by Dee Lagasse
“Oh hey,” he says, patting the open cushion next to him. “Look, there’s a seat for you, right there.”
While also eyeing the plate on the table in front of us, I all but drool as I reach for the clear tumbler, full of cold brew coffee. The sweet vanilla cream tastes like liquid gold as I feel my body thanking me for the caffeine boost. After taking a few long sips from the straw, I put it back down on the table, grabbing the plate as I take my spot on the couch next to Bodie.
“What is this?” I ask. The sandwich looks and smells delicious, but I’m still not awake enough to deal with any culinary surprises.
“I used some of the balsamic chicken left from our salads and made a chicken caprese panini. It’s just chicken, mozzarella, tomato, and a little pesto on focaccia bread,” he explains.
Taking a bite, I decide right then and there that had I not loved him before, this would have been the determining moment. As I, very un-princess-like, inhale the panini, Bodie’s phone rings. Turning it to face me, I see Nora’s face on the screen and nod.
“She probably just wants to see how last night went,” I say. “Answer it.”
While he’s on the phone, Roxy realizes we’re both in the same spot and stands in front of Bodie, her tail wagging rapidly. Placing her nose on his lap, she looks at him pitifully until he pats his thighs, implying she can come up.
After a ten-minute conversation with his sister, Bodie ends the call and swipes through his phone, pulling up Instagram. At some point last night, Luke had gotten ahold of some of the pictures from my parents’ anniversary party. Before Bodie and I even left for the night, there were three photographs taken during Bodie’s and my dance posted to my social media. The post captioned, “Tonight, HRH Princess Sutton and Mr. Bodie Cambridge attended the 40th Anniversary party for her parents, Princess Sara and Prince Sterling. This is their first official event as a couple,” had gotten over eight hundred thousand likes and almost six thousand comments overnight.
The media had found Bodie’s house and were already camping outside, waiting for his arrival back in Willoughby. She spent the morning out of the office, working from Bodie’s house, afraid someone would try to break in before deciding to call him to let him know she was upgrading his security system and adding a manned security team outside of the house until the interest in Bodie and I died down.
After watching TV for a while, we decided to put on some proper clothing and leave the house for dinner, neither one of us feeling much like cooking tonight. We couldn’t get outside the gate of the compound because people were lining the gates outside of Basingstoke, cameras at the ready.
I knew there would be some interest in our relationship, especially in the beginning, but I didn’t expect this. People had reacted the same way when Simone and Jameson announced their engagement, but I’m not the future queen of Windham. I’m just…me.
Opting to stay in and avoid dealing with the craziness for one more night, Luke and Clementine join us for dinner instead, bringing over an abundance of leftover Chinese they had ordered the night before.
And though we tried to keep the conversation personal, the chime of Luke’s phone constantly alerting him of more emails from the Royal House made it hard for us to focus on anything other than the craziness that was now surrounding us. When dishes were cleared, Clementine and I made hot cocoa with Irish cream for the four of us and we moved to the sitting room, attempting to distract ourselves with a movie.
As we sat in the comfort of the Cottage, pretending tomorrow wasn’t inevitable, we all knew, everything was about to change.
Chapter 14
Bodie
We expected something. We knew after releasing the press statement and going to her parents’ anniversary party together, things would be different. Thanks to baseball, I was somewhat used to being photographed and having people assess me, but that had always been on my ability to pitch.
Speed and strikes had been all that had mattered to the scouts and the people tracking my career since then. In and around Boston, there would be the random fan wanting a picture and I always graciously “selfied” or signed anything they asked for. But now it was personal. Like a caged animal, every move I made was documented and analyzed.
As expected, the paparazzi were waiting for me when I got off the plane from spending a week and a half in Abington with Sutton. I needed to figure out a few things before the season started, otherwise, I would have been perfectly content staying safely hidden in Pearce Cottage.
With a contract extension opportunity or free agency both on the line, I needed to be back in Boston. There were some things Nora and Oliver couldn’t do with me over the phone, and I needed some time alone to weigh out my options.
As soon as I stepped out of the security area, there was an onslaught of paparazzi, shouting at me, snapping pictures. And I smiled. Like a fucking fool, I waved and smiled, and very politely repeated “no comment” a dozen or so times before making it to Oliver’s truck.
After seeing the way our social media had gone crazy over the discovery of our relationship, I had expected things to change. What I didn’t expect was for the press to infiltrate my little town. Willoughby had been overrun. And just like Sutton asked, I’ve done nothing.
It’s been almost a month and things still haven’t settled down. There have been stories printed, digging into my past. I’ve let reporters, and God knows who else, camp outside my house. Everyone from my neighbors, coaches, teammates, and my childhood friends have all been asked for “my story.”
My siblings and my dad have been staying with me for the last two weeks because they’ve been following and harassing them too. Letting Oliver and Helena take the guest room, my dad and Nora both refused to take my room, despite me trying to offer it to them every night. Rush ordering two deluxe futons for them, I set them up in the game room, giving them each a temporary bed during the madness.
