Epilogue
Six Months Later
Aria meets Griffin at his condo that afternoon, guitar case over her shoulder, writing notebook tucked into the front pocket.
Usually she would work in her studio where she has all of the equipment to make it easy, but Griffin had a foundation meeting at the Wardens stadium, so it makes better logistical sense for the pair to meet here.
Aria knocks at the door.
“It’s open,” Griffin calls from inside.
Aria walks in, pulls the door shut, and flips the lock. She walks down toward the kitchen, talking. “You know, you really shouldn’t leave it open. A famous football player doesn’t need just anyone walking in.”
Griffin rounds the corner and snaps Aria up into his arms.
She yelps, then cries, “Mind the guitar!”
Griffin shuffles her to a single arm, then plucks the instrument from her with ease. “I used to be a football player, you know. Of course I know to mind the guitar.”
Aria laughs. “I just said that. Verbatim.”
Griffin drops a tender kiss on Aria’s nose. “I’m not sure what this is about intruders. Again, I’m probably twice the size of the average burglar.”
“Burglar? What is this, 1920?”
Griffin spins her around on the way into the living room. “It was your idea, not mine. The penthouse is safe. I added the elevator code because now that I’m dating you, suddenly people care where I live.”
Aria stares into Griffin’s eyes, a lazy smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “And what’s to say I’m not selling that code on the black market?”
Griffin gasps in fake shock. “You would never!”
“You’re right.” Aria kisses him slowly and deeply. “I would never willingly share you with anyone—burglar or not.”
“Phew.” Griffin delivers Aria gently to the floor and hands back the instrument. “Your magic maker.”
Aria takes back the guitar, grateful for his care with it.
Griffin gifted her an upgraded version of her very first as a tour gift.
It’s almost identical to the original, but minus the dings and the scratches and the siding that was starting to fall off and distort the sound.
By the end of the tour, Aria had developed a new affection for this instrument.
The tour itself was an incredible success, and Aria’s latest album has come to be described as her “best work yet” almost unanimously among critics.
The long hours put in at the gym helped her make it through the grueling series of high-intensity performances, and Griffin tagged in to help her with some meal prepping and low-key fun on her down days.
He ended up traveling to far more of the destination cities than they initially planned.
It turns out distance and new love don’t mix.
Not that Griffin hasn’t also had a lot happening in his own schedule.
The Griffin Hayes Foundation for Youth Sports has also taken off with its own explosive success, bringing in several million dollars of donations in its first six months of operation.
The foundation is now employing five staff and a couple of agencies for specific support work.
Their online presence has gained great attention thanks to the new graduates taking the lead on social media.
Griffin is rotating through guest coaching roles for a selection of high school football programs, and he is partnering with the league to do a specialty summer camp this year.
Griffin plans to establish his own camp—a longer-running version with more than one session—next year, but he counts it as great experience to work with the league this summer.
Especially now that they have reached an agreement to allow him to bring on students from the foundation schools free of charge to the Wardens camp.
Aria sets the guitar case on the sofa, opens it, and begins tuning the instrument.
“Already sounding good in there.”
Aria smiles to herself. Griffin is so encouraging, some days she thinks she could sneeze and he would applaud.
Griffin reappears in the living room holding a spiral-bound notebook. He holds it high. “I come with ideas!”
“Yeah?” Aria drops onto the couch beside him.
Griffin nods as he scans the pages with searching eyes. “Here. It’s not actual lyrics—I’m leaving that to you—but it’s ideas.”
Aria’s face folds into a deep smile as Griffin looks to her for assurance as he reads. “Okay, forgive me if any of this is super dumb. I’m a newbie, but you said we should write a song together, and I’m obviously taking it seriously.”
“Did you meal prep for it?”
A laugh escapes Griffin. “Actually, I did. Maybe I shouldn’t admit it, but I prepped dinner last night so I could have a couple hours blocked for uninterrupted brainstorming time.”
Aria slides closer and leans into him. “You’re quite in demand these days.”
“But never too busy for an Aria Wilder moment.”
“Well, aren’t I the luckiest.”
“Funny you say that, because one of my title ideas is”—Griffin holds up his hands, reaches over to the coffee table, and attempts a drum roll—“‘When Luck Walked In.’”
“Ooh, I sorta love that,” Aria says.
“I was thinking about us and how we got together and about how lucky the timing was. Like for me, if I hadn’t known you when I got injured, things might’ve turned out really differently.
And for you—what if you’d never made your own mark on the music?
Or your ‘glow-up’ as the press loves to call it.
I mean, if you ask me, not a thing needed to glow up; it was more like stepping into your own power, but here I am rambling.
” Griffin stops and whips his head to look at Aria. “What do you think?”
She leans up and kisses him. “I think I love it. I think I’m the luckiest woman in the world, so the song should write itself.”
Griffin slides his arms around her, letting the notebook fall momentarily to the side. “Well, that’s funny because I fancy myself the luckiest man in the world.”
Aria melts into laughter and Griffin pulls her into him as she does. They leave the notebook behind. They’re just talking about them after all, the story that only they know best.
How they tell it will be up to them. It’ll probably go through several drafts.
They won’t miss the important things: taking the swing, embracing the bumps in the road, opening up to every new adventure life offers.
It won’t be perfect—not the song, or them together.
But it will be wonderful.
And that’s enough.