NINE
HAYDEN
BOSTON
DECEMBER
“Hayden.”
My name snaps me out of my haze.
Turning, I see Mom, Dad, and Ruby approach, clothes rumpled, faces exhausted, bags over their shoulders. She texted that they caught a 4 AM flight, and a glance at the clock says it’s half past 7. I stand, expecting Mom’s hug, but she only points past me to Emerald’s room.
My heart drops, but I try not to let it show on my face. Emerald is the priority.
After that fucking horrible wake-up, the doctors sedated her again so she wouldn’t hurt herself trying to get away from me. She almost ripped her chest tube out in her panic.
Dr. Rossi told me this reaction is common in assault victims, though it feels like a nightmare. Terrified I’ll scare Emerald again, I’ve been sitting outside her door.
An hour ago, DeMar brought me clothes, and the nurses showed me where I could shower. I stood under the spray, watching Emerald’s blood circle down the drain. And I had the strangest, sleep-deprived thought that I wanted it back. Because it’s part of her.
I changed into the plain white shirt and DeMar’s black athletic pants, a little tight at the waist and short at the legs. It’s better than the blood-stained jersey I was wearing.
All I can see is the fear in Emerald’s eyes .
Was she scared of the blood?
Was she scared because she was confused?
Will she always be scared of me?
The questions are too painful to linger on, especially now.
“She’s in there?” Mom asks, her voice breaking slightly.
I nod and watch helplessly as she and Dad walk right past me. Linda looks stressed and worried, but Tim looks... angry. His jaw is clenched, and he barely makes eye contact with me, his mouth set in a tight line as he follows his wife into the room.
Ruby steps toward me and thrusts her phone right in my face.
“What the fuck is this?” she hisses.
I’m not surprised, just defeated by what I see.
Someone recorded us outside the locker room and posted it online.
My voice sounds mean and cruel; it makes me flinch.
I watch my face, twisted into something ugly as I berate my wife.
The video is taken from behind Emerald, so I can’t see her face—but I don’t need to.
That heartbroken expression she wore is seared into my mind like. a brand.
But she looks so small in front of me, shoulders up to her ears, hands clenched tight at her sides.
I have to breathe through the nausea to speak.
“I fucked up, Ruby,” I croak.
“No shit,” she says dryly, making a face of pure disgust as she locks her phone, cutting off my voice.
“—just stop talking!”
I drag my hands through my hair and pull hard, remembering Emerald’s next words, said softly with a defeated look on her face.
“If that’s what you wish... ”
Stop talking.
I freeze.
I’m the one who told her to stop talking.
Now, Emerald’s jaw is shattered and wired shut.
My eyes dart around until I spot a trash can in the corner. I lunge for it, rip the lid off, and vomit hard enough to make my ribs ache. When there’s nothing left, I’m still bent over it, dry-heaving, tears leaking from my eyes as I desperately suck in air.
Is this a sick game the universe is playing? Be careful what you wish for?
Leaning back against the wall, I slide down to the floor and bury my face in my hands. “I... I hadn’t seen Emerald for two weeks—I just... I was exhausted, reacted badly, and she was in my warpath. I didn’t mean a fucking word, Ruby. I swear.”
“It doesn’t really matter if you meant it. You said it,” Ruby points to her temple. “It had to be lingering around there somewhere.”
“No.” I shake my head. “It wasn’t at her... it was Hal.”
Ruby rolls her eyes.
“You haven’t seen Hal in years, Hayden,” she sighs, disappointed. “I know he’s in your DNA. I know you were subject to him for like eighteen years, but at some point, it’s on you to carve it out of you. You were the one who said you didn’t need therapy.”
My ears grow hot. When Emerald and I were newlyweds, she mentioned seeking a therapist to help untangle Hal Sawyer in my head.
I declined.
“Emerald would have had to pay for it,” I mutter, ashamed.
Ruby waves, dismissively.
“And she would’ve paid every dime. She would do anything for you. Just like you would for her—” Her voice cracks unexpectedly, mouth pressed tight. “Actually… I don’t know that anymore.”
“I know,” I nod, jaw clenched until my teeth ache. Not even a fraction of her pain. I want more, to hurt, to bleed. “It’s not an excuse—there is none.”
“There isn’t,” Ruby says, sharp as a knife. As always. I used to think Ruby hated me. When I told Emerald this, my wife looked confused because she said Ruby loved me and wholeheartedly approved of us.
