Chapter Twenty Five
ASTON
The walk from my truck to my front door nearly freezes my balls off. I shut the front door behind me and drop my keys on the table in the hallway to the kitchen. My house is quiet, and my head is finally clear for the first time in months.
It was so hard leaving Eva this morning, but she needed to get into the office. But the memory of her silky skin, her hands on my body, and the promises we made keep rolling through my mind.
I pull my phone out of my coat pocket to text her and let her know I got home. The screen is lighting up with a cascade of notifications that puts me on alert. The fear of something happening to someone in my family has me scrolling the screen quickly to look for some hint of what’s going on.
There are seventeen text messages. Five from Liam. Three from Brody. A single line from Saint that reads: That was one way to go public. Then there are four from Aiden, three from Archie, and six missed calls from my mother. All of these pouring in within the last five minutes.
What the actual fuck is going on?
My stomach drops, and I don’t even read the rest of the texts. I tap the voicemail button, and my mom’s voice hits my ear.
“Aston Lee Griffith.” Her voice comes through sharp and slightly terrifying, spiking my anxiety.
She never uses my middle name unless I’m in big trouble.
“You have some major explaining to do, son. Your brother is really upset. And honestly, I don’t blame him because I’m upset too.
I’m sitting here looking at your picture on the Instagram, and I’m really confused.
You need to call me back immediately. Do you hear me? Immediately.”
Pictures? What the hell?
I haven’t even opened the app before my phone starts vibrating in my hand with Eva’s name flashing on the screen.
I accept the call instantly. “Hey, Hon—”
“Aston,” her voice breaks in. “Have you seen social media?”
“No, what’s going on? I just got a weird message from my mom, and my phone lit up with a ton of text messages.”
“Okay, well, just listen to me before you look.”
“Eva. What happened?”
“There are pictures of us,” she says sharply.
“From the park. Someone caught our argument—a fan, a reporter… who the hell knows, because it doesn’t matter.
There are several pictures of us clearly upset, and of us kissing too.
And then they must have followed us back to my place because there are more pictures of us kissing outside my building. ”
A cold weight settles in my gut. “Fuck.”
“Yeah, fuck,” she mutters. “But wait. It gets worse. There’s a headline that says ‘Conflict of Interest or Locker Room Companion? Media princess Evangeline Carrington Caught in Secret Park Side Meltdown with NFL star Aston Griffith.’ They’re spinning it like it’s a scandal.
They’re questioning my integrity and making it sound like I use my position to hook up with the players.
They’re making our relationship look cheap and like I don’t take my career seriously because I’m sleeping with the players I’m supposed to be covering stories on. ”
“Well, we both know that’s bullshit,” I grit out, my teeth grinding together hard enough to make my jaw ache. “You’re the hardest working producer in the business. What can I do to fix this?”
"Yeah, well, I got promoted to Executive Producer, and that's all buried somewhere in this article too." She lets out a bitter laugh. "Instead, I'm a nepo baby who slept her way through the NFL. A media princess who uses her last name to land football players."
“It’s all bullshit.” I shake my head.
"This is everything I've spent my entire career trying to outrun.
It's why I started at the bottom—getting coffee, taping down cables, doing every thankless job no one else wanted.
I needed people to believe I earned my place.
" Her voice cracks. "And now this article just confirms every lie they've ever wanted to believe about me.”
I put my head in my hands, feeling frustrated that I can’t fix this for her.
“My father and I are already handling it, and our legal team is filing a cease-and-desist on the distribution within the hour. We can handle the fallout. But you … probably need to talk to your family as soon as possible. Ace is going to know if he doesn’t already.”
“Right,” I sigh, and the air feels tight in my chest.
“If someone does enough digging, they might figure out I dated Ace in college.” Her voice quiets. “Just go take care of it on your end, and I’ll handle it on the media side. I’ll call you when I have an update.”
“Okay. I love you.”
“I love you too. Now move your ass.”
The line goes dead.
I stand in the middle of my kitchen as I pull up my mom’s number and hit dial. She answers on the half-ring, her voice breaking through before I can even draw a breath.
“Aston. You have something you want to tell me?”
“Mama, just listen—”
“Ace called me,” she interrupts, and I can hear the concern in her voice. “He’s upset, Aston. He saw those pictures online.”
