Chapter 50 Aria
Aria
Aria leans on the kitchen island on her forearms, looking at her laptop, and Bailey squeezes in beside her for a closer look. Aria squints as she tries to decode some unwritten meaning in the email invitation, one she’s most likely conjuring into existence.
“Here, let me just see it,” Bailey says, like there should be an obvious answer to be found.
Aria silently slides the computer in front of her sister. “It’s obviously an email blast.”
Bailey scrolls up and down the message, then checks the sender details. “You’re right.”
“So how am I supposed to take this? Am I just on Griffin’s contacts list and was accidentally sent this? Or does he actually want me there?”
When Aria checked her email this morning, the last thing she was expecting was an invitation to the soft launch of The Griffin Hayes Foundation for Youth Sports.
The graphics are sleek but bespoke, a rounded font that’s soft but powerful.
The color scheme is slate gray and red—a nod to the Wardens, Aria can only guess.
All in all, it’s impressive for a foundation Griffin announced to social media only a week ago.
Nevertheless, the email comes without personalization and notes only that Griffin is inviting his network in hopes of kicking off his foundation with gusto.
Obviously there will be a fundraising component—as there should be for a celebrity guest list—and Aria is always more than happy to contribute to organizations doing good work. She would happily write a check.
She doesn’t care about the money; she cares about Griffin.
“I just wish he would’ve texted to ask, you know?” Aria says, dropping her head onto her propped-up palm.
Bailey nods. “Agreed, but also—he’s obviously throwing this together pretty quick. He’s still physically recovering, and this brewery venue holds a lot of people.”
Aria sticks out her bottom lip, letting herself be pouty in only the company of her younger sister. “They’re all reasonable points.”
“But I get it. It would’ve been nice to know that he really wanted you there. Not just to blast it to every connected person he knows.”
Aria wonders if Griffin saw the clips of the song that’s gone around online—the song about him she performed off the cuff.
Surely fans would’ve tagged him. Singing the song itself was impulsive, so it wasn’t quite like she’d mapped out the consequences beforehand.
Nevertheless, when the reality dawned on her that the song would eventually make its way to Griffin, she quickly made her peace with it.
Aria wants him to know how she feels. It’s why she called. It’s also why her heart still stings when she reminds herself of the fact that he didn’t call back.
“So, what do you think? Are we going?” Bailey asks.
Despite the rumbling inside her mind, her lingering questions, her fragile hope that maybe he feels the same way, Aria is certain about the answer to this question. “Of course.”
A grin spreads slowly over Bailey’s lips. “So why are you stressing?”
Aria pulls herself upright from the counter. “I never said I was going in a relaxed manner. I care too much to be entirely relaxed about this.”
“You’re going there to get your man.”
Aria pulls her expression upward into a hopeful smile with a hint of a grimace. “If all goes to plan.”
She won’t know exactly how Griffin feels until she can pin him down and talk to him, but there was never any question about whether Aria would try.
If she’s learned anything from him coming into her life, it’s that being vulnerable is required for all the best parts of life—the best music, the deepest friendships, and even possibly for love.
Aria walks into the brewery with flawless makeup, wearing a cheetah-print maxi skirt paired with a silver sweater and burgundy boots.
She followed her pre-event routine—glam squad plus stylist visit—so not a curl will be out of place.
Only she can feel the thumping of her worried heart and the damp on her palms.
Bailey snakes her arm into the crook of Aria’s. “Are we mingling first or finding the man of the hour?”
“Let’s stop by the bar first, enjoy the band, then we’ll find him.”
A bluegrass band is playing on the small stage tucked into the corner on the opposite side of the massive box of a building.
The bar is outfitted with a mind-boggling number of beer taps, but for the event, a branded menu sits propped in plastic display cards on the surface.
A specialty cocktail is available, as well as several wines.
A starry-eyed bartender delivers Aria a glass of red wine and a specialty cocktail for Bailey. The pair strike up a casual conversation with a few Wardens players in their vicinity, and Aria feels proud to be able to discuss the last few games in detail.
“I never would’ve taken you for a football fan,” one player tells her.
“Just a perk of being friends with Griffin,” Aria says.
His eyes go wide, and he points as if to confirm that he’s placed her reference. “That’s right.”
Eventually a few more players join their conversation, and one in particular seeks out Aria.