“Oh, no—you would know if Ruby doesn’t like you.”
“They’ve seen it,” I nod toward the room.
It’s the reason why they barely even glanced at me when they got here.
Ruby nods anyway and clenches her jaw.
“They’re angry. So am I. The whole world has witnessed my sister’s humiliation.
Followed by her being assaulted, it’s just the cherry on top of this shit cake,” Ruby spits, her lip curled in disgust. “Wonder what they’ll say about her now.
My money’s on someone betting she set this up for attention. ”
My eyes squeeze shut as the truth behind her words registers with me. Because everything seems to be my wife’s fault, absolving me of any responsibility. From my playing, my boundaries I’ve set with female fans, the fucking weather, I bet they’ll blame Emerald for it all.
When she’s only ever poured her goodness into me.
Ruby holds her hand out for me and helps pull me off the ground, and I grab the top of the trash can to put it back on. A passing nurse hands me a water, which I take gratefully, rinsing the nastiness from my mouth.
“How is she?” Ruby asks, glancing into the room. Her tough mask slips when she catches sight of her battered sister through the window of her room. “Tell it to me straight. ”
My tongue feels heavy as I list off every single injury inflicted on my wife. Ruby's face tightens the more I speak, and when I tell her about her broken teeth—my favorite crooked tooth of hers being knocked out—her face collapses.
Tears escape her eyes, and she takes a deep breath.
“Who could have done this? And why? What has she ever done to anyone? She’s... she’s Emerald. This is the type of shit that should happen to my bitchy ass, not her.”
“I don’t know, but I’m going to find out,” I push out through gritted teeth. When I do, he’s dead. I’m not playing any half-measures with this. Not anymore.
Ruby just looks at me and rolls her eyes at my stance and anger.
“Going all John Wick won’t fix anything, Hayden. You can’t just defeat the bad guy and declare that all will be well because right now,” she steps right up to me with more balls than men double her size and hisses, “ you’re the bad guy.”
She pulls out her phone again, taps a few times, and shoves it into my hands. Her glare chills me before she goes into the room.
My thumb swipes through Ruby’s phone. The words blur together, either from my dyslexia or my rage.
Probably the rage.
You suck the life out of him.
Ugly bitch.
I hope he leaves you for someone who actually deserves him.
Tell Hayden if he ever gets tired of you, I’m local .
gold digger whore
you’re only with him because you locked him down young. he wouldn’t look twice at you now.
do us all a favor and kill yourself .
Screenshot after screenshot of vile abuse.
All directed at Emerald.
Emerald showed me some messages before, and those made me angry.
But not this many. Not this horrifying.
I texted Rick to make a statement on my social media because I don’t run my own page. Never had an interest, and anytime I’ve wanted to post about Emerald, I've been scared I would make some dumb spelling mistake, then the world would find out how stupid I really am.
That fear never really goes away.
Rick’s face was horrified when I told him about the messages Emerald showed me, and he said he would make a post condemning it.
I didn’t follow through. I told Emerald not to worry, they’re jealous, they’re nothing, they’re miserable.
“I will keep you safe. Always.”
And when Emerald never brought it up again, I thought it was handled.
That’s all I’ve ever done, isn’t it?
Ever since we got to Boston, ever since I hired Rick. Pass it on to him because he knows better. That’s why I pay him.
But Emerald is my wife. Her safety is my responsibility. And now the online abuse crossed into the physical.
What twists the knife is how these people talk about me, like they know me personally. Know what’s best for me. Know who I am behind Haymaker Hayden.
They don’t.
Only Emerald does.
They weren’t there—through college, being cut off by my father, Emerald working to support me, and allowing me to focus on hockey.
You suck the life out of him.
She is my life.
I wouldn’t look twice at Emerald?
She’s all I see. All I ever see.
I hope he leaves you for someone who actually deserves him.
It’s me who doesn’t deserve her.
Kill yourself.
That one makes me want to cry. Who would say that to someone—to Emerald?
My thumb swipes again, and I almost drop the phone in my hands at the words I’m reading. Reading through it three times, to make sure my brain isn’t twisting the words, I feel sick.
An anonymous account making degrading sexual comments about my wife, about her body, about what they want to do to her in detail.
Rage and grief, the two emotions I’ve been feeling back and forth, combine inside of me to form something ugly and awful. I close the phone, not able to read any more.
