Reality Blurred

by Aven Ellis

  My heart drops to the bottom of my stomach. How long has he felt like this and not told me? I know he said there were photographers sometimes, but is this how they make him feel every day? Terrible? Pissed off?

  I’m doing this to him, I think, biting down hard on my lip. This is what I’ve made his life into: a circus that he never wanted to be a part of.

  I force down the nausea and read the article. Tom declares he broke up with Miley because when he saw pictures of me with Maxime, it made him realize he had never gotten over me. He regretted letting me go but felt “obligated” to Miley because he chose her.

  Oh my God, he’s such a wanker, I think. I continue to read:

  DW: So, when did the doubts creep in, that you chose the wrong woman?

  TB: The second Skye walked away. That’s when I knew I made a mistake, but there was no way out. I couldn’t call her back and tell the producers I changed my mind.

  Vomit. He could have. The producers weren’t holding him hostage against his will.

  He’s such an idiot, I think. I say a prayer of thanks for it, though, because otherwise, I’d never have found Maxime.

  I go back the article:

  DW: How did Miley take the news that you were still in love with Skye?

  TB: Miley and I tried to make things work, but in the end, my feelings for Skye were just undeniable. We’ve mutually ended the relationship, and I have nothing but the utmost respect for Miley.

  DW: Skye is now linked with professional hockey player Maxime Laurent of the Denver Mountain Lions. Have you talked to her about your feelings?

  TB: I know Skye is dating Maxime, but there’s no way she can have the same feelings for him that she had for me. What we had was special, a once in a lifetime love. Skye said that. She told me, the night before the finale, that I was her first love and her only love, that she couldn’t imagine a life without me. When she left, she told me she could never give her heart to another man in the way she gave it to me. That was off-camera. So, no, I don’t believe she can love Maxime the way she loves me. I can only hope that she will give me a chance to make things right with her and give her the love she’s always wanted.

  It’s all I can do not to throw my phone against the wall in a rage after I’m done.

  “How dare he,” I say, my voice low and shaking with anger. “How dare he say he’s my only love.”

  I hand my phone to Sierra, who reads the article. When I hear her gasp aloud, it confirms it reads just as bad as I thought.

  “He’s a total wanker,” she says angrily.

  She passes the phone to JoJo. “Wait, he’s saying he had no choice but to let you walk away?”

  “Keep reading; it gets better,” Sierra says.

  JoJo gasps and curses and then hands me back the phone. “I can’t believe this jerk is doing this now.”

  “He only wants what he can’t have,” Sierra says.

  “Or publicity,” JoJo says. “He landed himself a cover with this piece of fiction.”

  “None of that matters,” I say, getting up and beginning to pace. Some WAGS come over to say hi, and if they’ve read the article, they are kind enough to act oblivious about it. After they move on to grab food at the buffet, I stop and face Sierra and JoJo. “What does matter is what this is going to do to Maxime. How is he going to interpret this? What will this do to us?”

  My voice cracks as I say the word “us.”

  Sierra leaps up and puts her hands on my shoulders. “Hey. Maxime knows you. He knows this is your past, and it has nothing to do with your future.”

  I shake my head. “You can’t deny how miserable he seems in that picture, Sierra.”

  “Everyone has a bad day,” JoJo says firmly, standing up and huddling around me so we can talk more quietly. “Don’t make this snowball into something it isn’t.”

  “This isn’t the life he wanted. Don’t you see that?” I cry softly. “Do you think he wants his love life dissected in the tabloids? Do you? You know Maxime. You know how protective he is of his privacy, and now it’s gone. From taunts from fans and opposing players to photographers waiting for him after practice to people speculating if I still love Tom? I should have ended it before this got out of control,” I say, my emotions reeling.

  “Wait. You’re not going there. We won’t let you,” JoJo says. “You did that once, and Maxime told you it wasn’t going to work; he’s not going to let you do that now.”

