Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Noel
We were fucked before, so I guess now we’re super fucked.
Not only is our captain and best forward out injured, but Lucien will get suspended over that fight. It’s only a question of how many games he’ll be out for.
“You gonna make any comment?” Shawn asks me from his seat beside mine on the plane.
“No.”
Our team owner, Hudson McClain, and our PR director, Deb, have been blowing up my phone since the fight happened a few hours ago.
We’re in the air on our way to Boston now, and I asked McClain to put the whole organization under a gag order.
No one says a word to anyone about the fight or anything else. We need some time.
We found out from a post on Vancouver’s socials that Lucien broke Kyle’s jaw.
No one knows, or will know, that Kyle was just waiting for his moment to beat Kyle’s ass harder than usual.
Because Audra told Talia this afternoon—or I guess, yesterday afternoon, I don’t even know what day it is anymore—that she left because Kyle shoved her to the ground while they were fighting.
I was livid when Talia told me. Any man who puts his hands on a woman is a piece of shit.
And even though Audra’s judgment hasn’t always been the best, she’s my daughter and I love her.
Lucien saw how upset Talia was, and the only thing he could do about it was make Kyle pay.
I’d have done the same thing to him—and worse—if I could’ve.
I had no part in Kyle cheating on Talia with Audra and eventually breaking up with Talia and marrying Audra. I did have a small part in Talia getting hired by my team, and I could have forbidden her and Lucien from getting involved, but I didn’t.
And now my family drama is affecting my team. I’ve always been a professional, from the first time I signed a pro contract. I represent my team at all times, and that matters. Not once have I cheated in a relationship or behaved like an idiot in public.
Still, drama’s been following me around like a lost fucking dog lately.
“Deb is saying we have to make a comment,” Shawn says, his expression worried.
“It can wait,” I snap. “Just because reporters are demanding something now, that doesn’t mean they’re getting it.”
“Sure. But she’s asking you to look at a draft of a statement, even if it doesn’t get released right now.”
I rub my temples, a headache threatening to set in.
I responded to Hudson with a text, but I didn’t respond to Deb, and it’s clearly driving her crazy.
Must be fucking nice to be sitting at home in her pajamas thinking about nothing but a statement.
I’m still traveling with the team, and there’s work to be done for our game tomorrow.
We have to watch film and pivot our plays to compensate for the loss of Lucien. Silas tweaked his ankle during the game, and he’s questionable for tomorrow. As much as Deb and the media think the fight between Lucien and Kyle should be at the forefront of my mind, it’s not.
I told Audra to check into a hotel under a false name, and for once, she listened. At least I know Kyle can’t get to her for now. It’s hard to see past my rage toward Kyle, but I have to put it aside.
What I wouldn’t give to be beside Jules at that bar again. It was just over twenty-four hours ago when I had nothing on my mind but how good she smelled and how much I wanted her. I was relaxed, and my phone was quiet.
“Tell Deb it’s not happening tonight,” I tell Shawn. “We’re focused on the next game. And when we do make a statement, it’ll be short and to the point. We wish him well in his recovery.”
“Got it.” He opens his mouth to speak, then closes it again.
“What?” I ask.
“Do you want me to leave you alone? Are you going to try to rest?”
“It would take a tranquilizer dart to knock me out right now. I’m going to watch film.”
He starts to stand up. “I’ll leave you to—”
“Sit down.”
He drops back into his seat immediately.
“Jules,” I say.
I hear her unbuckling her seat belt, and then she stands up in her seat in front of me and turns. “Yes?”
“No posts at all on any socials until further notice. We don’t want to seem like we’re ignoring it.”
“I understand.”
She turns around and sits back down, and I feel a flare of disappointment. I got nothing from her—not a one-second lock of her eyes on mine, or a clarifying question. I’d think she regretted our flirting last night if I didn’t know she was stone-cold sober the entire time.
She wanted me to come back to her room last night, and now she’s acting like it never happened. Maybe it’s on purpose, because we’re not alone.
I hope so.
By the time we land in Boston, the sun’s up and people are going about the start of the day.
I feel like it’s the end of an exhausting one.
I haven’t slept, and now I have to attend a meeting in a hotel conference room with Caroline, Shawn, our defensive coach, Robbie, and Jules.
McClain, Deb, and a crisis PR guy are joining us by video.
Jules slept on the plane. I could see her and Talia through the crack between the seats. Talia had her head on Jules’s shoulder and Jules had her head on Talia’s. Jules looks fresh and ready for the day, wearing a gray sweater, black pants, and black flats.
“Good morning,” Deb says, opening the meeting. “This is Carson Hanover. He works in crisis PR.”
“Morning,” Carson says.
I don’t let on how aggravated I am. This is hardly a crisis. I swear, Deb’s actually enjoying it.
“Where are we this morning?” McClain asks.
