Running Home to You (The Running Series) Read online

  "You've been doing everything the trainers tell you to do, right?"

  "Yes."

  "You trust them to do their job? They're good at what they do?"

  "They're the best."

  "Then you have to have faith. You'll see. I can feel it. You're going to be on that field tearing it up. Can I say that? Tearing it up?"

  "You can say that," he chuckles. "Even better would be to say that I'm going to 'put up big numbers'," he tells me. "That means that I'm going to have a lot of passing yards and a high scoring game," he explains.

  "Okay, then. You're going to put up some really big numbers when you get out there on the gridiron and tear up the field." I use every football-related lexicon I can think of in one motivational statement.

  "Juliette, you're right. My luck hasn't run out. I still have you, which makes me the luckiest man alive." He puts an arm around my waist and pulls me in close to him as we continue our stroll down the boardwalk. I slip one hand into the back pocket of his jeans as we walk and talk some more. Thankfully, Evan's mood has lifted and I'm once again joined by the joyful man that I love and adore.

  We make it as far as the Steel Pier when Evan's stomach growls so loudly, I swear everyone around us could hear it. "I guess you heard that?" he asks.

  "Evan, even that sweet old lady over there with the hearing aid could hear that. I guess it's time for us to eat dinner." When Evan's training, he takes in thousands of calories a day. We haven't eaten in a while, and my man needs his nutrition. "What do you have in mind?" I ask.

  "Let's head back to Caesar's. There's a nice casual sushi bar I'd love to try. You up for Japanese tonight, baby?" Evan asks as we turn around and make our way back to the casino. I love sushi, so he gets no arguments from me.

  We make it back to the casino in record time.

  After dinner, we decide to do some window-shopping at the Pier Shops at Caesars. We stop in one of my favorite stores, Lush, where I pick out a few bath bombs and Evan actually lets me pay for it myself. That is a rare occasion, happening about as often as a blue moon.

  When we approach a Victoria's Secret store, Evan insists that I allow him to pick out a few items. When I try to argue that I really don't want him spending money on me for things I don't need, he argues that the things he's picking out aren't for me, they're for him and therefore, I have no say in the matter.

  "But Evan, none of those are in your size," I taunt him while he's at the counter paying for the items. The cashier looks at Evan a little cautiously, raising her eyebrows and shaking her head at the thought.

  "Excuse me?" he looks at me quizzically. "Oh, you're a real comedian, aren't you?" he teases.

  When we leave the store, Evan looks at me sternly. "You're going to pay for that little remark young lady."

  "I could think of a few ways you could let me make it up to you when we get home, chief," I tell him in my sweetest voice.

  "Oh, you'll make it up to me later, that's for sure. But for now, you're going to let me buy something just for you and that smart mouth of yours. We're going into the next store I spot and you're not going to argue with me, got it?" he warns.

  "But Evan, I don’t ... " I begin to protest, but he stops me with a kiss.

  "No arguments. Ready? I've already spotted our next stop. Let's go, hop to it!" he commands.

  He drags me into a jewelry store. Not just any jewelry store, Tiffany & Co., of all places. "Evan, there's no way I'm going to let you buy me something here. It's out of the question."

  "So, where shall we start? Earrings? Necklaces? Watches? Rings?" he asks, not even looking at me.

  "Didn't you hear me, Evan? It's too much. I don't want you spending your money on jewelry I don't really need." He's ignoring me completely.

  "Okay then, we'll start with earrings." He takes me by the hand and drags me to the counter where the most beautiful earrings are displayed. The moment we step towards a counter, we are greeted by a young sales assistant impeccably dressed and beautifully coiffed. She greets me with a monotone, "Can I help you," until she spots Evan. From that point on, I am merely an afterthought. All attention is given to the handsome man standing beside me.

  "Good evening, sir. My name is Stephanie. What brings you to Tiffany's this evening?" she asks. Her tone has completely changed. She is now eager and enthusiastic with a smile plastered across her face.

  "We're not exactly sure. I was thinking about a pair of earrings for my girlfriend. Something elegant, perhaps. I'd really like to find something special," he tells Stephanie.

  "Certainly, sir. What type of jewelry does your girlfriend typically wear? White gold, yellow gold, silver, diamonds?" she asks. Her eyes haven't left Evan's face. She's playing with her hair and biting her lip, completely ignoring my existence.

  "I'm not sure. Why don't you ask her," he suggests, wrapping an arm around me and pulling me close.

  "Oh, I didn't realize. I, um, thought, she was. I, uh, yes. Well, then, I'm sorry, dear, what's your name?" she stutters.

  "Juliette," I reply. Now I'm determined to allow Evan to buy me a pair of earrings tonight, if for no other reason than just to prove a point to this woman.

  "What a lovely name. Okay, Juliette, let's see what we can find for you tonight." She takes out a few trays of sparking studs earrings in every jewel known to man. But Evan insists on something more dramatic. "Well, if it's drama you're looking for, sir, then there's only one choice. Diamond teardrop earrings."

  She takes out a single box of the most exquisite pair of earrings. She removes them from the box and hands one to me. "These earrings were designed by Elsa Peretti and feature pavé diamonds set in pure platinum." The earrings are stunning. I hold them up to my ear and look in the small mirror Stephanie placed on the counter.

  "Oh, Evan, they're gorgeous. But when would I need to wear something so extravagant? Maybe we can find something a little simpler. Something I would be able to wear to work."

  "Juliette, you have the Soft Opening coming up in just two days. And don't forget, we're going to the ESPYs this summer. Simple's not going to cut in on the red carpet," he insists. Evan hasn't even asked how much they cost. "They look beautiful on you, baby. The only question is whether or not you like them."

  "Like them? Of course I like them. What girl wouldn't absolutely love them?" I do love them, but I hate the idea of Evan spending what must be a small fortune on something so insignificant.

  "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?" h
e 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’.”

  Chapter Four

  Where There’s Smoke, There’s Fire

  Evan 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 laments.

  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 any more, 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.