TWENTY-NINE
HAYDEN
BOSTON
JANUARY
"I'm sorry, could you repeat that?"
"Of course," the man dressed in a dark suit nods, a customer-service smile on his face. He has to yell a bit over the wind, "This private plane will be flying you home."
I look down at Emerald, cradled gently under my arm.
Her face mirrors my confusion. It's only been two days since her wires came off, so she's still puffy and bruised, though not enough to dampen her morning excitement as we prepared for the airport.
Excitement flickered with nervousness—being around crowds still unsettles her.
To give us privacy, I splurged on first-class tickets, even if the flight's just two hours.
The apartment sold as-is, and we kept only what mattered—some clothes, sentimental things, Emerald's trinkets. We wanted the rest of Boston left behind with everything Rick and Britney touched. I want to get back to the Emerald and Hayden we were in Ann Arbor and Minnesota. I know we can.
So, we woke up this morning with smiles on our faces, ready to go. But the car we hired to drive us to Logan International brought us here instead—to this private airport. Men around us move quickly, taking our bags out of the trunk of the rental car and loading them into the plane.
"Who?"
"Hal Sawyer," the man says with a grin.
Emerald's eyes go wide, and my body goes rigid, numb with disbelief.
My first instinct is denial, because it's a trick. It has to be. My father is not charitable. He is not caring. He is not warm. He does not give out favors unless he gets something in return, with interest.
"I'm his personal assistant, Andrew. This is his plane. He said he needed transport for his son and daughter-in-law. There's a doctor waiting on board for you, Mrs. Sawyer."
My hackles rise. "A doctor?"
"Yes, he hired a doctor. One of the best in the country," Andrew says, gesturing to an older woman in the window of the bright cabin. She catches us looking and waves with a bright smile. Emerald waves back automatically, because she can't help being polite. Even now.
I'm still lagging on the fact that my father hired this plane, supplied with a doctor, for us. For Emerald.
"It's going to take us to Ann Arbor, right?" I ask, my voice firm. "Nowhere else."
"We can take you anywhere you'd like, but this was chartered for Ann Arbor," Andrew says easily, shrugging his shoulders. "He said he wants to get you both home safe."
Emerald shivers from a strong gust of wind, folding in on herself, which makes my decision for me. She's cold, there's a plane in front of us, apparently ready to take us home. I step toward Andrew, leaning in close so he can hear me over the whipping wind.
"This better not be a trick."
"Not a trick, Mr. Sawyer," he meets my gaze unflinching, his expression open.
I notice no hint of deceit, which surprises me.
My father's past assistants shared his cruelty; you couldn't work for him and keep your soul intact.
But this one radiates something different—a bit of warmth.
It's odd. When Emerald shivers again, nestling into her scarf to block the wind, I don't hesitate. I move.
"Come on, baby," I murmur, pulling her in close as we walk to the stairs.
A kind-looking flight attendant named Alice greets us as soon as we step on board, offering us coffee or hot chocolate.
She informs us that they've stocked the plane with soft foods for Emerald as per the doctor's recommendations.
As we settle into our seats, the doctor introduces herself—Dr. Browning—and says to let her know if we need anything before taking her seat in the back. Emerald shakes her head and writes on her whiteboard.
Emerald writes on her whiteboard, Mom and Dad are going to be bummed they missed this, and flashes it at me.
I laugh. Tim and Linda have already gone home to prepare the house. We'll be staying there for a bit until we find a place to live. My thoughts have already drifted to buying or building Emerald's dream home, planting down roots that professional hockey never allowed us to.
Soon, the doors close, and we lift off from Boston. I find that I can breathe a little easier. Emerald does too as she exhales out of her mouth, her jaw not able to open completely yet because it's still sore and tender, but I know it's a relief to have the wiring out.
She plays around with the screen on the seat in front of us, looking for something to watch, while I lean my head back against the seat.
And I think about the future.
A week has passed since I last spoke with my father.
He sent over his private investigator's number, and I quickly forwarded all I know about Rick Fox.
