ELEVEN
HAYDEN
BOSTON
DECEMBER
Emerald is asleep again.
Tim says Dr. Rossi warned them Emerald will sleep a lot this week to heal. Good. She’ll be out of pain, and I can fix what shouldn’t have broken.
It’s around eight in the morning, which Ruby said was actually prime time to post something. People on the East Coast are heading to work while mindlessly scrolling through social media on the train or bus. No doubt it will go viral by the time the Midwest and West Coast are waking up.
“Maximum reach,” Ruby smirks, tapping away on her phone. “I’m talking to the partners now. The firm is excited to represent you as a client.”
I nod, relieved by our progress as my phone buzzes with notifications.
Comments. Messages. Emails. Texts. Calls.
Tim steps out of the room with his heavy coat back on, and Ruby peers up at him. “I’m gonna head to the hotel to check us in. Do you want to come?”
“Yes, please,” Ruby’s eyes light up. “I need a shower.”
As Ruby packs her things, Tim looks at me and tilts his head. “You need anything?”
Chest warm at the concern in his eyes, I shake my head. “No, Dad. I’m good. ”
He gives a small grin and pats my shoulder again.
“Text me if you do. Love you, kid,” he says in his usual gruff tone.
“Love you too,” I mutter, forcing down the sting behind my eyes. I’m still as shellshocked as I was the first time they told me that—the summer after freshman year.
“Well, duh, they love you, goof.”
Emerald smiled at my shocked face, nuzzling her nose against mine.
“You’re impossible not to love.”
"Let me know if anything changes,” Ruby says, pointing at me. “We’ll be back in a couple of hours."
After they walk down the hallway to the elevators, leaving me alone.
I quickly call the hotel Ruby said they’re staying at and upgrade their rooms under my credit card.
It’s the least I could do for them. Tim will grumble, but I don’t care.
I’m not trying to buy my way back into their favor; I’m trying to take care of my family.
Should have done that in the first place by listening to Emerald, you fucking idiot.
Hal’s voice hasn’t surfaced in a while. Emerald kept him quiet, in person and in my mind. Without her, my thoughts spiral—his voice is all I hear.
“Just tell me whenever you have those thoughts and I’ll—” Emerald climbed onto my lap and pressed her warm lips to mine in a long, lingering, hungry kiss. “Kiss them away.”
I blinked, kiss-drunk and dazed. “What were we talking about again?”
“Ha! It worked!” she wiggled in my lap, the friction amazing. “Face it, my lips are magic.”
“I’ll say,” I slid my thumb across her full bottom lip, pulling her giggling face back to me .
That memory burns, but at least it drowns out his voice. My phone buzzes once more, snapping me back to the present: the post already has 10,000 likes and a hundred comments.
“Jesus,” I whisper, scrolling through them.
To my surprise, most of the comments on the post are positive, though I notice those mostly come from general hockey league fans or Tornadoes fans. Every single one condemns the violence against my wife.
Hockey is a violent game, but that violence should stay on the ice!
Family is always off-limits.
For someone to hurt Emerald like this is completely shameful! We’re keeping her in our prayers.
My old captain, Frank, and his wife comment on the post, showing their support. Since he’s a respected veteran in the league with real pull, it really means a lot to have him in our corner. And as more of my former teammates message me, it all just makes me ache to go back to the Twin Cities.
The difference between then and now is stark, even depressing.
In Minnesota, we had amazing friends, Emerald’s favorite bookstore, antique shops, and our date-night drive-in. People were kinder and more helpful, and they smiled at you as you passed.
Our apartment was bright and always smelled like vanilla and coffee. Emerald decorated it with loud bursts of color and patterns that never matched but somehow worked. I woke up every single day with Emerald in my arms, even if I was on the road.
It was perfect.
Then they waved that money in front of me.
If only we could just go back.. .
A notification banner lights up my screen, catching my attention.
pussy whipped bitch.
With that, the floodgates open and turn ugly fast.
The words mean nothing as they insult me, asking whether Emerald kept my balls in her purse or if this was just Emerald being a crybaby.
I figure out how to close my messages to the public and screenshot the nastiest comments.
I also screenshot every message that was opened and answered, and forward them to Ruby.
She said it would be hard to prove fraud without IP addresses, and it could be murky because I willingly— regretfully —gave Rick full access to my accounts.
Ruby said to just document everything that we can and wait for the right time to strike.
