The doctor gives him a fatherly pat on the shoulder on his way out of the exam room, and Griffin mutters his thanks. As quickly as the doctor is gone, a knock comes at the door and Elliott appears.
“Hey, what’d they say? You okay?” Elliott eyes the knee. “Dang, you’re swollen.”
Griffin forces himself to make eye contact with his friend, and he tries for a smile.
Elliott narrows his eyes warmly. “You know you don’t have to play it like that with me.”
Griffin sighs, letting the facade drop. “I think it’s bad. Doccan’t say much for sure right now with the swelling, but I’ll tell you, it felt like an explosion. Exactly like it felt the first time.”
Elliott drops back on the wall. “I know it was a hard recovery last time, but if anyone’s up for the rehab, it’s you.”
“Thanks, man.”
It’s too soon for him to spill it to his friend, but Griffin’s worries don’t lie in his ability to buckle down and do the painful recovery work. It’s the possibility that the recovery work will be only for the purpose of walking again. The possibility that his knee is too busted up to get back to playing shape. He’s not a rookie anymore. He’s thirty-two years old.
“Well, I gotta run before Coach finds out I left the locker room during halftime.” Elliott throws a wave over his shoulder and takes off.
“Thanks for risking your rear to come check on me.”
Griffin is lucky to have a friend like Elliott—all of his teammates really. He sits quietly, waiting for staff to come and get him, to eventually help him home. Naturally there’s a protocol for this. But in the quiet, alone with his mind, Griffin can’t help but wonder how much longer he’ll have those teammates.
How much longer his body can hold on to the football life.
It wasn’t supposed to happen this quickly.
He doesn’t have a post-football plan yet, and his mind goes to Aria. If she were here, she would know what to say. Probably she’d assure him that it would all turn out in the end. If only. Because Griffin can’t help but think otherwise.
Chapter 34
Aria
Aria knows Griffin’s priority won’t be to text back when he exits the field via truck, but by Monday afternoon, she’s itching for a reply. This morning she went for a walk, hoping to take her mind off it, and eventually she searched for news online.
“Griffin Hayes Suffers Concerning Injury to Knee.”
“Will Griffin Hayes, Golden Boy, Bounce Back Again?”
“Bestie to Aria Wilder Taken Down Unreasonably.”
Aria stifles a laugh at the last headline, but it makes sense as soon as she discovers the article links to a fashion blogger’s site.
One would think that Aria, in supposed best friend position, would be able to garner some insight, but she’s left speculating and pondering just like everyone else. She checksher messages again, confirmsagainthat they have been delivered.
Aria heads down to the studio, striking a deal with herself that if she can work for forty-five minutes, she’ll call Griffin after. It’s playing games like this with herself that allows her to work even when she doesn’t feel like it. The public assumes that making music is as glamorous as it’s often made out to be, but ultimately it’s a business where she owes work on a deadline. Case in point are the calls she’s been dodging from Gerald at Worldwide Records, checking in on her album progress. Typically she sends clips of raw tracks as she works, but this time she hasn’t. Aria knows that if she wants to sell a slightly new direction, she’ll need to polish them up before sharing.
Down in the studio, Aria can’t settle. She moves between her guitar and the piano, back to the couch for lyrics. Eventually she dials Griffin, with less than forty-five minutes of unproductive work. The phone rings and rings, and eventually it goes to voicemail. For the first time, Aria starts to worry. Of course she was concerned when Griffin got injured, but seeing him get up and even wave to the crowd assuaged her immediate fears. Now that he is off camera—presumably resting or preparing for treatment—Aria’s mind slips back to the moment of terror when he went down and didn’t get back up.
She pages back through their texts to look for his address. The two had been texting about Chicago popcorn, and when Griffin admitted that he hadn’t tried Aria’s favorite flavor, CheeseCorn, she ordered some to be sent to him.
Aria finally finds Griffin’s address. There’s a chance he’llbe startled by Aria showing up on his doorstep, but she’s also not willing to sit and wonder about all the horrible fates Griffin might be enduring. As she drives to his building, her maps app leading the way, Aria lists all the reasons it’s a good idea for her to show up: Maybe he needs help, probably he needs groceries, meal prep won’t be easy with a bum leg. Not to mention he might enjoy the company. Showing up unannounced when you know a friend is in need is decidedly within reason.
Aria may not have the greatest depth of experience, but she’s certain this is what Griffin would do for her in a comparable situation.
Aria parallel parks on the street, then walks right through the front door. She waits for the elevator and presses the button for the penthouse when she enters. She breathes a sigh of relief that it doesn’t require a special fob or passcode, and when the elevator stops, the doors slide open before a single front door.
Aria walks up and knocks.
She waits. Eventually Aria knocks again, louder this time. Could Griffin be staying elsewhere? Maybe somewhere with support staff? It would surprise Aria if he wasn’t already up on crutches after all the stories he shared about his first knee recovery, bragging about the skills he developed getting around on them.
