SIX #2
“It’s all anyone can talk about right now,” Rick says, his voice sounding odd.
Almost proud.
I catch a glance at the replies, and before Rick can pull his phone back, I snatch it out of his hands and scroll.
No rivalry tonight. Praying for Emerald and for Haymaker. No one deserves this.
Emerald’s one of the sweetest women I’ve ever met. Melanie and I are keeping you guys in our prayers. @HaymakerHayden @EmeraldOs
The entire fanbase is always behind you, Emerald and Haymaker.
It’s nice to see the supportive words, the well wishes for Emerald, and it makes me smile seeing some of my former teammates replying.
Then I scroll down, and red, blinding rage pulls a veil over my eyes.
Glad someone put the bitch in her place, @HaymakerHayden you can do better.
So... what I’m hearing is @HaymakerHayden is single now? DM me, Haymaker. I’ll give you some comfort.
if she dies, good fucking riddance. bitch has been a curse on the bullies. maybe this will finally lift it.
The letters start swirling together, especially as my heart starts pounding in my chest.
Words.
I had convinced myself that they were nothing, that they couldn’t hurt. Not after being told how stupid I was for being unable to read, not for being taunted for being big and slow. Words could never hurt me any more than I allowed them to.
But these words? Vile abuse directed at my wife, wishing for her to die, all because of fucking hockey.
And how she almost did.
This is agony.
A tremor runs from my hands up my arm. I squeeze the phone in my hand hard enough for the metal to protest. My heart rate ramps up until it’s slamming against my ribcage and I can feel it in my stomach, in my ears, in my throat .
My temples throb with a building headache, images of my wife in the snow, and the abuse these fucking people are wishing upon her wash over me all at once. I don’t realize I’m breathing like an angry bull until Rick grabs the phone from my hands.
“Don’t read that shit.”
“Did you see what they’re saying?”
“Hayden, you know these people are nothing. What do I always say—they’re jealous.”
“Look what happened!” I yell, wild emotion surging up from the coach as I gesture around us. “My wife was attacked! You said not to say anything! That it would only make it worse, so I didn’t! My wife was attacked, and it’s all my fucking fault!”
“Hayden—”
“I shouldn’t have gone to LA—”
“It was quarter a million, Haymaker.”
“And my wife is priceless!” I roar, the power behind it making Rick flinch back. “My wife is fighting for her life in this hospital. Because I didn’t speak up. I didn’t set boundaries. And now she’s...”
I trail off, the adrenaline that had surged drains away. I collapse back onto the couch, my elbows on my knees, my head in my hands. I don’t cry, I don’t have any more tears to spare, and I’m too fucking angry to cry.
But I feel defeated. I’ve never felt this sense of loss before, not in the playoffs, not when my father cut me off, not ever.
But with Emerald.
I could lose everything but still have her, and I would be alright.
But if I lose her—even if she survives this—and I lose her...
I will truly have nothing left .
“Hey,” Rick says, laying a hand on my shoulder. His tone is light, softer than I’ve ever heard from him, and for a brief moment, it’s comforting. Until he opens his mouth again.
“At least this will take attention off the loss tonight.”
The words reverberate in my brain, repeating over and over and over again.
“What?”
My head snaps up, and he seems to realize what he just said because his mouth opens and closes like a fish.
“What did you just say?” I whisper, dropping my hands and curling them into fists. Rick eyes them for a brief moment before looking back up to my face once more. He swallows, face draining of all color.
“Hey, Haymaker, I was just—”
“What did you just say, Rick?” I ask once more, without raising my voice. I don’t need to yell. I need him to feel my words. “Repeat. It.”
“I said,” he clears his throat, before dropping his voice and rushing out almost all at once. “At least this will take attention off the loss—hey, it was a joke. A bad one at that—”
I cut him off, “Why did you tell me everything was all good? That’s what you said. All good. ”
He blinks, shaking his head.
“I mean—Dave said he didn’t see her car in the WAG lot—and it was snowing hard—I figured she already left—”
“You didn’t confirm it. I asked you to send someone to make sure she got to her car safely. You didn’t confirm it—”
Rick’s face is now red, and he’s sputtering, “Listen—Haymaker—”
“Did you have something to do with it?” I ask him baldly, staring him dead in the face .
“No!” he shouts, standing from the chair and backing up to place some space between us. He holds his hands out in front of him, like placing a barrier between us. “Hayden, I swear on my mother’s grave—I had nothing to do with Emerald’s attack. I promise.”
I stand up slowly, stalking over to him, and he freezes like a deer caught in headlights.
What Rick lacks in height, he makes up for in ego. I had always thought that, but I had thought it was a good thing because he was on my team, ruthless and aggressive, able to keep up with the deals placed in my face. The contracts, the words, the nonsense.
I had thought I was lucky to have an agent like him.
Now, all I feel is regret. For not listening to Emerald when she said maybe I should meet with others.
I had allowed myself to fall into Rick's showmanship, the ruthlessness that felt oddly familiar. My father, despite all of his faults, was successful for a reason. Rick could make me successful off the ice, so that I could focus on the game and have more time with Emerald.
I was wrong.
Emerald paid the price.
I loom over Rick, putting my face directly in his, narrowing my eyes as I study every single micro-expression that crosses his face. I only find panic and desperation. Fear.
I lift up a hand and curl it into a fist so tight, my knuckles crack. His eyes bounce back and forth between my fist and my eyes, like he doesn’t know which is less scary to look at.
But the fucked up thing is that I do believe him. I don’t think he knew about the attack, knows the attacker, or orchestrated this. I just think he did fuck all to prevent it.
Just like me .
I didn’t protect my wife. That’s on me. I’ll have to live with it. Never forget, never forgive myself.
But I can do something about it now.
I can protect my wife.
I can prove to Emerald that I can protect her.
“If I find out that you had anything to do with this,” I growl, looking Rick right in his shifty little eyes. “I will fucking kill you, Rick.”
Rick’s eyes go wide, and his mouth drops open, but I continue on, keeping my voice flat, as if I’m just stating a fact.
“And that’s not an empty threat—I will gut you if you had anything to do with my wife being harmed.”
“Hayden, I promise,” his voice breaks, begging. “I had nothing to do with the attack .”
Letting it hang for a few uncomfortable seconds, watching until he looks on the verge of pissing himself, I give him a short nod. Rick exhales as I step back and walk back over to the couch. He’s bent over slightly, hand on his stomach, and practically hobbling to the door.
As I watch the pathetic sight, I make a decision then and there.
“Hey, Rick?”
He stops, his shoulders rising to his ears like a child that’s about to be scolded. Turning, his face is almost laughably hopeful.
“Y-Yeah, Haymaker?”
“You’re fired.”