“I checked the socials earlier and people are commenting on older posts of Lucien,” Deb says. “Some people say he went too far.”
“It’s definitely not the first time someone’s been injured in a fight,” McClain says.
“No, but there’s a contingent of fans who follow every game we play against Vancouver because they know about the personal history between Beaumont and Macintire.”
“And?” McClain says, unconcerned.
Carson Hanover steps in. “Sometimes the best response is to say as little as possible.”
He continues talking, but my attention turns to Jules. She’s across from me at the table, so it’s easy for me to look at her without anyone noticing. She stares at her nails, the wall, the phone on the table—giving everything in this room her attention except me.
I know it’s for the best. I’m tired, worried about Audra, furious at Kyle. I’m not in my best frame of mind. But I think that’s why I’m so drawn to her in this moment. She has a way of making the rest of the world go away, and I want that. Badly.
Deb’s voice pulls me from my daydream. “I don’t know if he’s been up all night playing private eye, but his posts have a lot of detail. He knows, based on Audra’s post before the game last night, that she’s not in Vancouver. He’s speculating about the marriage and what Lucien might know.”
“What the fuck?” I drop my brows, my anger leveling up. “Who is this guy?”
Deb’s lips part. “I don’t know ... a guy who spends too much time online?”
“His name’s Craig Melvin,” Jules says. “He’s a YouTuber and a Crush superfan who follows our socials very, very closely. He comments on every post and follows everything. Our flight times, where he thinks we might be staying, who the players might be dating.”
“Jesus,” I mutter. “Is he mentally well?”
“I think so. He’s just a huge fan. He makes videos every day, and he’s always dressed in a Crush jersey and hat. He likes feeling like he has an inside scoop, even if it’s not much. He has a following.”
“This is all good to know,” Hanover says, writing on a notepad. “Can you send Deb some links so we can get a feel for him?”
“Sure.” She looks like she’s about to say something else, but she doesn’t.
“What else?” I ask.
She meets my gaze, my chest tightening. “There’s often a heightened interest in the lives of celebrities and pro athletes. People want to know them. I think the more we feed that, the more speculation it will create.”
“What if not saying anything will just make people like him dig harder?”
“I recommend someone from PR reach out to him today. Invite him to tour the locker rooms and give him some merch and great seats to the next game.”
“That’ll just encourage him,” Deb says.
“It’ll build loyalty,” Jules says. “And it’ll keep him busy. I’d give him an all-day tour and ask him to pose for a million photos. Show him every supply closet and concession area.”
“It’s a great idea,” Hanover says. “By the end of the day, our short statement will be out. That’s all we’re going to say. Coach, I’d even tell your players and staff to lean on the statement. Only repeat what’s in it or tell reporters to refer to it.”
“It’s only going to say we wish Macintire well in his recovery, right?”
He nods. “Absolutely. Nothing about being sorry, or our suspended player.”
“I agree. Is that it?”
“That’s it,” McClain says. “Get some rest. It’s a game day.”
“Should we meet again this afternoon?” Deb asks.
“No.” I’m already standing up to leave. “We have work to do for the game.”
Jules flicks her gaze to me, then tucks her long hair behind her ear and looks at the faces on the computer. “Deb, I’m here for anything you need. Unless you want me to come back. I won’t be filming content today.”
I answer before Deb can. “Stay. It’s good to have someone from PR with us.”
That’s just a bullshit excuse, but Deb nods her agreement. The meeting ends and Caroline, Shawn, Robbie, and Jules head for the door.
“Jules, can you stay a minute?” I say.
“Sure.”
Caroline turns to look at me from the doorway and says, “I’ll be upstairs.”
She’s catching a flight home in a few hours, and she didn’t have room in her bag for the Nanaimo bars she always brings home for her wife when she travels to Vancouver with the team. I’m swapping carry-on bags with her so she can take them.
Once Caroline leaves the room, Jules just looks at me, her lips set into a no-nonsense line.
I want to climb over the table, take her in my arms, and bury my face in her soft, sweet-smelling hair. Kiss her until she’s breathless. But the playful look I like to think is just for me is gone. Something’s different.
“Is everything okay?” I ask her.
She lowers her brows. “Why wouldn’t it be?”
Obstinance. Great. Like I’m not already in a shitty enough mood.
“How’s your nephew feeling?”
“He’s better.”
There’s a sharpness to her tone I’ve never heard before. I shouldn’t be in here alone with her, but with everything else going on, I selfishly want to return to our conversation from the other night. She’s the only thing that feels good right now.
“I have another call,” she says, walking over to the door. “I’ll keep you updated on the PR stuff by text today.”
I want to tell her to be in the locker room tonight, just so I can look at her. But I have no good reason for it, so I stay silent. She leaves, and even though I know something’s wrong, I can’t go after her.
Whatever’s got her pissed off at me, it’s probably for the best.