The Running Series Complete Collection: 3-Book Set plus Bonus Novella (60 page)

"That's it, then.  We're done here.  Stephanie, would you wrap them up for us, please."  He hands her his Visa Black Card. 

"Certainly.  I'll be right back, Mister," she looks down at the name on the card, and her eyes immediately dart up to Evan, and then back down at the card again, "Mac.  I mean McGuire.  Mr. Big Mac.  Mr. McGuire, just give me a ... okay ... I'll be right back."  Evan is unfazed by what just happened.  Another day in the life of a celebrity, I suppose.

While we wait, Evan takes my hand, and together, we wander around the store exploring the displays.  Evan stops for a moment and admires some of the men's watches.  It's a great opportunity for me to find out a little more about his taste in gifts.  I doubt I'll be able to go shopping for him here at Tiffany's anytime soon, but if things go well at the restaurant, maybe that day will come sooner rather than later. 

The next counter is a little different than the others.  It's slightly lower and has several plush chairs arranged in sets of two in front of the counter.  They must be there for customers, and for a moment, the significance of it is lost on me.  It's not until I am right there staring at the display that I realize where we are - we've stumbled upon the wedding and engagement ring display.

I don’t know how to react.  We’ve never discussed marriage.  I don’t want to appear overly enthusiastic, and I also don’t want to seem disinterested.  Perhaps avoidance is the best approach.   "I think Stephanie's done now.  Let's go." 

Evan senses my discomfort and decides to torture me, just a little.  "There's no rush, Juliette.  We have all night.  Care to look around a little more?" he asks.

"I'd love to, Evan, but if we want to get home by midnight, we better get a move on," I try to reason.

"Well, it's a good thing I got us a room for the night.  We don't have to drive home until tomorrow.  Auggie's already picked up Maddy and brought her back to his place.  Let's look around a little more," Evan counters.  He can be so devious.  I think he really enjoys making me suffer.

I try to walk to the necklace counter, but Evan's got a grip on me and won't let me go.  He points to a few rings on display and asks me what I think.  I can feel my blood pressure increasing and heat rising in my cheeks.

"What's wrong, Juliette?  You look uncomfortable.  Don't tell me you've never pictured us getting married someday.  I've thought about it.  Haven't you?" he asks.  He looks at me with his head cocked to one side, waiting for my response.  He has a deadly serious look on his face.  The longer it takes me to answer, the more worried he becomes.  This isn't just a big joke to him at all.

Evan McGuire has just used the “M” word, “
married
”.  He didn’t propose.  He didn’t ask me to marry him.  But he’s talking about it.  I don’t dare tell him right now about my dreams, my hopes, my deepest desires.  The truth is, I can’t picture my life without him.  I can’t even picture a day without him.  I’m dreading the days when football season starts and he’s travelling with the team, leaving me alone in our bed, longing for his warm body to keep me safe and satisfied.  Yes, I would love to marry this man.  But I think we both have a few things to cross off our “to do” list before we begin journeying down that path.

"Sweetheart, nothing, I mean, nothing, would make me happier than to spend the rest of my life with you.  But right now, we need to concentrate on getting our restaurant opened and getting a football in your hands again."  Not caring who is watching and listening, I kiss him with all the love and devotion I have for this man.  "Come on, baby.  Let's go."

We leave Tiffany's with a gift bag in hand and as we do, Caesar's Water Show begins.  The air is filled with the sultry sounds of jazz as a water fountain filled with lights begins to spray its jets choreographed beautifully to match the highs and lows of the music.  It's breathtaking.  Evan and I stop briefly to enjoy the show.

After a brief stop at the concierge desk, Evan and I find our way up to a suite.  We walk into a sitting room with a large leather sofa and a flat screen TV  Across the room, I spot a small table setting for two situated in front of a large window that overlooks the ocean.  Sitting atop the table is a beautiful vase filled with deep purple orchids and a card.

