Max (Cold Fury Hockey 6)

"It's not that," she mutters, her gaze dropping again.

My hand goes to her jaw and I make her look up at me. I lean in closer and urge her, "Then tell me what it is."

I'm stunned when Jules jerks her face away from me and shoots up off the couch, only to spin back around and face me with her arms outstretched in a plea for understanding.

"It's everything, Max," she says desperately. "You're rich and I'm poor. Women slipping you their phone numbers and bikini models at fancy photo shoots for hot bachelor competitions. It's people judging me...writing terrible things about me that I can't defend. It's your teammates' wives and girlfriends who don't even have the grace to whisper behind my back that I can't afford designer clothes, but instead snidely tell it to my face. It's about being out in fucking public and having your fans accost me, telling me I'm not good enough for you and calling me a fucking gold digger to my face."

"What?" I snarl as I come off the couch. "When did that happen?"

Jules seems to deflate in front of me, her anger expended by her rant. She lets out a pained breath and drops her eyes to the floor, "It doesn't matter."

"It does matter," I insist as my hands come to her shoulders.

She raises her face, and my stomach pitches when I see a flatness there I've never seen before. "It doesn't matter because nothing can be done about it. It's something I have to accept, and Max...I'm sorry, but it's just not easy to be with you sometimes."

"Jules," I say softly as I pull her into me. I wrap my arms carefully around her, cocooning her in safety.

She turns her head and rests her cheek against my chest. I'm partially relieved when her arms come around my waist and gather me tight.

"Did you ever have something really good happen to you?" Jules murmurs as we hold each other. "Something so fucking fantastic that you start to worry about when that bubble will burst, and then you start worrying about the pain it will cause you. And you don't want pain. You're tired of it so you want to avoid it at all costs. So you end up not enjoying that really great thing because all you can think about is the inevitability of its loss and what that will do to you."

"You're not going to lose me," I assure her.

"Maybe not," she agrees. "But I can't help but worry about it constantly. I can't help being sensitive to what others are saying, and fuck, Max...I don't even want to go out in public with you. It's just not easy, and I really need easy in my life right now."

I don't even know what to fucking say to any of this. I have no clue how to alleviate her worries. But apparently I haven't heard it all, because she pulls away from me slightly and releases her hold. I do the same, sensing she needs a bit of space.

Jules steps back, puts her hands in her pockets and says, "Dwayne wrote me. He's contacted an attorney and he says he's going to petition the court to terminate my guardianship."

"That will never fucking happen," I growl, suddenly forgetting everything else that Jules told me, and I know that this wave of protectiveness that just burst forth is not only for Jules but for those kids.

She gives me a sad smile. "It's just another thing in my life that I have to deal with, and I will deal with it. But...I need to make my life easier so I can keep my head clear. If I have to battle for those kids--"

"Are you saying you want to break up?" I cut in, needing to know exactly where the fuck she's going with this.

My knees almost buckle when she shakes her head and says, "No. That's not what I'm saying. But I do think things have moved fast, and I have so many other things going on, that I'm not really sure what I want. I guess if I had to pinpoint what would be the best thing, it would be for us to maybe slow down a bit."

"Slow down?" I ask, my tongue thick and my head spinning as to what this means.

"I need some space," she says sadly. "I need to prioritize and those kids have to come first. So I don't want to have to be worrying about buying ball gowns or going out to lunch with you, constantly worried that someone's going to come up and say terrible things to me. I just need a little bit of peace in my life right now so I can focus on the important things."

Those important things not including me, I think bitterly.

"That sounds an awful lot like we're breaking up," I say harshly.

"No, Max," she says, and I have to admit, her voice sounds strong and steady. "I just want things to slow down. I don't want to go to that gala...it's simply too stressful for me. And I don't want to discuss moving in together. And I don't want to go to Houlihan's with you after a game, and I don't even want to show my face at the arena to watch you in a game, because it stresses me out constantly worrying what people think. It stresses me out to be on guard all the time, waiting for someone to attack me, and let's not even get into the fact I'm now worried that the kids will somehow get dragged into the spotlight and that is something I cannot ever let happen."