  “I’m not going to end it, but I’m certainly going to give him the choice,” I say, grabbing my purse and getting up. “I need air. I can’t breathe in here.”

  I flee to the hallway that winds around the ice rink. I’m cold. I’m in tears. I deserve to feel terrible for what I’ve brought on Maxime.

  I don’t want to lose him, I think with anguish. But how can I expect him to stay after this?

  I need to give him the option to leave. He needs to consider that for his own sake.

  Which is exactly what I will do after the game tonight.

  ***

  Maxime played a horrible game tonight.

  I fight back tears as I wait for him to come into the lounge. The Mountain Lions won 2-1, but I’ve never seen Maxime play so poorly. I stayed in the WAGS lounge and watched it on TV, feeling sick the entire time. I know he must have read that article before the game, or at least saw the cover. He provoked a fight that landed him with a bloodied nose and a trip to the penalty box. He turned the puck over at a critical time, which led to a Miami goal.

  I watched in horror as his game fell apart on the ice, making shots that were wide of the net by a mile and multiple defensive mistakes. This is what I did to him. Guilt ate away at my heart.

  Somehow, the rest of the team rallied, and Cade scored the winning goal in the third period. But I know Maxime’s poor performance is my fault.

  Almost every player has come into the lounge, except for Maxime, which scares me.

  Does he hate me? Does he not want to see me?

  Sierra and Jude, along with Cade and JoJo, have lingered, not wanting to leave me alone.

  “You all go ahead,” I say. “I’ll be okay.”

  “No, we’re not leaving you,” Sierra says, shaking her head.

  “Whatever happened on the ice,” Jude says, squeezing my shoulder, “it’s not you. Everyone makes mental mistakes and has bad games.”

  “Yeah, like Jude, whenever he runs out of Pot Noodle cups,” Cade adds, shooting me a smile. “His game is shit when that happens.”

  I don’t say anything. I know better.

  I know the truth.

  “Seriously, don’t put all this on yourself,” Cade says. “Max is responsible for his play on the ice. Not you.”

  “He’s right.”

  I turn around and see Maxime in the doorway. His eye and nose are both swollen from his fight, and there’s no light in his eyes.

  The second I see his expression, I know I’ve lost him.

  I begin to shake as Maxime nears us.

  I don’t hear the small talk that is being made as my friends leave. I wrap my arms around myself as a chill comes over me.

  Within minutes, it’s just Maxime and me in the lounge.

  He stares at me for a long time, not saying a word.

  “We need to talk,” he finally says, his words strangled.

  Those words shatter my heart into a million fragments.

  I sink down on the sofa, and he sits next to me. Maxime doesn’t reach for my hand or brush his fingertips against my cheek like he always does.

  Instead his hands, the warm, strong hands which are always reaching for me, wanting to physically connect with me, remain limp at his sides.

  I stare straight ahead, unable to speak.

  Maxime exhales loudly. “I read the article.”

  I don’t say anything.

  “Do … do you still love him?”

  I jerk my head toward him. “Of course not!”

  Maxime is silent for a moment. “I’m not sure.”


  “Maxime, I won’t lie to you; I did say those words to Tom because that is how I felt at the time,” I say. “That’s not how I feel now. I don’t love him.”

  I love you, I think with anguish.

  Maxime gets up and begins pacing, pulling at his hair as if he’s tortured with what is going on in his head. I stand up and put my hand on his arm to stop him.

  “You don’t have to stay in this relationship if you don’t want to,” I say, my voice breaking. “I don’t want to keep hurting you like this.”

  Maxime jerks his arm away from me, and I’m shocked to see anger flicker across his face. “Why are you always shoving me away?”

  “What?” I ask, confused.

  “You’re always doubting if I want to be with you,” he blurts out. “You tried to break up with me before over it. Do you not believe what I feel for you? Or do you not believe yourself?”

  His words slap across my face, leaving a sting I can’t erase.

