Right?
My blood pressure, which had been consistently rising as I read through the article, peaks out as I digest those last lines and my hand holding the phone starts shaking. I raise my eyes up to Garrett and he stares at me with sympathy.
"This is going to hurt her so bad if she sees it," I rasp out, my head already spinning with how I can tell Jules about it.
"Whoever that chick is, she's a fucking bitch," Garrett growls. "Stevie already left a comment on that post, trying to set the record straight, but man...I'd advise you not to read any more. Most of the comments aren't nice."
"Son of a fucking bitch," I snarl as I thrust Garrett's phone back toward him. "Tell me again what this SportsGab thing is? I've never heard of it before, so I'm assuming it's not well known."
Garrett winces. "It's pretty fucking big, dude. Like millions of readers."
"Christ," I mutter as I scrub a frustrated hand through my hair.
I've got to go see Jules.
Now.
--
I wait in the lobby of Sweetbrier no more than fifteen minutes before Jules comes walking toward me, her step bouncy and her smile warm. I'd had her paged when I first got here but it took a while for her to be able to break away.
"What are you doing here?" she asks in a voice filled with happiness to see me.
I stand from the couch and she halts in mid-stride, the smile sliding off her face.
"Okay," she says slowly. "That's twice in less than a week you've had that look on your face. What's wrong?"
I nod toward the door and reach my hand out to her. "Let's go outside to talk."
She takes my hand, no balking, but I can feel the tension in her grip. I lead her over to what I've come to think of as our bench, and we're completely alone as there's a slight nip in the air today, which would ward off the residents from hanging in the courtyard.
When she sits down, I turn to her and lay it out as bluntly as I can. "That girl you talked to last night during the photo shoot..."
"Camille," she says hesitantly.
I nod. "She wrote a SportsGab article about me and you and it's not flattering."
"What?" Jules gasps, and my skin crawls with disgust that I have to share this with her.
I hold my phone out to her, the article already queued up. She takes it from me as I murmur, "I'm sorry, baby."
I watch Jules' face as her eyes move back and forth along the lines. Jules has always shown pure grace when she's had to deal with some of the pitfalls that come with my celebrity, but I know she won't laugh her way out of this one.
Her lips pinch tight, her skin goes pale and her eyebrows knit together in confusion and then dismay as she reads further. When she gets to the end, her head slowly rises and she looks at me. "Why would she do something that's so horribly mean?"
I shake my head, rage and sorrow and frustration coursing through me. I take the phone back from her and set it on the bench between us so I can take her hands in mine. "I don't know, Jules, but anyone that knows you knows that's a pack of lies."
"And the millions of others that don't know me?" she whispers, her face awash with humiliation.
"I don't know what to say, Jules," I tell her truthfully. "I never wanted my fame to hurt you, and I know it's done exactly that. I just realized...I can't protect you from it. The only thing I can do is tell you to do what others do in this situation and that's ignore it. Come tomorrow, it will be someone else's name in the news."
"And when the kids come home and ask me to explain what a gold digger is, what exactly should I say to that?" she asks, and her voice is now shaking with anger. Before I can answer, she asks with near hysteria, "Or what about my boss here when he sees this? Or my coworkers? What do I say to the people on the streets who will now recognize me? Should I ignore them too if they say bad things?"
My hands go to Jules' shoulders. "Baby...trust me that it will blow over--"
"No," she growls at me, and shrugs to dislodge my hands. She stands up from the bench and looks down at me, and my heart nearly crumples in on itself when I see the sheen of tears in her eyes. "This is why I don't want you buying me TVs and shit. I am not a gold digger."
I stand up, now angry at her leap from this article to even remotely hinting I view her that way. "That is not fair, Jules."
She throws her arms out in frustration. "I know it's not. But I'm operating on an overload of emotion right now. Give me some latitude."
My mind immediately eases a little, as Jules--God, dear beautiful but reasonable Jules--is actually seeing this for what it is. Just a really crappy slap at her that's laced with jealousy and vindictiveness, but that doesn't touch who she is.