I finally reach my breaking point in this crazy conversation. "For fuck's sake, Jules. At some point you can't lead your life worried about what others think."

"You're right," she says softly. "And maybe if my life were normal, I'd have a bit more fortitude to push past this. But my life isn't normal. It's messy and stressful and tiring and I can't handle one more thing. So I have to cut out some of that mess."

"You need to cut me out," I throw out.

"No," she says again firmly.

"Oh, I get it," I say with a sarcastic smile. "You still want to see me, but you won't go out in public with me and you won't come to my games to support me. You only want it to be secretive, right? Maybe I come over here for dinner, or you come to my house once a week and we'll fuck. Is that it?"

"God no," she exclaims, taking a step toward me. "It's not like that."

"Let me see if I can get this straight," I say, trying to force my voice to be calm. "You don't want to go to any events with me, right?"

She gives a small nod.

"Or out to lunch or dinner? Anywhere in public basically."

Another nod, her mouth drawing into a frown.

"Don't want to come to my games?"

"Just until things settle down," she says softly.

"And when might that be, Jules?" I murmur. "Because your life is messy, yes, but it could be that way for a very long time. Fuck...it might be messy until those kids come of age and leave home. Want me to wait that long? Keep you hidden in my room and bring you out to fuck you periodically, but otherwise keep you a secret?"

"That's not how it would be," she maintains, her voice sounding a bit panic-stricken. "I'm not saying it right."

"No, Jules, you're saying it right. I understand. You don't have it within you to put aside some of this petty bullshit a handful of people have lobbed your way. You don't have it within you to focus on what matters."

"That's what I'm doing!" she cries out in frustration.

"But I'm not included in that small circle of things you're focusing on," I point out.

She almost growls in annoyance at me. "Max...I feel like someone's tied lead weights to my feet and then went and dumped me in the ocean. I'm getting pulled down and I can't fight my way back up because the weight is too fucking heavy."

I huff out a breath of frustration, jam my hands down into my pockets. "I've tried to help you cut that rope repeatedly, Jules, but you won't let me. I'm strong enough to pull you back up but you won't let me."

"I know. I get that--" she says, but I cut her off.

"More importantly, your little analogy about the weight and the rope...well, you pretty much are saying I'm dragging you down. Clearly I can't help take the weight off if I'm the one adding to it."

She opens her mouth to argue against that but then just as quickly shuts it. Her eyes drop to the floor and her shoulders slump farther. She gives me no further argument and that's fine.

I don't have it in me to keep going around in circles with her.

"I'm going to head out," I say softly, turning toward the door. When I reach it, I hesitate just a moment. I don't

look back at her, but I leave the ball in her court. "If you change your mind and figure there's room for me in your life, let me know."

"Max, there is room," she says desperately.

"Not enough," I say as I open the door and step through it, pulling it shut quietly behind me.

I push open the door to Fleurish with my hip, struggling with the three canvases under one arm and two under the other. A merry chime of bells greets me and I hear Stevie yell from somewhere in the back of the store, "Be right out."

Stepping in, I squat to release my hold on the paintings before they fall and then carefully restack them to lean against an open armoire standing up against the near wall. It's filled with a variety of knickknacks that appear to be for sale.

"Jules?" I hear Stevie's surprised voice and turn around to face him. "What are you doing here? You weren't supposed to come until Monday."

I shrug. "I got more paintings done than I figured I would, so I thought I'd go ahead and bring them by."

Yup. Got twice as many paintings done this past week because my time has been freed up yet again by the fact I haven't seen Max since our--um, argument?--a week ago to the day. Turns out, although we may have not seen each other every day before said argument, due to his travel schedule, he was still very much a daily presence in my life, with long telephone calls, FaceTime, or text chats. Without those taking up my time, and thus feeling the keen loss of his presence, I channeled my resulting miseries into my art.

It made me quite productive.

That's not to say it's been pure radio silence between me and Max. He's been gone most of this week with away games in Ottawa and Montreal but we have shared a few texts. Well, I texted him after each game--one win and one loss--and he texted back.

The texts were short.