“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 within 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 just 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 to 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 her shoulders 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 really seeing this for what it is. Just a really crappy slap at her that’s laced with jealousy and vindictiveness, but that doesn’t really 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 into 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 just 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.”