Not between me and her. She knows I know she's nothing but perfection in my mind.
"Tell me what you want me to do to fix this and I will," I tell her softly. "I'll do anything you want."
"Quit hockey?" she asks, her head tilted to the side.
"Yup," I say without thought, and realize I'm actually okay with that answer.
She rolls her eyes at me. "You are not quitting fucking hockey because I got picked on by the neighborhood bully."
And I'm okay with that answer too.
"Want me to track this bitch down and we go slash her tires?" I ask.
"Maybe," she says, her lips just starting to twitch upward.
"Want me to break into her place and switch out her shampoo for hair removal solution?"
"Now you're talking," Jules says as her smile curves even more.
I step in to her, slip my arms around her waist and look right into her eyes. "I'm sorry someone hurt you. It hurts me that you're hurt."
She nods in understanding. "I'm sorry I took my bitch-moment out on you."
"I think I can handle it," I tell her.
She sighs and rests her forehead against my chest. "I don't understand. I hardly told her anything last night. Just that we met at the convenience store, and eventually I told her about the kids, but it was small talk...you know?"
I kiss her on the head and then rest my chin there. "Babe...sometimes you have to put a wall around you when you're in the public view. You almost have to treat people with a healthy degree of suspicion. I hate to tell you to do that because one of the things I respect most about you is your openness. Your genuine human nature. But I will tell you...if you stick with me, you're going to get photographed and recognized. It's the nature of the beast."
She's silent a moment and then she murmurs, "You kept me so well guarded against this up until now. I was in this protective little bubble and now it's been burst."
"I know," I tell her softly. "And again...I'm sorry."
"Don't," she admonishes as she lifts her face to look at me. "That article isn't on you. It's on that bitch who wrote it. I'm just going to have to grow a thicker skin and take my lumps if I want to be with you."
"And you do still want to be with me, right?" I ask...you know...just to make sure.
She smiles at me, lifts to her tiptoes and gives me a soft kiss. "More than anything."
The bus pulls up to the front of the Four Seasons Hotel, and Sutton and I patiently wait for the people in front of us--all friends and family members who traveled to Boston--to disembark. The mood is jubilant and the group is boisterous, and that's because the Cold Fury just whipped Boston's ass 5-2. Max, of course, played brilliantly, and I'm proudly sporting his jersey, which he gave me the other night.
Actually, he gave me and each of the kids a Fournier jersey and I can't wait for all four of us to watch a home game wearing them.
I have to say, this trip to Boston has been awesome so far, and the Cold Fury organization is very thoughtful. Apparently, for every away game, they reserve a block of tickets for traveling family and friends so we can all sit together, and if there's enough coming to a game, they arrange transportation to and from the arena for us as well.
That's not the only thoughtful measure that was taken.
Max found out that Alex Cros
sman's wife, Sutton, was coming to today's game, although she's not staying over for tomorrow's. Still, he worked with her to arrange it so we would take the same flight, and she picked me up at my apartment first thing this morning to take me to the airport. A friendly gate agent quickly maneuvered us around and got us seats together, and when the tickets were printed, I was stunned to see us sitting in first class.
"We're in first class," I whispered to Sutton.
"Yeah," she said. "Is that a problem?"
Well, shit.
Is it a problem?
Max insisted on buying my plane ticket. I tried to argue with him and I lost. He pulled that whole "I'm your man and I want to do nice things for you" card on me again, and while I can't fault him for that, I'm still feeling overly sensitive about that SportsGab article a few days ago.
I totally tortured myself by reading it over and over again that night, along with the multitude of comments, most of which were hurtful and nasty. I did have to smile when I saw Stevie commented and called Camille a "skanky wannabe reporter with no writing skills and clearly a heroin problem," but I was absolutely floored when I saw that Max had commented.
It was short and simple and fucking awesome.