“Hey! I’m Elliott, wide receiver and best friend to Griffin.”
Aria smiles at his sincere use of the term “best friend.” “It’s great to meet you. I’m Aria Wilder.” She pushes out her hand and they shake.
“You seen him yet?” Elliott asks.
“Not yet. We came to the bar for a drink first, and I guess we just got carried away chatting with everyone.”
In truth, Aria hasn’t forgotten about Griffin. She’s been thinking about a smooth way to exit the group conversation and make her way over to him without it seeming awkward or rude.
“Now that you mention it, I definitely want to say hello before the evening gets away from us.”
Aria gives Bailey a friendly wave, knowing she’ll get the message, and looks to Elliott. “So nice to meet you.”
Only once she’s turned and making her way through the crowd does Aria stop and consider that perhaps she could’ve asked Elliott if he knew where she’d find Griffin.
As she and Bailey had assumed, the venue is full of people, many of whom she recognizes from the music and arts scene.
Aria waves and nods at folks she recognizes but stays the course through the crowd.
Through a break in the mass of people, Aria spots Griffin standing close to the band.
When they break after finishing up their last song, a playlist begins to float through the speakers in its place.
Aria’s pulse races as she nears him, watching him talk animatedly to a man dressed in a sport coat and checkered pants—a businessperson by the looks of him.
To her luck, the man says goodbye right as she closes in, and when Griffin turns, his gaze meets her own.
“Aria.” Griffin’s face goes still.
Aria stops before him, her breathing rapid and shallow. Before she can speak, Griffin continues.
“I didn’t think you’d come.”
“Oh.”
Aria feels herself deflate. Does that mean he didn’t want her to come? Or that he didn’t think she would want to come?
“Sorry.” Griffin squeezes his temples, his cheeks turning pink, then flashes her a sheepish smile. “I think with all the time I’ve spent laid up, I’m a little rusty. Can I try again?”
Aria’s shoulders settle, a spark running through her veins like adrenaline and hope wound up together. “Sure thing.”
Griffin closes the gap, pulls Aria into a hug, and when he steps back, he keeps ahold of her upper arms. “Thank you for coming. I didn’t know if I’d see you tonight, but it seems I’m in luck.”
Aria’s face breaks into a smile so deep it begins to hurt. For a moment she considers holding back, pretending like those words don’t wrap her heart in fuzzy warmth. But she already took those walls down, brick by brick.
“I was looking forward to seeing you. And this”—Aria whirls around with hands held out—“is amazing.”
Griffin looks around at the event, nodding. “It’s saved me really. Getting going on something else.”
Reflexively, Aria glances at his knee.
“Yeah.” Griffin leans closer, and the piney scent of his aftershave sends a shiver across Aria’s skin. “Between us, I have a good feeling it’s shot.”
Aria’s eyes go wide. “What? You’re serious?”
Griffin shrugs. “Never say never, but also, I don’t want to go back and be less than my prime.”
Aria pauses for a moment. She might’ve become fluent in basic football by watching on television—and hearing jargon from her time alongside Griffin—but she’s no sports medicine doctor. It’s tricky to know what Griffin may be over- or understating.
“How’re you feeling about all of that? Like you said, football’s been your life—”
“You were right.” Griffin looks at her with true affection. “About there being more to me than the sport.”
“It’s obvious to the rest of us. Has been all along.”
He lets out a tight breath, and his shoulders drop. “It’s hard to see from the inside. But now I’m excited about the rest of life. About this. About the whole prospect of my life having a next chapter—then maybe even more chapters after that.”
Aria smiles. It’s impossible not to be happy for him. Objectively, he knew football wasn’t a forever thing, but the change in him is undeniably clear: He’s realized that a busted knee won’t be the end of him.
“I’m so proud of you, Griff. This is a tough hand to be dealt for any player. You’re navigating it in true golden-boy style.”
Griffin laughs. “Eh. I wouldn’t speak too soon. I’m only at the beginning of this, and you didn’t see everything behind the scenes.”
The comment lingers, trapped between the two of them. Aria would’ve seen the rest had she been allowed. If he had opened the door, Aria would’ve walked in. She wanted to stay as long as he needed her.
“I’m sorry, by the way,” Griffin says. “For shutting you out. Not only was it the least smooth move of my life, it was a terrible idea. I hope I didn’t mess anything up.”