I bend over at the waist and rest my elbow on the counter. “Fuck,” I say, my forehead pressing against my knuckles. “I didn’t know how to tell him.”
“First of all, watch your mouth when you’re talking to me,” she says. “Second, you better make this right with your brother right now. But you and I need to have a long talk about this later. You need to explain it to me. All of it.” She sighs. “Is it serious?”
“Yes,” I say, my voice thick but not defensive. “She’s mine, Mama. I love her.”
A long pause hangs on the line. “Then you go give your brother the respect he deserves. You can’t let this sit.”
“I won’t. I had planned on talking to him today as it was.”
She clears her throat. “Well, the media beat you to it. I love you. Call me later.”
“Love you too.”
I hang up the phone and call Ace.
The call goes straight to voicemail. I don’t bother leaving a message. I create a chat with Aiden and Archie so I can hit both of them at the same time.
Aston: I know about the pictures. I’m taking care of it.
Aiden’s reply comes through first.
Aiden: Looks like you waited a little too long. Make it right, dumbass.
Archie’s drops a second later, dripping with sarcasm.
Archie: Way to go, kid. Really loved the one on the porch. Very dominant looking.
Archie: But seriously, you need to get on a plane down to Florida. Talk to him in person. Go make it right.
I don’t reply. I set my phone onto the counter and walk up the stairs to my room.
I grab my duffel bag from my closet and toss a few shirts and jeans in the bag, then get a few things from the bathroom.
I don’t know if this will be an in-and-out trip or if I’ll need to beg, so I'd better be prepared for both. If I’m missing anything, I’ll get it down there.
Right now, I just need to get moving and find a flight.
I called Eva on my way to the airport and told her my plan. She told me to take care of my family, and she’ll take care of the media, and told me to call her later.
My flight to Florida was short, and I reached his house within a few hours of leaving New Jersey. When I step out of the car, the oppressive humidity of South Florida is like breathing in mud. Even in February, the air is thick with the smell of sea salt and damp earth, and the sun is brutally hot.
I knock on the door, but when there’s no answer, I type in the code to Ace’s front door, and it opens. I walk through the house and see him through the floor-to-ceiling glass wall leading out to his pool.
He’s sitting on a lounger, his shoulders hunched forward, his forearms resting on his knees, staring at the blue water of the pool.
He’s wearing black athletic shorts and no shirt, and he looks exactly like me.
Same hair, same eyes, same mouth, but his tattoos on his chest are a mirror image of mine.
He doesn’t look up when my boots hit the concrete pool deck. Not even a blink.
I walk over, the heat making the sweat break out along my collar, and I sit down on the empty lounger next to him. The space between us is charged.
“Acer,” I start, my voice sounding rough to my own ears. “It’s fucking hot down here. Even in February.”
He doesn’t move. He keeps his eyes locked on the water, his jaw set in a hard line that makes his profile look like it’s carved out of granite. No response.
I let out a slow breath and pull off my jacket. Small talk isn’t gonna break the ice here. I need to just dive in and lay it all out there.
“I’m sorry, Ace,” I say. “I’m so fucking sorry. I was going to call you today, but it looks like the media beat me to it.”
He still won’t look at me, but I see his jaw clench and his fingers curl into white-knuckled fists against his knees.
“I need you to understand the big picture here,” I plead, leaning forward, trying to force my way into his line of vision. “This isn’t something that just started. The truth is, I’ve wanted her since Walker. Before she even started dating you.”
That gets a reaction, but he doesn’t turn his head. His chest expands, and his shoulders rise.
“You remember the night you asked her out at the party at our house?” I ask, the memory clear as day in my mind.
“I’d been talking to her a lot, and I was gonna take my shot that night.
Then you walked over to her, and the next thing I knew, I was in the kitchen, and she was asking if there was a reason not to say yes to a date with you.
Then as soon as she walks away, you tell me you’ve asked her out. ”
I look down at my boots. “You’re my twin, Ace.
I didn’t take my chance while I had it, so I stepped back.
I let it go. And then I saw her at Liam and Alie’s wedding and I just …
couldn’t stay away from her. After the first night, I felt so guilty that I walked away from her.
But then she showed up on my sideline, and honestly, that was it.
It just happened. And she wanted to keep it quiet so she was taken seriously at work, and I kept it quiet because I was too afraid to tell you.