Evan is grinning like a schoolboy.  Clearly, he had a hand in this.  “Did you do this?” I ask him.  I am so thankful that his sister is a florist.  He’s learned so much about the art of romance from her.  Every girl should be so lucky.

He wraps an arm around my waist and pulls me close.  “I did.  Do you like them?” he asks.

“They’re beautiful, Evan.  You’ve never given me orchids before.  They’re so beautiful and delicate.  I can’t help but wonder what the significance is.  Why orchids?”  I hope he doesn’t think of me as delicate and demure.  I prefer to think of myself as strong and independent.

I slip from his embrace and open the card.  It contains a simple poem, “A flower cannot blossom without sunshine, and man cannot live without love.”  I hold the card to my chest and close my eyes, wondering how in the world I got so lucky. 

Evan sneaks up behind me, wraps his hands around my waist, and whispers in my ear, “According to Callie, the orchid represents love, luxury, beauty, and strength.  Every single one of those words describes you perfectly.”  I turn around to kiss him, and when his lips touch mine, I hungrily open up for him.  Our tongues tease and caress, expressing emotions so deep that mere words would be inadequate to describe.

Just as we begin to lose ourselves in one another, Evan’s phone goes off with a new text message.  We break apart and he takes a look at the display to see if it’s important.  I see his chest heave and the sparkle that was there for me just a moment ago has left his eyes. 

“Evan, what is it?  You don’t look good.”

“It’s Adam.  I told him not to call us unless it was urgent.”

“So, what does the text say?” I ask.

“All it says is ‘911’.”

Where There’s Smoke, There’s Fire

E
van paces the room as he talks with Adam.  It’s nearly impossible for me to figure out what they are talking about.  I can only hear fragments of their discussion.

“It said what? ... that’s impossible ... pictures? ... no, I don’t ... no, she didn’t ... never ... not even once ... I want to see it ... how do we ... you sure? ... I will ... I won’t ... got it.”  He hangs up and walks over to the window overlooking the boardwalk.  He pounds his fist on the wall so hard I’m surprised he didn’t put a hole in the plaster.  Still, he says nothing and he won’t look at me.  It’s bad, I just know it.

“Evan, please talk to me.  You’re scaring me,” I beg.

“I may as well tell you, you’re going to find out soon enough,” Evan exasperates. 

I walk over to him and wrap my arms around his waist.  He turns around and looks at me, deep into my eyes, moving the hair away from my face and placing it gingerly behind my ear.  He caresses my earlobe, and then traces a path down my jaw and across my chin.  He lifts my chin so I’m looking up at him and into his pleading eyes.

“Juliette, let me start by telling you how sorry I am.  Before I say anymore, you have to promise me you’re not going to run.”  He grabs me and pulls me close, placing kisses in my hair.  My arms are still wrapped around him, holding him tight.  More than once before, when things got tough, I panicked and tried to walk away.  I guess the pain is still fresh in Evan’s mind.

“Baby, I swear I’m not going anywhere.  You couldn’t get rid of me, even if you tried,” I assure him, hoping it’s enough to get him to talk to me.

“It’s the press.  They’re printing crap again.”  He pulls away and walks over to the bed, sitting on the edge, bent over, holding his head in his hands.

Relief instantly washes over me. Is all this panic really just because of gossip?  “Evan, there’s been rumors about you for as long as I’ve known you.  Why are you so upset?” I ask as I sit next to him on the bed, rubbing his back trying to comfort him. 

“This time is different, Juliette.  You’re not going to be so understanding when I tell you what they’re reporting,” he explains, shaking his head in disbelief.

Just as I’m about to climb onto his lap and extract a confession from him, his phone beeps with an in-coming text.  Evan stands up, retrieves the phone from his pocket, and swipes the screen.  After briefly scanning the image, he throws his phone on the bed and walks away.

I pick up the phone wondering what could have Evan so worked up.  When I look at the screen, I see a picture of the two of us in Manhattan two days ago.  Someone must have taken our picture as we left the studio at Rockefeller Center.  I don’t understand.  There have been hundreds of pictures taken of us together.  How could he possibly be upset about another innocent photograph?