  “I am sorry if I’m worried about you,” I explain. “Everything I’ve said is because I don’t want my life to upend yours. I don’t want you to resent me for dragging you into the tabloids.”

  “How many times,” Maxime says, his voice shaking with anger, “do I have to tell you I don’t freaking care? Or is this your sub-conscious at work? So when you’re bored of me, you have an automatic out that makes you feel better about yourself?”

  Anger floods me. “That is your issue, Maxime. I love the life we have together. I like being at home with you and going out to dinner. Why don’t you believe I’m happy with that?”

  “You don’t look or act happy,” he snaps. “You’ve been nothing but miserable since we started having sex. Should I take that as a clue?”

  “You did not just say that,” I say, furious. “You know why I’ve been miserable. I’m working my ass off to prove I’m more than a reality dating show contestant. Not just for my career but for you. For your family and friends, to show them I’m worthy of you. I need to prove I’m more than what they have seen have seen online, which is a reality show loser!”

  “What? What are you talking about? My family and friends love you. And I don’t need you to prove anything to me!” Maxime yells, and for the first time, I see him losing his tightly wrapped self-control. “I not only accept your past, but I also don’t care about it. You are the one who doesn’t accept yourself!”

  His words slam me in the gut.

  He might be right, but I’m too upset and angry to concede anything to him right now. My emotions are a swirl of hurt, and I’m still in fight mode.

  “What about you?” I cry, turning the tables on him. “You’re obsessed with the fact that I’m suddenly going to resent you for not wanting to go out to nightclubs or bar hop. That was Juliette’s issue, not mine. I’m sorry she didn’t appreciate you for who you are, but I do. But you choose to ignore that and obsess over the fact that one day I’m going to wake up and decide to leave you for it. Do you not understand? I want the man you are. In fact, I’ve dedicated a whole chunk of my book to writing about you!”

  Maxime stares at me in complete shock as soon as I admit I am writing about him. I panic. Oh, shit, shit, that is not the way I wanted to tell him about the book.

  “What did you just say?” Maxime asks, his voice low. “Are you writing about me?”

  “It’s not what you think,” I say, putting my hand out.

  “Do you know me at all?” Maxime’s voice resonates with shock. “You put my life into a book? For everyone to read? Without my permission? You know I would never agree to that, Skye, so you went around behind my back and put it in? How could you do this to me? Am I just fodder for a sleazy tell-all? Were you going to break up with me after that?”

  His accusations shatter my heart. I can’t stand here and listen to this, to the man I love say things that are killing me to hear.

  I angrily grab my purse, whirling around to face him.

  “No. The truth is, Maxime, I was going to have you read the whole section before I ever submitted it, to see if you were okay with any of it. I would never publish anything about you without your permission. But I fell in love with you, and that love inspired the words to flow from me. I wanted other young women at a relationship crossroads to find what I had with you: a man who would revere them, be a partner to them, and someone who would love them in the way they deserved to be loved.

  “That part of my story was the happiest part of all,” I continue. “Through all this crap I went through this past year, I found you. That made all this awfulness worthwhile. We discovered something beautiful and special together, or so I thought. What we had wasn’t created in the bubble of a TV show. It wasn’t manipulated by producers. I found you, and I love you in a way I’ve never loved anyone before you. This is real,” I say, my voice catching. “At least it is for me.”

  Maxime’s eyes grow watery the second my voice breaks. I see him searching my eyes; his chest rises and falls rapidly as my words crash over him.

  “Skye, I—”

  “No, Maxime,” I say, cutting him off, “don’t say you love me just because I threw this admission on you. I don’t think you do love me as much as my heart wants to believe you do. Because if you think I’m capable of writing a sleazy tell-all, you don’t know me, let alone love me.”

  “Skye,” Maxime says, moving toward me and putting his hands on my arms. “I—”

  I break free from him. I can’t take this anymore. I need to get out of here, away from the pain. I need to breathe. I’m falling apart at the seams.

  “No, I can’t,” I whisper as my vision becomes blurry. “I can’t.”

