Page 21 of Griffin

He was crouched low, picking up each shard carefully, as though he could somehow salvage the display case if he was careful enough.

I wanted to say more, but the words just wouldn’t come.

I replayed the scene in my head, feeling that same throb in my chest.

Whatever that baseball had meant to Griffin and Noah, it was clearly more than just a piece of bar décor.

Once Noah placed the last piece of glass on the counter, he straightened up and patted my shoulder.

“Don’t worry. It was just an accident, right? Besides, you just got here today, didn’t you? You’re probably exhausted. No idea why Griff threw you in like this on your first night.” He chuckled softly, clearly trying to lighten the mood.

I watched as he picked up the baseball, inspecting it with a faint frown, his thumb brushing over the scuffed surface.

“It’s our dad’s,” he said, his voice quieter. “He’s not doing too well right now, and Griff’s… well, he’s taking it hard.”

“Oh.” The word barely felt like enough.

I twisted the rag in my hands, feeling the fabric dig into my palm as the weight of what I’d done sank in.

It was an accident, but the more I thought about it, the less it felt like that was enough of an excuse.

I felt the need to make things right somehow, to apologize.

“Noah… do you, um, know where he went?” I asked.

Noah’s expression wavered, like he wasn’t sure if he should tell me or not.

“Please,” I added, almost whispering.

I didn’t know why I felt so strongly about this—only that I needed to make things right.

He sighed, then said reluctantly, “He’s probably at the hospital, visiting Dad. But I don’t know if you should?—”

I didn’t wait to hear the rest. I slipped out of the bar, quickly dialing a taxi before I could change my mind.

As the taxi headed toward the hospital, a spiral of self-blame churned in my mind.

I wasn’t usually this clumsy. Why did I always feel so off around Griffin?

It was like I couldn’t even trust myself to act normal. And no, what happened wasn’t just because I’d half-considered screwing up this job on purpose earlier.

Because when Griffin showed me around, the way he talked about the bar—it shifted something in me.

I could see he knew every inch of the place, from the worn wooden booths to the faded photos lining the walls, each one a piece of his history.

His whole demeanor softened as he spoke, a quiet pride and loyalty to something that was as much his family’s legacy as it was a job.

This wasn’t just any bar; it was a part of him.

And here I was, wanting to run the other way, yet feeling a pull I couldn’t explain.

Staying didn’t seem so bad after all—until I messed things up worse than I’d ever intended.

The taxi finally pulled up to the hospital entrance. I hesitated, glancing up at the building.

I didn’t even know his dad’s name, or Griffin’s last name, or if I was even at the right hospital. But I knew I just had to try.

Inside, I approached the reception desk, trying to look more confident than I felt.

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