My father always used the investigator to dig up dirt on business associates and leverage it with that signature smile—threatening to reveal affairs or hidden children or secret accounts during boardroom negotiations.
I just hope I can use his PI for good. The man is very short in his text messages, giving me one-word answers or questions, and said to give him three weeks to 'find the Foxhole.'
Money won't be a problem. The apartment sold as-is, and the hospital settlement and release agreement have already been deposited into our account. After speaking with my financial advisor, I know we can live comfortably for a while, maybe even forever.
Things are moving, and after Emerald set that final firm line to not make any decisions without her anymore, I'm committed to it. If she were to heal after almost dying, and I were to lose her to my own impulsivity, I don't think I would come back from it.
Emerald taps my shoulder, getting my attention. She points to the screen with a smile, and when I see what she's chosen, I do too. D2: The Mighty Ducks.
"This just reminds me of college," I tell her. She gives me a big smile, unconcerned with the swelling and missing teeth.
As the movie starts, Emerald cuddles into my side, under my arm.
"We'll go to Iceland," I promise when the Ducks encounter the Nordic villains. "We'll leave little presents at the elves' houses and make wishes."
Emerald grins and gives me a very enthusiastic thumbs up.
"Though I don't know what I'd wish for," I admit, with a rueful laugh. I press a kiss to Emerald's head and murmur against her soft, sweet-smelling hair. "I have everything I need here."
Emerald's smile softens and melts into something so tender. Taking the whiteboard from her bag, she writes. I want to heal first. Me. You. Marriage. Then Iceland.
"Deal," I smile broadly at her, excitement swelling in my chest. She smiles too, laying her head on my shoulder as we fall back into the movie.
Alice brings over a spread of soft snacks for Emerald, who takes a cup of yogurt with a smile.
As we get closer to Ann Arbor, I feel a pleasant, warm buzzing under my skin.
The tension that I had no idea I was holding on to was loosening.
My knee bounces with the excitement of going home, of returning to the first place that felt safe and carefree.
Because of the woman next to me.
"Hay..."
I freeze.
The voice is so soft, barely audible amid the movie and the plane. It's gravelly, hoarse, sounding almost slurred. And it's the most beautiful sound I've ever heard.
My eyes drift to the source. Emerald gently touches her jaw, her eyes closed tight like she's concentrating.
"Hay... Hay...den," Emerald coughs lightly, clearing her throat. "Hay-den."
My breath hitches, my eyes sting with unshed tears.
Emerald's eyes open and meet mine, shimmering with their own tears, both pain and needed release.
"Hayden," she whispers. Her voice lisps a little, soft and rough, and I can't get enough of it.
"...just stop talking!"
"There's that beautiful voice," I laugh wetly, a tear escaping down my cheek. "I missed it."
Emerald smiles at me and lays her head back on my shoulder.
"Keep talking," I whisper, pressing a kiss to her hair and pulling her closer. "Never ever stop."
She cuddles into me, laying her left hand over my chest .
Emerald's fingers tap over my heart.
Three times.
◆◆◆
MICHIGAN
We lay on the bed side by side, staring at the ceiling of Emerald's childhood bedroom. It's exactly the same, Linda kept both of the girls' bedrooms just as they were.
Because they always have a home here.
And I do too.
We haven't been back here in... years, actually. Linda, Tim, and Ruby would drive out to Minneapolis for Christmases and birthdays because Emerald loved hosting and showing them around the city we fell in love with.
"Do you hear that?" I whisper to Emerald.
She glances over to me before she closes her eyes and listens. Linda is downstairs, cooking dinner and singing softly. Tim's deep rumbling voice, Ruby's smoky laughter, and the radio playing music.
The smile spreads slowly across Emerald's face, and she opens her eyes to meet mine again.
"Home," she rasps, her voice barely above a whisper.
I close my eyes and smile, letting the sound of it wash over me.
"Home, baby," I agree, reaching out to lace our fingers together. She sighs in relief. "We're home."