  I turn and run out of the lounge, ignoring his cries for me to stop, and leave my Maxime—and my heart—behind.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  I walk out of the arena, numb. I don’t know where I’m going. It doesn’t matter. Because no matter where I am, I’m going to have a shattered heart.

  As I stand outside the glittering glass structure, I try to wrap my head around what just happened.

  I broke up with Maxime.

  My legs start to buckle. Tears stream down my face, and I make no move to stop them. If people want to take pictures of me like this, they can.

  This is reality.

  Maxime and I are over.

  I drop down on the curb, drawing my knees to my chest, and let myself fall apart. I put my head down and cry for Maxime. Part of myself is with him back in that lounge, a part I don’t feel I will ever get back. I cry for the future I saw so clearly with him, the life we could have created together, the adventures and holidays, and maybe even children, that would have followed.

  He’ll have that life with someone else now.

  As I picture my Maxime holding another woman in his arms, smiling at her in the way he did to me, as if she’s the only woman in the world, I begin sobbing uncontrollably with grief.

  You’ll always be my Maxime, I think with anguish. Always.

  I hear a car approach and glance up. A black SUV stops at the curb, and a door opens. Through my tears, I watch as Gavin gets out of the car on crutches.

  “Skye?” he asks, hobbling up to me. “What are you doing out here? Are you okay?”

  His blue eyes widen as he gets closer and sees I’m anything but okay.

  I shake my head. “M-Maxime. We b-b-broke up.”

  A fresh round of tears breaks free. Gavin stares down at me in shock.

  “What?” he asks. “God, what happened?”

  “Just go, Gavin,” I say. “I know Maxime is your teammate and your friend.”

  “Wrong. I consider both of you my friends. I’m not leaving you here, not like this. You’re coming with me.”

  I shake my head. “No, I can’t let you do that.”

  “Skye, I’m not leaving you in a deserted parking lot downtown. Please get in the car.”

  “I’ll get an Uber ride.”

  Gavin lets out an exasperated sigh. “You’re not
getting an Uber. I have a driver due to my leg; he can drive us to Boulder as easily as he can back to my place. We’ll talk on the way back, okay?”

  Gavin’s face reflects genuine concern.

  The captain is not going to take no for an answer.

  “Okay,” I say, sniffling.

  I get in on one side, and Gavin gets in on the other. He places his crutches between us in the back seat of the Cadillac SUV, and the driver comes around to shut the doors.

  “Dave, change of plans,” Gavin says. “We need to take Ms. Reeve back to Boulder before heading back to my place.”

  “Yes, sir,” Dave says.

  Once Dave is back in the driver’s seat, he asks for my address and then raises the privacy glass between us. He heads out of the parking lot, onto the streets of downtown Denver, illuminated by the glittering lights of the skyscrapers at night.

  “Tell me what happened,” Gavin says gently.

  The city blurs in my vision as we drive. “We had a horrible fight,” I say, my voice sounding strangled as I try to say the words. “Maxime and I argued after this gossipy article came out in Dishing Weekly. My ex said a bunch of stupid stuff, things that made Maxime wonder if I still had feelings for him. Which I don’t. I felt terrible about dragging Maxime through all this garbage that is my life, and I told him I’d understand if he didn’t want to stay with me. That’s when he blew up. It all escalated from there.”

  I find the courage to glance at Gavin, who is studying me carefully.

  “Of course he blew up. He loves you, and the last thing he wants is to leave you. Maxime envisions a future with you; don’t you see that?”

  My heart stops beating. “Did he say that to you?”

  “Yes. I went through that shit with Veronica, and Maxime told me when I find the right woman, like he did, it will be crystal clear. I will want to marry her, and I’ll have no doubts. I will see my future with her, just like he did with you.”

  A strangled cry escapes my throat.

  Maxime saw the same future I did.

  A future we both threw away.

  Tears begin to stream down my face. “How did we let this happen to us, Gavin?”