The Bullies organization starts calling me directly—everyone from the front office, the General Manager, his assistants, my coach, and my captain. I feel no guilt as I ignore every single one of them.
They’re not calling for Emerald; they're calling for damage control.
Instead, I delete every single post on my page that was made by Rick, one by one.
And I flood my feed with Emerald.
My heart warms as I scroll through eight years of us.
The candids I’ve taken of Emerald when her beauty just catches me off guard and rips the breath from my lungs. Our vacations and adventures. Eating dinner at home. Playing silly board games. Holidays in front of the Christmas tree.
Everything begins and ends with Emerald.
I should have shown that from the beginning here in Boston .
These people have only been shown one thing—a stereotypical hockey goon chasing pussy, wins, and glory.
In reality, I did want the money and glory, but above all, I wanted to be someone my wife is proud of.
I’m not. I’m lost.
Now I need to find my way back.
After an hour passes with notifications still chiming, the pull is too much, and I stand from the chair, needing to go to my wife. Gently, I creak the door open, and Linda’s head turns slightly, but her eyes don’t leave Emerald.
She’s still humming, holding Emerald’s hand, gently swaying side to side in her seat. She looks tired, her shoulders slumped slightly, but I don’t think God himself could remove Linda from her daughter’s side.
With slow, quiet steps, not wanting to disturb the peace, I walk until I’m standing right next to Linda. I don’t sit; I barely breathe; I just keep my eyes on my wife. She looks peaceful. My hands itch to touch her, to kiss her.
After a few moments, Linda pauses her humming, the sudden silence jarring.
“What happened, Hayden?” she asks, keeping her voice soft.
Tears sting my eyes.
What happened?
“I’m lost, Mom,” I admit, burning with shame as I hitch out a sob. “I did everything wrong, and I... I got lost.”
She hums, “What do I always say when you feel lost?”
Taking a couple of deep breaths, I wait until my throat unclogs so I can speak. She gives me the time, full of that patience she passed down to her daughters.
“Close your eyes and think of home. ”
“Yes,” she murmurs, “What does home look like to you?”
“Like Emerald,” I say without hesitation.
“Then close your eyes, think of her, and follow your instincts.”
After a couple of moments, I whisper. “I’m so sorry, Mom.”
With a shaky hand, I slowly lay it on her shoulder. I’m hoping she just doesn’t shrug it off, but I exhale in relief when she gently lays her unoccupied hand over mine.
“I know you are, Hayden. I know you didn’t mean those words in that video,” I flinch, and her hand tightens on mine, rooting me in place. “But, you said them. Her mind isn’t going to let her rationalize it.”
That’s one thing people misunderstand about Linda and Emerald.
They’re bubbly and quirky, so people sometimes dismiss them as strange, but they are so deeply intelligent that it’s sometimes startling.
They can see things that others can’t, things that swim beneath the surface, inward bruises that aren’t perceptible to the eye.
The first time Linda met me, she just knew my parents did not treat me well. She and Tim parented me that Christmas more than my own parents ever did in eighteen years.
Just like how Emerald had when I mispronounced her name. Instead of seeing me as dumb, as others have said, Emerald saw it as a difference. Not to be mocked, but to be accommodated.
And maybe I picked a little bit of that up along the way, because as I look at my wife’s bruised face, I know she’s bruised soul deep right now.
“She’s scared of me,” I whisper, shamefully.
“Yes,” Linda says, bluntly. Her hand tightens around mine. “She is scared. She’s confused and scared and doesn’t know what happened... she doesn’t remember the... assault— ”
My hand squeezes her shoulder when her voice breaks on the last word. Linda takes a moment and then lifts her chin, smiling at Emerald while gently pushing her hair back from her face.
“She doesn’t remember, but that could clear up. Could is apparently the operative word with her memory recovery.”
Her not remembering the assault is a relief, but that blank spot could be filled. I was the last one she saw before it happened. I’m the last trauma she remembers.
And I cannot just despair at that. I need to try to fill that blank spot with good, with things that will help her recovery, with fixing what I allowed to break.
I need Emerald to see that I’m listening now.
Even if it’s too late.
Even if she can never forgive me.
“What do you need to do?” Linda asks, tilting her head to look up at me. “You need to meet with your... people?”
My people are here, I want to say, but there are meetings I’ve been putting off and things I need to put in motion. I can’t do what I need to do from this hospital room.
“Yes,” I whisper. “The team.”