Hooded sweatshirts, hats, and ducked heads have become the norm. The people of Willoughby were patient. My neighbors offered smiles of sympathy and had only complained when a news van was blocking their driveway. Thankfully, everyone pushed the media away, refusing to give them any details about me or my life.
Well, everyone except Hannah Gallagher, apparently. My ex-wife is taking the opportunity to go on Good Morning America. As I sit with untouched coffee, waiting for the commercial break to end, I feel nauseated. In three short minutes, the country would get to watch her “tell-all exclusive.”
Nora, Helena, and Sutton all begged me not to watch it.
“It doesn’t matter what she says,” Sutton pleaded, trying to convince me to turn the television off. “We know what’s real. You and me, and our families. That’s all that matters.”
I wish I could not care. I wish it didn’t matter to me what she has to say about me, how she’s going to define our marriage and who I was as a husband, but it does. It matters.
As the show comes back from commercial break, Hannah smiles brightly into the camera. With her hair done and her perfectly coordinated outfit, my ex-wife sits, proud as a peacock on a cushioned chair in a room full of people.
It wasn’t so bad at first. She went over seeing us at the concert, admitting for the first time publicly, it had been her that leaked the picture of us that night. But as the interview went on, the conversation shifted.
When the topic of our “short” marriage was brought up, she blamed me and pressure from my family for it ending. She said my brother and sister were “overbearing and needed to be in my business all the time,” claiming she wasn’t the least bit surprised to see them with me when she ran into me at the concert.
“They’re completely co-dependent, every one of the Cambridge siblings. I mean, I’m close to my sister, but they take it to a level I’ve never seen before. Nora and Oliver are involved in everything Bodie does.”
Wiping crocodile tears from her eyes, she apologized claiming doing the interview was “causing her to deal with emotions she’d been holdi
ng in for years.”
“Being Bodie Cambridge’s wife was the loneliest time of my life. Princess or not, Sutton needs to accept the fact that she will always come after his career and his family. No woman on this earth will ever come between Bodie Cambridge and his one true love - baseball.”
On national television, for millions of people to see, she painted me as a cold, unsympathetic husband who didn’t care about anyone other than himself.
“I wanted it to work out so bad. I begged him to go to couples’ counseling (a lie), I went out of my way to get him to notice me (yes, throwing dishes at me to get my attention when she wasn’t getting her way), but nothing worked. I mean, who knows, maybe this is about the money for them,” she suggested. “Oliver Cambridge was always looking for endorsement deals and ways to grow Bodie’s bank account. I was never really sure if Bodie loved the game or the paychecks more.”
Until she was asked if she still loved me.
“Well you know what they say,” she chuckled. “You always love your first love.”
Yeah, she loved me so much that as the day went on, more “exclusive” interviews began to surface. She provided multiple magazines and newspapers different photographs from our wedding and the duration of our marriage. Giving them all diverse content, changing the narrative just a little each time.
The tabloids and gossip columns are having a fucking field day. At my expense. More photographers were outside of my house tonight than there had been in months. We needed to call the police so my dad could pull into the driveway.
After a day of chaos, there was nothing I was looking forward to more than Sutton and my nightly video chat. Saying goodnight to my family, I lock myself behind my bedroom door, ready to feel comfort in being in the presence of the woman I love more than anything. Even if it’s only through the phone.
As soon as Sutton answered the call, I knew there was something wrong. Her eyes are bloodshot, surrounded by pink, swollen skin. And if I needed any more of an inkling to tell me things weren’t okay, she didn’t answer it smiling with her signature, “Hey good lookin’.”
A sinking realization made my stomach drop like a thousand-pound weight. She had watched the interview, she’d seen the articles.
“Please tell me you didn’t believe a word out of her mouth,” I sigh.
“It’s not, right?” she asks, barely above a whisper. “It’s not about the money. Please tell me it’s not.”
Hannah’s manipulation had worked. For the first time in our relationship, even with all the time and miles between us, Sutton is questioning me and what she meant to me.
“If I have to tell you,” I start, terrified thinking about the worst possible outcome of where this conversation could lead. “Maybe we aren’t where I thought we were.”
A high-pitched scream comes from behind my door, loud enough for Sutton to hear it and eyes grow wide with worry.
“What was that?” she asks.
“I don’t know, Sutton,” I snap. “I’m too busy in here, trying to wrap my head around the fact my girlfriend thinks I’m using her for money.”
“What if it’s Nora or Helena?” she questions, ignoring my comment.
“I’ll call you back,” I tell her, ending the call before she has the chance to say anything more. Regretting how I’m treating her immediately. The last twenty-four hours have been the ultimate test, and right now, I’m failing miserably.
“Bodie, you need to get out here now!” my brother yells just as I open my bedroom door to see where the screaming had come from. Assuming it was something silly, like a spider crawling across the floor, I didn’t think my presence was necessary, but the urgency in Oliver’s tone is telling me otherwise.
“What happened?” I asked, finding my sister-in-law white as a ghost, sitting on the couch, in shock.
