TWENTY-ONE
HAYDEN
BOSTON
DECEMBER
“This city was a mistake.”
Tim and I end up in some dive near the hospital.
It’s practically empty, only Tim and I sitting at the bar.
Some older men are spread out at the pool table, while others drown their sorrows in dark, dingy booths.
There’s only one bartender working, but his focus has been primarily on the football game on the TV.
Not a hockey bar. That’s good.
Bruce Springsteen softly croons from the jukebox in the corner, and there’s an almost depressing atmosphere in the stale air. Those with families are probably home, eating Christmas dinner, enjoying the holiday together.
“The city was rotten whether you came here or not,” Tim shakes his head, taking a sip from his beer bottle. “Rot needs to be rooted out. If it spreads, it consumes the structure and...”
“Then the building needs to be torn down,” I finish for him.
“It was spreading to you,” Tim says, making my gut twist. “I didn’t like what I was hearing from my daughter. I didn’t like how quiet she had gotten. My little girl is many things—quiet she is not. Just like her mom.”
It was spreading to me. A slow poison turning me into someone I barely recognize. Ever since we got to this city, I was so wrapped up in hockey, making money, thinking I was doing what Emerald needed .
Emerald needed me just as much as I need her. That’s all. I don’t know why I forgot that.
“I... I don’t know who I became here,” I admit, choking on my words. “I don’t know who that man was in that video.”
“It was you,” Tim turns to face me, his voice firm. “You can’t just pretend like that was someone else. That’s not accountability, Hayden.”
His words land, making my face heat in shame.
It’s not accountability. It’s just an excuse. There is no excuse.
“You’re right,” I murmur, taking a sip of my own beer. My second tonight. I haven’t drunk in so long, I’m already feeling fuzzy around the edges.
“Don’t forget it. Ever. And never ever fucking talk to my daughter like that ever again,” Tim says, his voice a low growl as he points to me. “Do you hear me?”
I nod. Though I can’t help but grin, even with the flash of fear that runs through me. Tim’s not as tall as I am, nor as broad, but he’s solid from working construction. Strong as hell, I’d bet.
And he would do absolutely anything for the Osgood women.
He’s everything I want to be in a husband and father.
“I will never speak to Emerald like that ever again. I will never treat her like I have ever again. I promise.”
“I know,” Tim says with a wry grin. “God knows you’re already scraping yourself raw over this anyway.”
I nod, his words are dead accurate.
"But you can’t hold it forever,” Tim says. “When Emerald says she forgives you, when she thinks you deserve to be forgiven, you try to forgive yourself. Don’t forget it, but... lingering on it is just going to hurt Emerald.”
“I’ll try,” I say, even though I don’t think I will be able to forgive myself.
No, I won’t. It’s stained in my mind forever.
The bartender, an older man with salt-and-pepper hair and a thick Boston accent, stops by us to ask if we want refills.
I get another beer while Tim asks for water.
He drove us over here, and I think I want to indulge a little.
I never drink during the season, and even then, it’s only one beer when Em and I go out to eat.
I’m halfway through my next beer when Tim speaks again.
“I knew Linda was something special the first time I met her.”
The look on his face goes soft, like he’s slipped into a memory—eyes glazed, crooked smile on his lips.
“She brought... so much color to my life. The greatest thing that has ever happened to me,” his smile goes soft, “And then we were blessed with two of the greatest little girls.”
My smile matches his, and he turns to look right at me.
“And you are my son.”
His words, spoken so matter-of-factly, startle me. But Tim just grins at me, looking proud.
“The first time Emerald brought you home, I figured you were permanent,” Tim chuckles, shaking his head. “I was concerned at first because Emerald couldn’t stop talking about you. Big hotshot future hockey star. I think you can imagine the picture I had painted in my mind.”
I can. Just like all the womanizing, partying, image and money-obsessed guys that I’ve played with and against my entire career. I can only imagine my own little girl coming home to tell me she’s in love with a hockey player.
The image momentarily catches me off guard.
A little girl. Our little girl. A little Emerald—both of my girls smiling at me with matching grins .
The longing is almost painful.
“But then you walked in the door—soft spoken, hunching over, ‘yes ma’am, no sir,’” Tim snorts, and I cringe, thinking about how nervous and awkward I had been. “You know what sold you, Hayden?”
I shake my head.
“Emerald’s boyfriend in high school came out with us for her birthday dinner one year,” Tim smiles at the curl to my lip, a sharp pang of jealousy in my chest. It’s dumb, and childish considering we’re married. .. but still.
Emerald’s mine, and I’m Emerald’s.
“At Margaret’s, of course,” he laughs fondly, my own smile widening. Give Emerald the choice of a fancy steakhouse, and she chooses burgers from that greasy hole in the wall. “Emerald unwrapped her present from us at the table. Linda and I got Emerald that little library stamp for her books.”
I know that stamp very well. From the Library of Emerald is stamped inside every cover of every book on our shelves.
“Emerald was being... Emerald. Mouth moving a mile a minute about it, thanking us, and talking about all the books she was going to stamp, how pretty the stamp itself was...”