It simply said: Camille, this is Max Fournier. I met you the other night at your father's studio. I really like your father; he's a totally stand-up kind of guy. I also have to think that he has to be utterly ashamed at the depths you've sunk to humiliate a woman that is kinder, stronger, smarter, and all around just a better human being than you could ever hope to be. Seriously...shame on you.
I, of course, called Max that night after I read it and I blubbered on the phone to him about how he was my hero.
So when Sutton asked me if flying first class was a problem, I had to admit to myself that deep down it was, because of my sensitivity to that gold digger article. But I also had to give latitude to Max so I could let him be himself with me, which included unparalleled generosity.
I smiled at Sutton and said, "Of course not. That was incredibly sweet of Max to do."
Finally the seats in front of us on the bus empty out and Sutton and I make our way off. I had a blast sitting with her at the game, finding her to be just as open and personable as Stevie and Olivia were with me. Vale, for that matter, too, although Max is a little upset about her leaving the team suddenly. He filled me in on what was going on with her and Hawke and it makes me so sad for them both.
I follow Sutton into the Four Seasons lobby and we sort of follow the rest of the group to a private room the organization booked for a family and friends meal. Because this was an afternoon game, it ended at the perfect time for those who traveled to support the players to come together to celebrate with a dinner. Again, a very nice touch from the organization.
"It will probably be another half hour before the team bus arrives," Sutton says as we enter the private ballroom, which is set up very nicely. Large round tables covered in crisp white linen and studded with china and crystal, each seating ten people. A large bar setup on one end with three bartenders manning it, and at the other end long buffet tables with silver warmers, holding God knows what, but it smells divine. "Come on...let's go get a drink and I'll introduce you around."
Sutton was able to introduce me to a few people at the game, but that was just those sitting to the sides, front, and back of us. There were probably forty or so people altogether so I had not met most of them. I suppose as the team captain's wife, Sutton knows everyone.
We make our way to the bar and she and I each order a glass of red wine. We walk around for a bit, talking to a few people, and I impatiently check my watch every five minutes, excited about seeing Max. To tell him what a great game he played. And to make sure he knows how much I adore him.
Sutton's phone rings and she fishes in her purse, bringing it up to her ear. "Hey, kiddo. What's going on?"
I watch as an amused smile plays on her mouth and she shakes her head as she says, "Hold on just a sec," and then looks to me with her hand coming up to cover the speaker. "My little brother...with girl issues apparently. I'll just be a minute."
I laugh and wave her off. "I'll be fine."
Sutton walks away and I smile at her retreating back. A happy and a sad smile. Happy for her that she's so close to her brother, and sad for me as a reminder I don't have that special sibling to talk to anymore.
"Well, we want to know if it's true," I hear from behind me, and when I spin around, my guard immediately goes up strong and fast. Cassie and her sister, Allie, are standing there with full resting bitch faces leveled at me.
"Know if what's true?" I ask smoothly, although I'm quite sure I know where they're headed.
"If you're a gold digger or a Cinderella," Cassie says as she looks at me haughtily. "That article was quite interesting."
Allie snickers and then eyes me up and down, taking in the jeans that I got on sale at the Gap and worn New Balance tennis shoes I've had for probably five years. I know she can't find fault with the jersey, since it's brand new, but I know what that look means.
"I'm thinking Cinderella," Allie says to her sister, and I notice her words are slurred. "Just look at those rags she's wearing."
Great...I'm dealing with two drunk mean girls who are decked out in high fashion with plenty of sparkling jewelry on display.
I give them both a tight smile. "Well, it's been a pleasure talking with you, but I'm just going to--"
"Oh, boo," Allie says with the fakest smile I've ever seen. She lightly taps my shoulder. "We're just playing around with you. It's part of the ritual...a little ribbing from the veteran wives."
"Cassie's not a wife," I can't help but say as I slide my gaze to her.
"No, but I'm with Mikkel," she snaps. "He invited me here this weekend."
"Well, good for you," I say with a sweet smile. "I'm just going to go get another glass of wine."
