“Hey, Griff. Just calling to check in. Well, that, but also there’s something I wanted to talk to you about. Give me a call when you have a minute, okay? It’ll be good to hear from you.”
Aria’s palms are sweaty when she taps the icon to disconnect and sets the phone in her palm. She sits still for a moment, wondering if he’ll call right back. It’s difficult to know. As she sits in the silence and watches the phone screen go dark, Aria can’t help but wonder. Could it be too late to fix what they had? Have they drifted too far apart from each other and away from their kiss?
Aria is pulled from her thoughts when Bailey calls down the stairs. “You still alive down there or what?”
Aria’s shocked to see that it’s past five o’clock already. “I’m probably overdue for a break.”
“Good, because I’m getting hungry.”
Aria grins as she starts to climb the stairs. “You’re always thinking about food in some way, shape, or form.”
Bailey, cast in the warm light of the kitchen behind her, shrugs. “Well, one of us needs to make sure you’re not wasting away down there.”
At the top of the stairs, Aria pulls Bailey into her arms andsqueezes. Griffin or no Griffin, she is so lucky to have her sister. She’s probably partially right about the meal-skipping part, especially when Aria gets in the zone.
But also, and even more so, without Bailey she wouldn’t even know what love is. Not even when it walks into her life by way of a sing-along gone viral.
Chapter 45
Griffin
It’s game day, and the first Wardens home game Griffin won’t attend since he signed with the team. He considered dragging himself out of the condo and watching from the bench—Elliott even encouraged him to do so—but he simply couldn’t bring himself to do it.
In general, he hasn’t been able to drag himself to do much since he got home earlier this week. If he’s honest, it scares him a little how unlike himself he is at this point. He’s abandoned his routine, eats off schedule—even his small home gym seems to be mocking him.
Is this who he is without football?
Griffin knew things might get tough, but this is beyond what he prepared for.
He flips on the television, hopeful for a distraction, and the game is already underway. The Wardens are up 14–7, and a pang of guilt runs through him. He reallyshouldbe there. Notonly is he a broken mess without football; he’s also a bad friend to his teammates, his friends. Griffin shuts off the television when the first quarter ends; he just can’t take the reminder that football, the Wardens, everything that’s been his world, is moving on without him.
Griffin wonders how long it’ll take for the team to forget him, how long it will take for the fans to forget him. He seems to already have forgotten himself.
When his phone starts to ring across the room, Griffin considers letting it go to voicemail like he does often nowadays, but something inside him whispers to him,Go get it.Griffin begrudgingly gets up and slings his crutches under his arms. Despite his worsening mood, physical therapy has been going well, and Griffin’s mobility is improving day by day. It doesn’t hold any great implications for what he will—or won’t—be able to do on the field or in the future of his career, but it does allow him to better manage his everyday activities.
On the phone screen scrolls the name “Coach Pete.”
Coach Pete is the head coach over at South Shore High, and stopping by their practice earlier this week was the one thing that’s kept Griffin afloat. The players were thrilled to meet him, and he was able to sit down and talk to them after practice. It wasn’t the same as being back on the field, but afterward, Griffin felt like he’d made some difference, been purposeful for the first time in a while. And the proximity to the game didn’t hurt either.
“Griffin, hey! How’s the knee?”
“Old news by now, I’d say,” Griffin says, desperate to talk aboutanythingbut his injury. “How’s the team?”
“I’ll tell you what, they’re holding themselves differentlyafter your visit. Not a one of them showed up late to practice, and every player came focused, dressed, and gave it their best.”
“That’s wonderful. I have to say it was a blast for me too. Really brought me back to my high school days. Some really fun times.”
“Well, I’m glad to hear that because I’m calling with another ask.”
“Shoot.” Griffin drops down onto the closest part of his sectional couch, then settles the crutches on the ground.
“We’re wanting to put on a nice little senior luncheon—doesn’t even have to be a luncheon, a reception is great—for our end of season. These guys work so hard, and for a lot of them, this will be their last season ever. The problem is that the department doesn’t have the budget to do it. We had no choice but to fork over a hefty sum to condition the field this year; it was so bad the guys were getting hurt, their feet catching in holes in the ground. I understand if it’s too much to ask, but—”
“Yes. Of course. I’m happy to help.”
Coach Pete lets out a sigh of relief. “You’re a godsend. And we’re not asking for anything flashy—just some help making the guys feel celebrated for their hard work and dedication to the program, an occasion to borrow their dad’s tie and put on a button-down shirt. A little cake and punch.”
“Maybe I can recruit some of the other guys?”
