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.