After I chug the hell out of this one, I think to myself.
I start to turn away from the women and a blur of movement catches my attention.
Sutton Crossman stalking across the ballroom floor, furious eyes flicking back and forth between Cassie and Allie. She doesn't cause an actual scene but there is no doubt she is a woman on a mission. I see both women tense up and Allie goes a little pale.
Sutton walks right up to them and in a very low voice that's laced with fury says, "I'm going to advise you two women to turn around and march your nasty, petty asses away from Jules, and I'd advise you to do it quickly."
Allie immediately starts backing up, a mixture of fear and respect on her face as she stares at Sutton. Cassie, however, doesn't take the hint and puffs her chest out like a peacock. "You don't scare me, Sutton. I'm not afraid of you just because you're married to the captain of this team."
"Of course you're not scared," Sutton scoffs. "You're merely jealous I married the captain, and I find it really pathetic."
I take a sip of my wine, hating this confrontation and needing the fortitude.
"Oh, I think you're the jealous one," Cassie hisses, and leans in closer to Sutton. "After all, I had Alex first."
I nearly choke on my wine and feel a little start to come out of my nose, which I hastily wipe at as my eyes turn wildly to Sutton.
Sutton throws her head back and laughs, and it is a genuine, amused laugh. "Oh God, Cassie. Do you know how bad you were in bed? Alex said you would scream like a cat in heat and there was nothing attractive about that at all. Also, he said your blow jobs were awful and he always had to close his eyes and think of some porn he'd watched just to get off."
Cassie's mouth falls open in shock and then sort of opens and closes like a gasping fish. Allie simply turns and walks away, I think embarrassed for her sister's beat-down by the captain's wife and hoping to stay out of the crosshairs.
Finally, Cassie mutters, "That's not true."
"Yeah, well neither is the shit that was written about Jules," Sutton snaps at her with narrowed eyes. "My point being, don't do anyth
ing to spread nasty rumors, okay? I won't take kindly to it."
The threat is clear.
Cassie takes the threat to heart and I can see her mind whirling, wondering if she really is that bad in bed, and I can even see her wondering if this will have negative repercussions on her standing with Mikkel. I mean, I'm sure he's already dived into that but she sure as hell wouldn't want him hearing this stuff.
Spinning on her heel, Cassie totters away with her metaphorical tail hanging between her legs. I stare after her just a moment, my mind blown over that exchange, and then I turn to look at Sutton in wonder.
"I thought Max was my hero, but damn, Sutton...you're giving him a run for his money," I murmur as I hold my wineglass up. She clinks hers to mine. "Cheers."
"What was all that about?" I hear from behind me at the exact moment strong arms wrap around my waist. I crane my neck to see Max smiling down at me.
"Cassie and Allie being bitches," Sutton says matter-of-factly. "I ran them off."
I nod in agreement. "Sutton's my hero too."
Max's eyes darken and he growls so deeply I feel it rumble down my own spine. "What the fuck did they say?"
"Nothing," I assure him quickly as I turn around to face him fully. "They're drunk, I think. Just let it go."
Max's eyes travel from mine across the ballroom floor. I turn and see he's locked them on Cassie and Allie.
"Max," I murmur, sliding one hand around his neck. "Let it go, okay?"
He doesn't look at me but keeps his narrowed eyes on the two women.
So I repeat to him, "Max...baby...it's fine. Right, Sutton?"
I turn to Sutton and...she's gone?
I look around and see her standing on the opposite side of the room, on her tiptoes to give Alex a kiss.
"Babe," Max mutters, and I turn to look back at him. "Are you sure you don't want me to say something? I told you those girls are trouble and you should ignore them, but I'm not going to have them treating you badly. The organization won't allow that to happen."
I slide my hand back down and pat Max on the chest. "Honey...while you are strong and manly in many ways, and while I get a little horny when you come riding to my rescue, I think in this instance it's best not to stir the hornet's nest, okay?"