.
Serious.
Looking, for once, like a man about to run toward something instead of stand between disaster and everyone else.
“I do not know,” Maren said.
Ava slipped an arm through hers.
“Okay,” she said. “Then we watch.”
So Maren watched.
The whistle blew.
The relay began.
And Griffin Hayes ran like he had finally found a finish line worth wanting.