FOURTEEN
HAYDEN
BOSTON
DECEMBER
“Okay, so you share the screenshots on social media. That objectively looks worse because it’s just screenshots of you flirting with these women.”
I’ve had news outlets reaching out, desperate to get a hold of me for an interview, a quote, a photo—anything regarding what happened to Emerald.
And while I’m bursting to say more, Ruby urges me to be patient. It feels like agony. I want to shout that everyone who thought they were talking to me online was really talking to Rick Fox—and that I am hopelessly, deliriously in love with my wife.
“But it’s not me, it was Rick!” I snap, frustrated. I realize how loud I’m being and glance around at this quiet coffee shop near the hospital.
We have a meeting with the front office this morning, so we’re just killing time and debriefing.
My printed contract is spread out on the table, which Ruby has massacred with highlighters and notes.
I can barely comprehend the legal jargon in it, but Ruby has said she’s confident she can get me the break I want.
Just a year break so that I can focus on Emerald’s recovery.
Last night, I laid in bed—Emerald’s pillow cuddled to my chest, and just... planned. About how to fix my marriage, and it all starts where it ends—hockey. I need to distance myself and Emerald from hockey for her to heal.
Physically, first. Us, later. I can exist in a world where Emerald is alive, happy, and healthy, but doesn’t want to be with me anymore. It would be the worst agony I’ve ever experienced, but it would be worth it.
I can’t exist in a world where she doesn’t.
“Yes, Hayden, I know that, and you know that,” Ruby says dryly. “But the world is going to form its own opinion, and objectively , it just looks like infidelity damage control with a very convenient story about your agent speaking with these women.”
“Shit,” I hiss, taking a sip of my coffee and realizing that she’s right.
“Rick has been very careful, and I suspect he’s done something like this before,” Ruby shakes her head. She makes a note of something on the contract and asks me, “Who has he represented on the Bullies before?”
“Jace Ward,” I tell her, my mouth twisting.
Jace Ward was the former captain of the Bullies. Two years ago, he led them to the Cup finals against Nashville, where they were tied 3-3 in the series and lost.
Honestly, it was the most exciting hockey series in years.
Unfortunately, Jace Ward was arrested that weekend in a Vegas hotel room with a Scarface level of cocaine and sex workers while his wife was home with their infant son.
The Bullies wanted to avoid a scandal and released Jace from his contract.
Last I heard, he checked into rehab and went home to Wisconsin.
It’s why my salary was so inflated when they signed me. They had extra money to burn from not having to pay out Jace’s salary; they also wanted a ‘real bully’, so I gave them one.
Rick never said that much about Jace, and I didn’t care that much to ask. The guy screwed up his career with drugs and women. I didn’t have respect for people like that.
Rick had said my clean image was good for the brand. I believed him because Rick is charming and seemed like a guy who felt incredibly guilty about letting his former client go off the rails.
He said he would be completely focused on me and my best interests. He had a good relationship with the front office at the Bullies, particularly Doug, so I thought that Rick was the answer to securing our financial future.
All I had to do was keep playing hockey, show up for the brand deals, smile for the cameras, sign autographs, and say the words to the press that Rick told me to. As our bank account grew rapidly, I thought I was doing everything right.
“Jace Ward,” Ruby mutters as she types his name into a search engine on her phone. Her eyes widen. “Oh.”
“Yeah. He fucked his career up.”
Ruby hums, scrolling through an article about the Vegas incident. Her brows furrow, and she tilts her head with a look on her face that I can’t read.
My phone buzzes with another notification, a comment on a photo of Emerald smiling on my Instagram.
Ugly bitch got her shit rocked. Wonder if it’s an improvement on her looks.
My vision flashes red; fury detonates inside me before I can even contain it.
“God, why can’t they just leave her alone?” I growl, slamming my hand down on the table. The barista, wiping down the counter, looks up in alarm, but I ignore it, too full of anger to focus on anything but that comment.
Ruby looks over to me with the expression of someone about to tell a child that Santa Claus doesn’t exist.
“The only acceptable victim to some of these people is a dead victim. Had Emerald died—” I flinch at those words, knowing just how close they came to being true, “the same people who bullied her would be the same ones crying and wondering how this ever happened.”
I don't respond because the image of Emerald in the snow has now switched to Emerald in a coffin, and the fear is choking me. Unfortunately, my phone buzzes once more, and I brace for another horrible comment, only to see the last person I want texting me.
"Fuck," I snarl, fist clenched around my phone, so close to shattering it against the wall, so close to letting my rage take over.
Can we talk, champ?
I’m really sorry this happened.
How’s Emerald?
I promise I had nothing to do with it. You have to believe me?
Call me when you have a chance.
I want to make this right for you.
Come on, Haymaker. You need me.
“Rick, again?” Ruby asks.
“I really can’t block him?”
“Not yet. We have to organize the house before we scrub it. Keep your read receipts on to keep hope alive and let him sweat a bit,” Ruby glances at the time on her phone. “Come on, it’s showtime.”