The hallway lights are suddenly too bright.
My lungs can’t get enough air.
My body feels cold and numb.
Ruby is right.
I can’t just go hunt down the man who hurt my wife. That will do nothing besides fulfill the ego that put us in this mess, that put my wife in harm’s way. Killing him won’t erase what I’ve already done.
I am the bad guy.
No more .
I will never let Emerald down ever again.
The question is—will she give me the opportunity to prove that?
Even more, do I deserve it?
◆◆◆
Linda is humming You Are My Sunshine to Emerald, which is a welcome change from the rhythmic beeping and whirring of the machines monitoring my wife’s vitals.
Emerald’s parents sit on either side of her bed. Linda is on her right, so she can hold her hand, and has been gently brushing her hair in a soothing motion I’ve seen her do when Emerald is overwhelmed or tired.
Tim sits on the left side, the more bruised side of her—the side her teeth were knocked out, the side her fingers were broken. He doesn’t touch Emerald, but his eyes jump back and forth between Emerald and Linda.
Ruby sits at the foot of the bed, tapping away on a laptop with her brow furrowed in concentration.
And I sit in the corner, trying to take up as little space as possible.
My gaze hops between all four of the family members.
Emerald is Linda’s twin in appearance—same dark hair, tan skin, petite build, face, voice, and even their personalities. It’s all Emerald.
Ruby, on the other hand, is just like Tim—same blonde hair, tall and solid build, smoky voice, take-no-shit demeanor.
I had always thought it was funny that Tim and Linda had created little clones of them.
And that had made me think about my and Emerald’s kids in the future .
I wanted them to look and act just like their mommy, beautiful and brilliant and bright.
Will we still get them?
My phone vibrates on the table next to me, the sound cutting through the room like a thunderclap. It makes Linda and Tim send me a quick look before Linda resumes her humming. Tim’s eyes linger on me for a moment longer, the disappointment in them painful.
Ignoring the messages from Rick, from my teammates, and news outlets reaching out for comment, I open the most recent text.
It’s a new group chat from Coach and the Bullies General Manager, Doug.
They’re letting me know tonight's game is canceled and that when I’m free, they want to schedule a meeting.
They also want to send out a press release through the team’s PR and attach a sample to “explain the situation.”
Situation.
The word grates on my mind. They want to talk about the assault on my wife and, no doubt, the legal repercussions they could face. She was brutalized on the arena’s grounds, where people should trust that they’ll be safe.
When I open the sample press release, the rage returns, burning hot and bright in my gut and spreading through my body. It’s all bullshit niceties at the front, with wishes for a fast recovery and thoughts and prayers.
After that, the tone shifts.
This was an unfortunate incident that occurred in a public area out of our security team's control.
Our players and staff do everything they can to make the arena safe, but we also remind everyone that personal responsibility matters.
Being near the team or at the venue is exciting—but it can also attract unwanted attention.
Fans should understand that there are risks in public spaces.
This happened inside their fucking gates. They pay me four fucking million dollars a year to play a game, and the security guard couldn’t spare a fucking minute to make sure she got to her car safely?
I still see Rick mouthing all good to me.
That will haunt me for the rest of my life.
Was the attack happening then? Was her jaw breaking at that moment? Her fingers? Her ribs? Were they puncturing her lung just as I was signing autographs and smiling for the cameras?
And that’s the thing, I can’t blame Rick. Not completely.
Because I should have followed her.
I should have chased after her.
My wife.
My responsibility.
My failure.
Linda gasps.
“Emerald?”
My head snaps up.
My wife slowly blinks her swollen eyes open. She can’t open them fully, but I hold my breath as I see the beautiful green of them look toward her mother and then her father, blinking a couple times like she can’t believe what she’s seeing.
Ruby leaps up from the bed, but that causes Emerald to flinch. Ruby whispers a quick apology before she presses the alert button beside the bed.
“Emerald, it’s mommy,” Linda says, gently brushing her hand on my wife’s cheek.
Emerald looks at her Mom, and even with how swollen and bruised her face is, her eyes say it all. Relief at seeing her there, then even more relief when she sees her Dad and Ruby.
Confusion as she glances around the room, and—oh God—she flinches when she sees me sitting in the corner.
The look in her eyes is what kills me.
Wariness. Sadness. Frustration.
And the worst one of all.
Fear.