“No one is saying she hasn’t,” Hilary assured me. “And we’re grateful for the boost in sales Pennington’s has seen nationally because of the campaign. We just needed to talk strategy and make sure we’re all on the same page. Ultimately, we think we shouldn’t fan the flames by giving either Maia’s mother or the tabloids the satisfaction of a reaction.”
Even though I knew that was smart, it didn’t mean I didn’t want to kill Craig Bennet for writing that article. Or Maia’s mum for hurting her. Again.
Maia’s phone had blown up with friends and family trying to contact her. Her dad and Grace were the only people she spoke to. It had been a quick call, and she’d promised to call them again when I got her home.
That could wait, though.
I parked on Hart Street and rounded the car to grab Maia’s hand as she got out.
“I’m okay,” she murmured, finally giving me a wee squeeze.
“Let’s get you inside, eh.” I locked up the car and held tight to her hand as we strode down the lane to her apartment building.
Once inside, I settled her on the couch, kneeling to help her out of her trainers.
“I’m fine.” She attempted to shove me off, but I insisted on helping.
Her tan cheeks were a concerning chalky color.
“I’ll make you some tea and toast.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“Just try to eat a wee something.” I marched into the kitchen and quickly made her a snack.
Maia looked at it like it was a pile of shite.
“Please.” I nudged the plate toward her.
On a heavy sigh, she took it and placed it beside her on the couch. She wrapped her palms around the hot mug and relaxed against the sofa, closing her eyes.
“I want to wake up from this nightmare,” she whispered.
“We’ll get through this, My. I promise.”
Before she could respond, my phone rang in my back pocket. It had been blowing up too. Callan and John had called to check in. So had Mum and Ains. I had a bunch of texts from friends and family and even from the gaffer, but I hadn’t looked at any of them.
My plan was to send the call to voicemail, but it was Brian. A text and a call? Bugger.
I groaned. “It’s the gaffer. I need to take it.”
Maia nodded. “Of course.”
I answered as I strolled out of the living room. “Everything all right?”
His gruff voice rumbled down the line. “I’m sorry to call bearing this news on such a shit day, McMillan, but we have a big fucking problem.”
I paused in Maia’s hallway. “What kind of problem?”
“Fred saw the article today about your fiancée. He also saw the response online, and he’s furious.”
Fuck! Fred Burbank had been the bane of my existence this year. I didn’t want Maia to overhear this conversation, so I stepped out of the flat. “Why is he furious about the article?”
“Because of how it looks to the club that his goalkeeper’s fiancée’s mother is a recovering junkie who sells private stories to tabloid newspapers.”
“This had nothing to do with Maia.”
“It’s her mother, Baird.”