“Evan, I don’t understand.  It’s just a picture from Thursday night.  Why are you so upset?” I question.

“Look carefully, Juliette.  Don’t you see what we’re doing?  What’s in your hand?” he rebukes.

I examine the photograph more closely.  I pinch the screen, trying to zoom in on my hand.  The image is blurry, but I can clearly see the Tylenol in my hand, passing them along to Evan.  But I still don’t understand his reaction to this harmless picture.  “Evan, I don’t get it.  I’m just giving you a couple of pills.”  The moment the words leave my mouth, the dots are immediately connected and I think I’ve pieced the puzzle together.  “I gave you pills.  That’s it, isn’t it?  They think I’m feeding you drugs, don’t they?”  He nods wordlessly.

It’s clear that Evan either doesn’t want to tell me anymore, or he can’t repeat what Adam told him.  I walk over to the closet and fish my iPad out of my bag.  Once I connect to the Internet, I Google a few key terms, “Evan McGuire, Juliette Fletcher, drugs” and immediately the screen fills with new articles.  There have been dozens of reports filed in just the last twelve hours.  I click on the first link, and it takes me to the Huffington Post Sports page.  The headline reads: 
Miraculous Recovery or Successful Doping?
Just beneath the headline is an image of me handing Evan two white tablets from an unmarked medicine bottle. 

As I skim through the article, I discover that only hours after the Sentinels released the news that Evan was released to begin training earlier than expected, a picture was leaked of him taking an unknown substance supplied by his girlfriend.  Suspicions are raised about whether or not the unknown pills could possibly be steroids.  It goes on to quote studies that show how anabolic steroid treatment enhances the capacity to regenerate muscle tissue and could be used to assist in the healing of injuries, particularly sports related injuries. 

The article continues by interviewing an orthopedic physician specializing in sports medicine on the typical healing period for tendon, ligament, and nerve injuries to the hand.  Dr. Munoz from the Cleveland Clinic claims that based on what she’s read and heard about Evan’s injury, a typical recovery period could take as long as twelve weeks.  She adds her own conjecture about scenarios that could assist and speed the process along, the leading contender being use of anabolic steroids.  What the article does not state is the fact that Dr. Munoz has never met Evan, nor has she ever examined him or read his medical files.

The last to be interviewed for the Huff Post article is an unnamed source who claims to be “in close and constant contact” with the couple who reports that “Evan is under pressure from Juliette to get back onto the field as quickly as possible in order to keep the money flowing while she burns through Evan’s earnings.”  The only fact they get correct is the fact that Evan is, indeed, helping to finance my business venture, and that at this time, there is no money coming in, but lots of money going out.  What it fails to mention is the fact that I cosigned the loan at the bank and that every dollar spent is not just coming out of Evan’s wallet, but mine as well.

I pull up a few more articles, and some are more direct in their accusations.  One sports blogger whose name I’ve never heard before comes right out and suggests that because I spent time in Colorado, which has less restrictive drug laws, there is no doubt that I must be coercing Evan to take steroids.  He goes onto suggest that Evan is a ‘dope for taking dope’, because the mandatory drug testing done in the NFL will prove his drug use and cause his immediate suspension without pay.

I cannot read any more articles written by reporters who can’t be bothered to check their sources.  Or by bloggers who sit in the comforts of their parents’ basement without ever having met a professional athlete or spoken with a single source involved in the story, yet claim to have special knowledge.  I close my tablet and lay back on the bed, trying to sort all the recent developments into perspective.

As I stare at the ceiling, I recall other articles of late that claim Evan will never recover enough to return to the NFL.  Some state that Evan doesn’t even want to return, that all his focus and energy is now being placed on his new business, Rush Dessert Bar.  Total crap.  He didn’t react nearly so strongly to any of those bull shit articles when they were printed.  Why now?  Why is this piece of trash affecting him so profoundly?  Is it because it paints me as a drug pusher and money-grubbing leech?