I’m like a lock, and you the key.
You’re a flame lit inside me,
And I ask you please come home.
Everything is brighter by your side,
Together, not alone.
I don’t care about the music,
Or about the final score.
All I know is that without you,
I will always be wanting more.”
The words don’t come out perfectly, the melody isn’t polished or smooth like the songs she knows so well that she could perform them in her sleep, but despite their imperfections, Aria delights in every second of the song. For the first time in a long time, Aria feels alive. Truly and fully. Like she’s a creative, a person, not just a brand. Like her music has meaning.
Like maybe being vulnerable isn’t such a bad choice after all.
When Aria finally opens her eyes as the final chord ends, the crowd erupts. Phones are held up, recording, and Aria stands and takes a bow. Tears threaten at her eyes for a million reasons, but mostly because she’s proud of herself. Because she’s shown her real self, her raw but real music, and for once she’s not holding back. Before long, her phone will be ablaze with calls once the clips of the performance start making their rounds online.
Gerald will—with absolutely zero doubt—have something to say.
After Aria finishes her set and exits the stage, she stows her guitar back in its case, slots herself between her security team, and heads for her ride. Inside, she feels like she’s glowing, like the thrill of that moment is something that shouldn’t be contained. Like it needs to go somewhere, be shared with someone.
The only problem is, the person she wants to share it with most won’t pick up the phone.
Chapter 49
Griffin
After Friday’s event for the South Shore senior football players, Griffin can’t stop thinking about ways to continue the work. Within hours he’s decided to create his own foundation, and first thing Saturday, he gets a meeting scheduled with the head of the Wardens’ philanthropy department for Monday morning. In advance he makes a list of his ideas and his questions, and with every step of progress, Griffin feels like he’s waking up.
Griffin’s knee still aches occasionally, and he takes over-the-counter pain medication as needed, but while it used to make him wonder if his career was over, it’s now only a minor inconvenience to getting around, an unwanted distraction from the efforts he’s locked into.
Monday morning, Griffin wakes with optimism, preparing for his day in the very same way as if he were going to practice—eating a nutritious breakfast, his single cup of coffeefor the day, stretching and hydration. He parks in his usual spot at the stadium, but instead of heading to the locker room, Griffin walks over to the administration building. Beverly Anderson’s office boasts a small waiting room with an administrative professional, so after he announces himself, Griffin sits and waits. He crosses his hands over the leather billfold he sets in his lap, his written-out list inside. Before long, a woman wearing a matching skirt and jacket walks in with a large leather bag slung over her shoulder.
“Well, I know from the TV, you must be Griffin Hayes,” she says on the way to what’s presumably her office door. “Come on in.”
Griffin hops to his feet and crosses the waiting room. Beverly flips on the overhead light and drops her bag on an extra chair in the corner before unpacking a laptop, notepad, and phone.
She pauses by her desk chair. “Have you had coffee? I’ll be honest, I didn’t expect you to be so... timely.”
Griffin smiles. “I’ve had my morning cup, but don’t mind me if you want to grab one.”
Beverly sighs, then speaks quietly. “I’ll just ask Madison if she’d do me the favor. I hate asking my assistants for coffee; it just seems so cliché.”
She dips out of the room, and Griffin hears the low murmur of her request peppered with unnecessary apologies.
Beverly reenters the room and settles behind her desk.
“I hope you don’t mind, but I have to ask—why didn’t you expect me to be on time?”
Beverly’s cheeks turn pink. “Honestly? A lot of guys from the team get the inspiration to do some charity work—oftenaround the holidays—but the follow-through isn’t always as robust as their commitment to practice or training.” She raises her hands as if to deflect argument. “Not that I’m saying it should! I understand they’re getting paid to play. It’s their job.”
Griffin sits taller in his seat. “Well, I’ll have you know off the bat that when I commit to something, I take it seriously. Whether that’s training or, right now, creating a foundation, I hate it when things are done halfway.”
