“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.”

Chapter 20

Jules

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 arena for us as well.

That’s not the only thoughtful measure that was taken.

Max found out that Alex Crossman’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.”