“Helena was bringing the trash out to the garage,” Oliver starts. “And there was a man coming into the garage through the side door. You need to call the cops and get these fucking people out of here.”
The next two hours are spent working with the Willoughby Police Department, feeling completely defeated when they say since Helena can’t identify the man that tried breaking and entering into my garage, there isn’t much they can do based on the large group of people outside. The only relief came from them telling us and the hordes of people outside of my house that if they were still there after ten o’clock, they would be ticketed.
Taking a video of four police cars with their flashing blue lights and the dozen or so media vans around my house, I send it to Sutton with the text, “Call me ASAP.”
Within seconds, my phone is ringing, and I excuse myself from the room, unsure how this was going to end. Right now, I can only think of one outcome. As much as I don’t want it, as much as it kills me, I feel like I don’t have any other choice at this point. I can’t live the rest of my life like this. I can’t subject my family to a life like this. They already shared me with the MLB. Even with two World Series wins, never in my decade of professional baseball had we ever experienced anything like this. At this point, it’s not just about the nuisance, it’s about their safety.
She may be questioning my motives, but when she lays her head on her pillows tonight, she doesn’t have to worry about people trying to break into her house.
“Sutton, I can’t do this. I can’t do this anymore.”
With those words, I break. Falling to the floor as my knees buckle out from underneath me.
“What exactly can’t you do anymore, Bodie?” Her tone is clipped and angry.
“This.” I sigh. I can feel my heart breaking piece by piece as the words leave my mouth. “I can’t do this. I can’t have my exes on national television telling the world how much of a monster I am, making you question what you mean to me. I can’t have my family’s safety in jeopardy every single day. I knew things were going to change, but this is too much. If it was just about me, I could figure it all out. We could work through it, but Sutton, people are trying to break into my garage. Oliver and Helena are in my guest room, and Nora and my dad are sleeping on futons in my basement because we don’t know if it’s safe for them to go home. This isn’t fair to them.”
“You promised we could get through anything.” Her voice cracks, causing me to wince. I’m hurting her, and I hate every fucking second of it. “Over and over. You promised. Damn it, Bodie. You bloody promised me. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I let Hannah get to me. I know it’s not about the money.”
“Sometimes love isn’t enough, Sutton,” I say coldly, trying to hide the fact I’m two seconds away from breaking down. “Maybe in another lifetime this could have worked. We could have worked.”
“It works in this one,” she practically shouts into the phone before letting out a small sob. “We work in this one. Don’t do this. Please. Please don’t give up on me, on us. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
The desperation in her voice cuts me like a knife right to my chest.
“I need to go,” I lie, because I know if I stay on this phone for much longer, I’m going to cave. I’m going to tell her that everything will be okay when I know it won’t. I’ll let my heart take over when my head needs to handle this. “The police need to talk to me about the game plan for getting all these reporters out of the neighborhood.”
“Let me fix this,” she pleads, disregarding my attempt at getting off the phone. “Please. Let me try to fix this. Give me a day. Twenty-four hours. That’s all I’m asking for. If you love me, you’ll let me try.”
“That’s not fair —”
“No, what’s not fair,” she interjects, “is that you’re walking away from us over something that is beyond our control. You didn’t ask for Hannah to go on national television and I didn’t ask for the paparazzi to hound you and your family. I didn’t want this for you or for your dad, or Oliver and Helena, and Nora. I love them too, you know.”
I know.
Nora, Helena, Simone, and Sutton now have a group text that does
n’t ever end. It’s titled “Sister Sisters.”
She FaceTimed my dad all excited the first time she made “his cookies,” and he was genuinely so proud of her as he told me about the call.
She sent Oliver a potential contract for a book deal, asking him to look it over before she sent it to her lawyer because she knew “he would advise her on what was genuinely best for her.”
“Okay,” I tell her, letting my heart take over again.
“Okay?” she asks, hopefully.
“Yeah,” I sigh. “I want to believe that you’re going to fix this. I just don’t see how, but I want you to. I don’t want to lose you.”
“Then don’t,” she says. “All I’m asking for is a little time and a lot of faith.”
“A little time and a lot of faith,” I repeat somberly. “You got it.”
When we hang up the phone, I let the sinking hope in my stomach finally drop like a lead anchor. Giving Sutton false hope was the stupidest thing I could have done. Over the next twenty-four hours, I need to accept that it’s over and put a wall around my heart. Tomorrow, I would have no choice.
It’s the beginning of the end.
Chapter 15
Sutton
Without regard for protocol, I don’t bother announcing myself as I storm into the sitting room where my grandparents take their afternoon tea every day.
I barely slept last night. My relationship was at risk. Everything was on the line right now.
And it’s my fault. I let his fame-hungry, narcissistic ex-wife affect me. I questioned his love for me. She had accomplished exactly what she wanted from that interview. Even if only temporarily, she had gotten me to second guess a love I know is selfless and genuine.
On top of the insanity surrounding him always, I’m lucky I even have the chance to fix it. I’d spent all day wracking my brain, trying to think of something…anything I could do. Even this was a long shot, but it’s all I’ve got.
