Chapter Twenty Six
TWO MONTHS LATER
EVA
The high, isolated glass of the master control room always feels like my personal sanctuary, but today it’s the staging ground for a minor tactical coup.
I sit back in my rolling chair, a fresh cup of coffee in hand, my eyes locked onto the glowing matrix of monitors on the wall.
On monitor four, Aston is sitting in the hot seat of the primary interview studio across from Sam, looking imposing and entirely too confident in his crisp team polo.
He’s rolling his shoulders, completely unaware that his twin brother has set a trap he has no chance of escaping.
My phone buzzes on the console right beside my clipboard. I pick it up, smiling at the text message that just popped up from his twin.
Ace: Please tell me he’s sitting there looking smug.
Eva: He’s rolling his shoulders like he owns the network. Initiating the script now. You should be live on your feed. Let me know if you have any issues, but we’ll get it on tape too.
Ace: Beautiful. Make him say the words, Carrington.
"Eva, the studio feed is secure," Stan, my technical director, chuckles from the desk beside me, glancing over at my phone screen. "Sam has the direct earpiece feed to your console. We are completely cleared to begin."
"Let's run it," I say, a slow, wicked smirk spreading across my face as I lean into my microphone. I press the talkback button, my voice ringing clearly into Sam's earpiece down on the floor. "You're a go in three, Sam. Let's start with the legacy angle."
Down on the studio floor, Sam adjusts her blazer, looks directly up at the control room glass, and gives me a subtle, sharp nod. Then she turns a brilliant, professional smile toward Aston.
"We’re here with All-Pro defensive lineman Aston Griffith in an exclusive interview," Sam's voice booms through our master audio track. "Aston, thank you for joining us today.
“Happy to be here, Sam.” Aston smiles politely.
“Aston, looking back at your developmental years, analysts often point to your explosive first step. If you had to identify the exact environment that forced you to develop that kind of quickness off the line, what would it be?"
Aston leans forward, resting his large forearms on his knees, his deep voice carrying that effortless, charismatic rumble.
"Well, Sam, when you grow up sharing a house with five brothers, you have to be fast. If you're slow to the point of attack, you don't get the standard results. You learn to move, or you get left behind, or you get the hard chores.”
I hit the talkback button instantly. "Take him to the backyard, Sam."
"Fascinating," Sam picks up smoothly, not missing a beat.
"And speaking of your family household—statistically, during those high-stakes backyard drills, when you were forced to match that explosive first step against an elite, multi-directional athlete like your twin brother, Ace ...
who actually won the majority of those reps? "
Aston blinks. The confident smile on his face faltering for a fraction of a second. He clears his throat, shifting his massive frame slightly in his chair.
"Well ... Ace did come out of the womb three minutes earlier," Aston says, smiling, but his voice drops into a slightly defensive tone. "But if we're talking pure win percentage on the grass behind the house, his layout was tough to beat. He usually took the reps."
I chuckle, checking off the first box on my clipboard. I tap my mic again. "Perfect. Now let's hit him with the conditioning threshold."
Sam smiles warmly, leaning in. "Let's pivot to endurance.
Your current defensive coordinator praises your high-motor consistency in the fourth quarter.
But historically, if we look at the high school records in your hometown, someone in the Griffith family holds the absolute record for the three-mile shuttle and the vertical leap.
For the fans at home, can you clarify who owns those athletic benchmarks? "
Aston’s eyes narrow slightly. He looks up toward the dark glass of the control booth, his gaze tracking exactly where I’m sitting. I can practically see the gears turning in his head as he realizes the invisible strings are being pulled.
"That would be Ace," Aston says, his voice dropping into a tighter, distinctly forced register. "He had a slightly different biometric layout, even for a twin. His vertical was ... elevated."
I pick up my phone and type a quick update to Ace while keeping my eyes on the monitor.
Eva: You seeing this?
Ace: Make him say the final line. Don't let him off the hook.
"We're bringing it home," I grin, completely enjoying the absolute authority of the control room. "Sam, ask him about the elite tier."
"To close things out, Aston," Sam says, her face a perfect mask of absolute journalistic gravitas, "coaches always talk about the 'X-factor'—that rare, innate athletic superiority that can't be taught.
When you look at the film from both of your careers, if an organization could only draft one Griffith brother based purely on raw, unadulterated athletic dominance...
who is the better athlete out of the two of you? "
The studio goes completely quiet. On monitor four, Aston’s jaw tightens completely. He stares directly into the camera lens, his blue eyes burning right through the feed. He knows. He absolutely knows his twin has coordinated this entire interview with me.
He lets out a long, slow breath, a dark, reluctant smirk finally breaking through his annoyed expression as he shakes his head.
"If you're asking for the absolute baseline of raw athleticism," Aston grumbles, leaning back in his chair and throwing his hands up in mock defeat, "it's Ace. He’s the better athlete. Are we done with the family history channel now, Sam?"
"Wrap it, Sam," I laugh into the headset, hitting the master kill switch on the studio feed.
I picked up my phone one last time, sending a single line to the true mastermind in Florida.
Eva: Mission accomplished.
Ace: You are a masterpiece, Eva. I'm logging off with a massive smile on my face.
I stand up, gathering my clipboard with a triumphant smile. "Excellent work, team," I tell Stan and the crew. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a very large, very targeted defensive lineman to manage on the studio floor."
By the time I get to Aston, he’s smiling and laughing with Sam.
“I had to do it, Aston. It was just too good an opportunity to pass up,” she says, laughing.
“I get it. I’m sure my brother and my girl here had to work hard to convince you to join in on this,” he says, pulling me in as I get closer.
She smiles, leans in, and hugs him, then me. “I’ll see you two later. I have a hot date tonight.”
“Um, I want details later,” I call after her.
Instead of replying, she winks at me.
Aston pulls my attention away from Sam when he takes hold of my hands and wraps them around his neck.
“So, tell me, Honeybee. When did you and Ace come up with this grand plan?” He kisses the tip of my nose and wraps his arms around my waist, tugging me in closer.
“I can’t reveal all the details, but let’s just say it all came together quickly.” I can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of me.
“Uh-huh. And I’m guessing you got this all on tape?”
“I did. But he also got a live feed,” I say, smirking.
“Awesome.”
His phone buzzes in his pocket, and he pulls it out to see his brother’s name on the screen.
Ace: We’re even. Now go live your happily ever after. TMAG
“What?” Aston mumbles.
Aston: TMAG?
Ace: The Most Athletic Griffith
Aston: You’re a dick.
Ace: But you love me.
“You realize you just gave my entire family access to this little confessional you two organized?” He pockets his phone and wraps me in his arms again. “The competition over who the best athlete in the family will be intense. Just warning you.”
“I think I can handle it.” I kiss him firmly. “Now let’s go home.”
“Lead the way, Honeybee.”