It’s the easiest thing in the world to picture. It’s how Emerald reacts to any gift given to her, so delighted and so grateful. Her voice is so sweet as she says how much she loves it... her voice.
God, I miss her voice so much.
“If that’s what you wish...” were the last words she spoke to me, right after I told her to stop talking. I take a long swig of my beer, trying to shake that thought loose.
Tim’s mouth flattens, and his jaw sets. “When he told her to calm down, he said she was too loud. That she was embarrassing. ”
“Asshole,” I grind out.
“It was fucking Margaret’s,” Tim scoffs. “Everyone was yelling over each other at their tables. He didn’t care about that; he saw joy, and he wanted to snuff it out.”
Emerald is joy incarnate. Why would anyone want to snuff it out? Witnessing her happiness gives me the motivation to breathe, to move, to live.
“Then you, on Christmas morning,” Tim says, smiling brightly.
“Emerald was excited, bouncing around the house, passing out presents and opening her own. She was laughing loudly, knocking stuff over, being the wonderful little twister she is. I remember tensing for a brief moment, just bracing for you to have the same reaction. But when I looked at you...”
Tim leans toward me with a look of pure affection on his face.
“Hayden, you looked like you saw a miracle. You couldn’t take your eyes off her, and I thought, ‘Ah shit, the kid is in love with my little girl.’”
“I was,” I whisper, lost in the memory now. Emerald was so damn beautiful, smiling brighter than the Osgoods’ Christmas tree. The alcohol leaves me light and warm, and I sigh. “I think that was the day I knew. I didn’t know what to call it, but... I knew.”
“I know. And I trusted you with her heart,” he says, before tapping his chest. “But I also raised my girls to be strong. You hurt Emerald. But you didn’t break her.
And neither did the animal that hurt her.
Nor that psycho that was in your apartment, or your slimy agent.
No one can break that girl. So, I know this is scary, that she’s retreating. ..”
My stomach twists, but Tim pounds his fist against the bar. “But sometimes retreat is necessary. Sometimes you need to pull back, to reevaluate before you start again. And you can always start again. ”
The words hit me hard, making me feel a little woozy. Maybe it’s the beer. Maybe it’s hearing exactly what I needed. Either way, warmth spreads through my chest.
Tim narrows his eyes, “Do you understand?”
“Yes,” I nod.
“Good. I love you, son,” Tim smiles. “And I couldn’t have chosen a better man for my Emerald.”
Tears sting my eyes, but I shove them back down. Glancing at the time on my phone, I see we’ve been here for an hour and a half. I’m buzzed, and if we stay any longer, I might indulge too much. And I want to go back to the hospital and see Emerald.
My Emerald. My wife.
I had it all, and I almost lost it. Not money. Not hockey. Emerald. She is everything. She is my compass, my strength, my love.
I stand from the barstool, and Tim does as well. I reach for my wallet, but Tim’s already there, handing his card to the bartender.
“I’m going to hit the bathroom,” I tell him, pulling my coat on. Tim nods as he pulls his jacket over his shoulders and signs the receipt handed to him.
The bathrooms are down a long, dingy hallway in the back of the bar. I walk into the men’s room and head right to a urinal when I hear hissed whispers from the one stall in the room.
“...she’s trying to take my goddamn kids—because I couldn’t pay child support—I’ve been hiding—no, I need money... Dan, I need—yes, $5,000—”
I’m zipping up my jeans when that specific amount makes my hackles rise.
It’s a coincidence. Pure coincidence. It’s a common amount of money. He needs it for child support, and what good father would gamble away his money on a hockey game... right?
The thick Boston accent, the smoker’s rasp—those are coincidences too.
They have to be.
Walking to the sink, I try to keep quiet while I wash my hands so that I can listen to the rest of his conversation. Raising my eyes, I look at myself in the mirror.
I look fucking pissed. My jaw is clenched so hard it aches, and my shoulders are tense, as if bracing. My buzz is still there, but the adrenaline eats at it quickly. My heart starts to pump faster.
“...I need $10,000 by Friday... because I fucking owe Donnelly too for keeping quiet...”
I freeze.
Donnelly.
O’Malley’s.
My breathing quickens. My hands are shaking.
The man isn’t even trying to keep quiet anymore. His voice climbs louder and louder with excitement.
“—you will?! Oh, fuck—man, you’re a goddamn lifesaver—yeah, yeah, you too. Yeah! Merry Christmas.”
The stall door swings open, and I turn to face him.
The smile on his face dies quickly when he sees me, all the color draining away, leaving him pale white. His jaw goes slack, his eyes blown wide. My hands curl into fists at my sides.
“Oh fuck...” the man whimpers. “Haymaker...”
I reach behind me until I find the lock on the only exit.
And I click it shut.
I never believed in fate until I met Emerald.
Then I learned some things are placed in your path for reasons you won’t understand until later .
Some good, like Emerald.
Some bad, like Rick.
Some because the world wants to see what you’ll do with your rage.
And as I stare into the eyes of the redheaded fuck who assaulted my wife, I know this is fate, too.