TEN
HAYDEN
BOSTON
DECEMBER
Dr. Rossi holds out her left hand, palm up.
"Emerald, can you place your fingers in my palm?"
Emerald looks at it for a long moment before she gently places her hand on the doctor's. Linda remains by Emerald’s right side. My wife had reached for her mother when the doctor walked in, not wanting her to go far.
Tim stands back with Ruby, his hand on her shoulder. My sister-in-law watches, arms crossed and eyes narrowed—always protective of her baby sister.
I hang back as far as possible, Emerald’s scared expression tormenting me.
Our last conversation ended with me berating her, and she fled from my cruel words.
Has her subconscious grabbed onto that?
Oh, God... does she think I'm the one who harmed her?
My gaze trails over her face. The bruises seem to darken by the second. Swelling allows only a glimpse of those beautiful eyes. She parts her lips, and I catch a flash of wiring, the gap where teeth are missing.
"—just stop talking!"
I press a hand to my stomach, hoping it will quell the nausea.
Tim glances at me. He tilts his head in a silent question: Are you alright?
I'm so far from alright, but I nod anyway, giving him a tight smile.
Standing near Tim and Ruby, I feel his hand pat my shoulder. That small comfort nearly makes me crumble.
"I don't want you to move your head while your jaw is healing, so I want you to tap my palm with your fingers—once for yes, twice for no." Dr. Rossi’s words pull me out of my thoughts, and I focus back on Emerald. "Do you understand?"
Tap.
"Are you in pain?"
Tap.
I wince.
Emerald's eyes meet mine for a brief moment. She doesn't need words for me to understand that she's scared, guarded, and confused.
And so deeply hurt.
Before, when she was sick or hurt, she reached for me. I would hold her, tell her she was loved, say everything would be okay.
"Baby..." I mouth.
Her eyes squeeze tighter, rejecting me, and she turns away as my presence burns.
It’s like a knife to my chest.
"Is your head hurting?"
Tap.
"Your jaw?"
Tap.
"Your chest?"
Tap .
"Ribs?"
Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.
Emerald taps her fingers frantically against Dr. Rossi’s palm.
She's hurting everywhere.
Two tears trail down my wife's cheeks, and the sight of them cuts me wide open.
"We'll increase your pain meds," Dr. Rossi soothes. She moves to Emerald's IV and pushes more medicine. After a few moments, the tension around my wife's eyes eases. She lets out a small, relieved breath through her nose.
"Is that better?"
Tap.
Dr. Rossi leans down to whisper something in Emerald’s ear, then glances toward us. Emerald immediately reaches out with her right hand to her Mom, who takes it without hesitation.
Dr. Rossi nods before turning toward us. "Could we have the room?"
Emerald doesn’t look at me, keeping her eyes on her Mom. I want her to look at me, even if it’s in anger. That would feel better than this—invisibility.
"We’ll wait outside," Ruby nods, taking my arm and steering me from the room. My body instinctively hesitates, but I go because I know I made this happen by not listening to Emerald. Through the window, I watch as Tim presses a kiss to Emerald's head before walking out the door after us.
Tim scrubs a hand down his tired face. "I'm going to grab some coffee. Ruby?"
"The strongest you can find, please," she says, eyes still on her phone. "Thanks, Dad."
He looks like he wants to be disappointed or even frustrated. But he remembers he's the only true father figure I've had. He's the man who showed me how to love and the one I wanted to emulate in almost every way.
When I had nowhere else to go, he let me in.
"Hayden?" his scratchy voice asks.
I shake my head. "No, thank you... Dad."
After a long moment where he looks like he wants to say something else, he nods before disappearing down the hall.
"Have you really never checked your social media?" Ruby asks abruptly, and I turn toward her at the sudden question.
"No," I admit. “Rick handled everything for me.”
God, his hands are just all over this.
"Jesus Christ," she mutters, pulling up my page and turning the phone to show it to me.
What I see causes my mouth to drop open.
"What the fuck?" I hiss, grabbing the phone from her.
"Yeah, I was... confused," Ruby grimaces, her face twisting in disgust. "I didn't think you were posting thirst traps of yourself."
