Chapter 40 Aria
Aria
The moment Griffin hesitates to sit at “their” table at “their” coffee shop is the first hint that something is off. He stands before Aria, grips his hands, and rolls his lips as if he’s on the verge of an announcement.
“Something come up?” Aria slides the tea toward him, hoping he’ll see it as an invitation to sit. The bag of cookies sits waiting, untouched on the tabletop.
“I’m sorry, Aria, but I can’t do this right now.”
All of the breath escapes her in one fell swoop. “What?”
“I need to focus on rehab, on getting back to myself, and I can’t do that with you hanging around.”
Aria feels her insides deflate, and her face must show it, because Griffin hurries to explain.
“I’m sorry, that didn’t come out right. I just need time alone. I’m sorry.”
Aria can’t say she’s entirely shocked based on his behavior since the injury, but it doesn’t take away the ache his words cast over her. As she gets to her feet, she feels like an irksome little child distracting the adults from the real work. She chides herself.
You should’ve known better.
This is what happens when the walls come down.
Just like the others.
“No problem.” Aria hates the way her voice wavers.
Griffin reaches out for her arm as she passes. “I’m sorry. I just—”
“You don’t need to explain, Griff.”
She slides to the side to escape his grip. Aria can bear to hold his eye only for a moment, so she looks aside to say the rest. “Have Mike chat with Kelsey about plans, yeah? I’ll give you your space.”
“Aria, you know I don’t—”
“Stop. Let’s not.” Aria flashes him a smile and raises a hand goodbye. It takes every ounce of her effort to strike a nonchalant tone as she calls over her shoulder, “I’ll see ya when I see ya,” and slips out of the coffee shop.