This is awful.
Every single post is just an edited video of me set to music.
I'm doing my usual stretches on the ice. But with the angle and music, it looks like I'm humping the air.
One video shows me after a fight. My mouth guard hangs out, my hair sticks to my forehead, and blood drips down my lip as I skate to the penalty box.
Another of me in a post-game interview, dragging my hand through my hair, smiling widely, and winking at someone off-camera—Emerald, of course.
The one that horrifies me most is a video of me poolside in LA. I remember every moment of that trip. Emerald had come with me, making it probably the last time we had one of our road adventures.
She's technically in the video, but the camera stays focused on me. Emerald is purposefully blurred as she lounges by my side.
I glance toward her with a sly, smug smile—the one Emerald always said looked sexy. The bass-bumping pop song someone added to the video delivers the desired effect.
What they don't know is that I was smug because Emerald and I had spent the entire morning in bed, me worshipping at the altar of my wife. She complained that her legs were shaky and that she couldn't get up to the pool, and I felt like a fucking king.
But they don't know that.
How could they?
Emerald isn't shown on my page until you go back a year and see the goodbye post we made together to the Tornadoes after the trade. Emerald sits in my lap in her brand-new Bullies jersey I had made—the same one they had to cut off her.
She's beaming at the camera. But my eyes are on her.
Thank you, Tornadoes Nation. You've been our home for the last five years, but now we're off to our next adventure.
Love always, Hayden and Emerald.
Even though that post is from last year, some of the comments are as recent as days ago.
his wife can't handle all of that, somebody free him.
my friend hooked up with him in nashville, said his dick was huge
yes daddy
"What the fuck?"
"Do you have your phone? "
I reach into my pocket, unlock my phone, and hand it to Ruby. She huffs. "You don't even have Instagram. Do you know your password?"
I wince. "...no. Rick handled all of the—"
"I've heard enough about that motherfucker..." Ruby mutters, clicking and resetting my password through my email. "There, he won't have access to your account anymore and... yeah, just as I thought..."
She spins the phone, showing me message after message in my inbox, opened and answered.
I grab the phone, pulling it close to my face, and it all comes together.
Rick has been talking to them as if he were me, responding to women telling me how hot I am, how much they want to fuck me, how they wish they were Emerald, and how they can be discreet.
Hundred s of these messages.
It's all Rick's voice, but it's coming out of my mouth.
That could definitely be arranged, babe.
Your body is insane, holy shit.
You are stunning. See you at the game tonight?
I feel sick again.
My eyes drift toward Emerald's room. I see Dr. Rossi talking to Linda. Emerald is resting her uninjured side on Linda’s shoulder, and her mom is gently stroking her head. The sight—Emerald’s vulnerability—hurts, and I have to look away.
"Don't open any of the photos sent to you," Ruby growls. "They're most likely nudes."
"They send them by snail mail now," I say, thinking of the envelope Britney gave Rick. I breathe deeply to calm down. Ruby scoffs at my words and mutters under her breath. "Ruby... how do I even clean this up?"
"I've got a plan."
I blink. "Really? "
"Yeah, what the fuck do you think I've been doing? Writing my manifesto?" she scoffs, reaching into her bag and pulling out her laptop. "I've drafted a post."
She turns the laptop toward me, showing me the drafted response.
"We're not using the press—most people don’t read full releases. They'll look for keywords and make up their own story. But from your mouth, they'll listen."
I nod in agreement. "From now on, only from my mouth. Read it to me, Ruby."
After Ruby reads the draft she made, I ask her to add a couple of things. Her grin grows wider as I dictate exactly what I want expressed.
“Fuck PR training,” Ruby mutters, finishing up the draft. “This is scorched earth.”
The mention of PR makes my stomach twist.
"Ruby... I have a bad feeling about Rick."
Ruby just looks at me, waiting for clarification.
"I think... I don't know," I stammer. "I asked him to make sure Em got to her car. He sent a security guard, and I was in an interview when he said, 'All good.' I thought he meant..."
Ruby's eyes narrow as she puts it all together.
"Do you think he could have... orchestrated this?" I ask, the words tasting sour and so wrong.
"At least this will take attention off the loss tonight."
"Hayden, I promise, I had nothing to do with the attack."
At the time, I believed him, but the way he stressed the word attack is sitting in my gut like a lead weight, keeping me from letting go.
"I don't know him, Hayden," Ruby sighs. "But the fact that you're asking me is probably not a good sign. "
"Fuck.”
I've always had someone guiding me, or at least standing next to me during moments where I want to collapse.
Emerald.
It's always been her.
"What the fuck have I done?"
"It's what you didn't do! So, now you gotta move—" Ruby bites, before taking a deep breath and reigning herself back. "You need a new agent and a manager. Separate. Divide and conquer."
I nod, determination growing inside of me to have at least something to do.
"I... I can reach out to DeMar and see—"
"No, you should get someone out of this hellhole fanbase. I'll reach out to some people for the manager job."
I frown. "What about an agent?"
"Uh, hello, McFly—I'm a lawyer," Ruby gives me an unimpressed look. "I will represent you as your agent. I just have to submit some paperwork, but I guarantee my firm will love it."
"You would do that?"
"For my sister, I'd skin a man without blinking," Ruby says, completely serious. "For you, I'll represent you for... fifteen percent."
"Done," I say, holding out my hand for her to shake. She rolls her eyes, but does so. "Thank you, Ruby."
"First things first,” she gestures to the laptop. “We need to take back control."
◆◆◆
First, I want to address the video that has been circulating.
That video is real, and there is no context that justifies the way I spoke to the woman I love more than air. I failed in that moment—publicly and privately—and I will carry that forever.
The words I spoke are complete bullshit.
When I didn't have a dollar to my name, Emerald worked so I could afford my gear. She paid for ice time, for coaches, for meal plans because she believed in me when no one else did.
Without Emerald, I would be a guy with a dream that died in college.
She's not just my wife.
She's my best friend, my biggest supporter, my home.
And yet instead of being respected, my wife has been subjected to relentless, vicious bullying by people who claim to be my fans.
You cheer for me in the arena and then message my wife to kill herself.
You send her sexually violent messages.
You dissect every single beautiful thing about her.
You blame her for our losses as if she's on the ice with me.
You call that being a fan?
If you engage in harassment, threats, or defamation of my wife, you are engaging in behavior that I will take legal action against.
Our lawyer, Ruby Osgood, Esq., has already been briefed and is looking further into the matter.
Do not test me. Not when it comes to my wife.
And for those who think anonymity on the internet is a shield and that we should just log off to not see the abuse, last night it became real.
My wife was viciously assaulted on the arena's grounds.
Someone beat her to the point of unconsciousness and left her in the snow .
She almost died. And yes—I know some of you will read that and feel nothing, or you will celebrate and say she deserved it.
So let me be very clear that if you support me but are celebrating my wife's assault, you are not a fan of mine.
If you have used my name to justify attacking her online, you are not a fan of mine.
If you have messaged her telling her she deserves pain, you are not a fan of mine.
If you think loving me means hating her, you are not a fan of mine.
Emerald is my priority. Today, tomorrow, and always.
If you cannot handle that, unfollow and block me.
Stop coming to the games. Stop wearing my jersey. Stop pretending to be a fan.
And if you had anything to do with my wife's assault, there isn't a place on earth you can hide where I won't find you. Every detail will be tracked, every lead followed, and you will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.
This is not a threat. This is a promise.
Emerald Sawyer is deeply loved by me.
Understand that.
Or fuck off.
◆◆◆
"Good?" Ruby asks, sipping from the coffee Dad brought her. Before he walked back into Emerald's room, he squeezed my shoulder again. For the first time since finding Emerald, I felt something besides helplessness.
"Good," I say, my thumb pressing post.
We both seem to exhale in relief as it shows up on the feed for millions to read.
"That's just one step, Hayden. You got a million more to make it right with her."
Turning in my chair, I peek into the room. Emerald’s resting once more, face peaceful in sleep.
"I know," I nod. "I'll crawl back to her if I need to."