THIRTEEN
HAYDEN
BOSTON
DECEMBER
When I walk back into the hospital, bag over my shoulder, I keep my head down and thank God for the old Tornadoes hat I found in the back of my SUV. I tug the brim lower as I pass the reporters camped outside.
One local news anchor is standing in front of a camera, talking about my wife.
“...Haymaker Hayden Sawyer released a statement on social media, detailing how his wife has been the victim of what he called ‘relentless, vicious bullying’ by the Bullies fanbase and condemning the behavior he believes led to the assault. Sources say Emerald Sawyer is stable, but facing a long road to recovery...”
I don’t want them to see me. I don’t want to talk to them. The only person I really want to talk to right now can’t speak because her jaw is broken. A flash of a large boot stomping down on her face makes me flinch.
I watched the tape eight times before I called it quits because I was genuinely concerned about vomiting all over their desk. The detectives seemed to exhale a sigh of relief when I finally said, "Enough."
My body feels exhausted, but my mind is wired still. It goes through the assault second by second, and the more I remember, the more questions appear.
Was she scared ?
Was she thinking of the last words I spat at her?
What if she had died?
What if I didn’t find her?
What if she froze to death thinking I hated her?
The what-ifs stab my brain like hot knives as I walk to the elevators.
The detectives said they’ll send an officer to keep watch outside Emerald’s room later today. Hospital security has already been notified of the man’s appearance and has been put on alert. White male, dark red hair, about six-foot-two, solid build.
Unfortunately, in this city, that description is a dime a dozen.
I’ve been gone for a couple of hours. Ruby texted me that she and Dad are napping at the hotel and that they appreciate the room upgrades.
I slip into Emerald’s room, but when I finally look up, I stop in my tracks.
The bag in my hand falls to the ground with a thump, causing the woman on the bed to jump slightly at the noise.
My wife is awake.
And staring right at me.
“Emerald...” I gasp.
She looks clear-eyed and alert. Her face is still a canvas of black and blue, her eyes and jaw still swollen.
But she’s awake.
And there’s a brief warmth of happiness spreading through my chest at the sight.
“Hi, baby...” I whisper softly. Her right eye twitches, but she keeps her expression blank. I glance around the room, seeing it empty, and Linda’s purse gone. “Where’s Mom?”
Wincing, I forget for a moment that she can’t answer me verbally and curse myself. Idiot, I think.
As I go to apologize, Emerald lifts her right hand and pantomimes a drinking motion.
Linda went to the cafeteria to get coffee.
Nodding, I reach down and pick up the bag before shuffling closer. It feels like I’m trying not to spook a deer.
“I... I brought your blanket,” I say, lifting the bag to show her. “And some socks. And shirts and pants. And I brought my hoodie and a couple of your cozy clothes...”
I trail off when I realize that I’m rambling. We’ve swapped. Emerald’s usually the one who can talk and talk while I just listen, letting the sound of her voice wrap around me.
“—just stop talking!”
“If that’s what you wish...”
What if those had been the last words I spoke to her?
I breathe through the clenching in my gut and place the bag on the floor next to my feet. Emerald looks at me for a long moment, her brows furrowed, before her gaze drops to the side. Away from me. She doesn’t even want to look at me.
“Thank you for the basket,” I whisper. “It was... you are... so fucking sweet. I don’t deserve it—Emerald, I’m so sorry, baby—I didn’t mean a single word I said. I’m so sorry—”
She doesn’t look at me as I choke through the apology. Tears pool in my eyes and sting, but don’t fall. God, I must have cried more in the last sixteen hours than I have in my entire life. For good reason.
Lifting up her right hand, she points to the tray at my side, gesturing toward a small whiteboard and a marker.
“You want this?” I ask.
She taps the mattress once. Yes.
Grabbing the board and marker, I hold them out to her. She takes them from me, making sure she doesn’t touch me as she does so. I try not to let that hurt as she writes something down, balancing the board on her left forearm.
Why?
I blink, confused by the question.
“What, baby?”
She exhales sharply through her nose, her swollen eyes narrowing in frustration. Her throat bobs up and down like she’s swallowing. She winces from that, making a noise of discomfort, and reaches up toward her wrapped jaw.
I watch helplessly as she touches it and then winces from the slight touch. Moving without thinking, I reach my hands out toward her, but she flinches, freezing me. Then she seems to realize she flinched, and curls her hand into a fist and slams it down onto the bed.
The marker squeaks from the force of her writing, and she opens her lips, letting some puffs of rapid air out. I sit down in the chair next to the bed, not wanting to feel like I’m looming over her, trying to shrink myself as much as I can.
When she turns the board, I want to sink into the ground.
Why didn’t you believe me?
The room spins and tilts until I’m dizzy. It’s the one question that really wraps up my failures as a husband.
Why did I not believe her?
I saw those messages with my own eyes, not as many as she sent Ruby, but it shouldn’t have even gotten that far. I could have done so much more, but I was so blinded by hockey, making money, and providing that I let things fall by the wayside.
Rick kept me distracted, but I let myself be pulled away from the one person who mattered.
And she paid for it.
“I thought nothing could touch you as long as I was there,” I rasp. “But I was the reason they were reaching for you in the first place.”
I shake my head, tears pooling and falling down my cheeks. Emerald watches me with her brows furrowed, and she blinks rapidly like she’s pushing back her own tears.
“I failed you. As a husband, as a partner, fuck—even just as a friend. You are my best friend, Em. You are my entire world— my fucking soulmate —and I.... I didn’t listen to you,” I choke, my voice breaking in half every syllable. “I didn’t protect you when you needed me to.”
She looks down at the board and writes something quickly. Stress and high emotions heighten my dyslexia, making me forget all of the tools I’ve acquired over the years. The words swirl together before I close my eyes for a few seconds to focus.
When I open them, I slow down and read Emerald’s words, letting them settle heavy into my chest.
Everything hurts. I just want to heal.
“Of course,” I nod, wiping my eyes with the back of my hand. “You’re my priority.”
Her eyes tighten, and she writes something else, hesitating before showing me.
Her mouth twists and tilts downward, and a tear trails down her cheek.
She opens her lips and lets out a shaky breath, and the flash of broken teeth and wiring makes that flash of boot stomping at her face appear once more.
Then I read the words.
I’m so mad at you.
Squeezing my eyes closed, I nod, knowing that it’s the truth, knowing she has every right to feel that way. The fact that she’s using shorter sentences to make it easier for me to read doesn’t escape me, and just makes me ache even more.
Even now, she’s still my Emerald—too good and too kind.
“I know,” I murmur, my voice choking its way out of me. “I’m mad at me, too. I am so sorry, baby. ”
She looks at me, then erases it, and writes something else. She spins the board around once more, writing something softly. She looks torn at what she’s written, staring at it for a long moment.
When she does show me, it’s an almost euphoric relief that floods my body.
I still love you.
My body deflates as I let the words settle something in me, something that had shattered after last night.
“I love you,” I say, because I need her to hear it.
The tension in her face loosens, only slightly, but I can see it. Even under the swelling and bruising, I can still see my beautiful wife. She sighs and scribbles something again.
I need space. Go home and sleep. You look as bad as I do.
“You could never look bad,” I correct, shaking my head firmly. “Never ever.”
Emerald rolls her eyes in a very Ruby fashion, and her face looks tired again. She needs rest. She needs peace. She needs me to leave, so I will. I stand from the chair, take the blanket out of the bag, and lay it over her.
Careful of her ribs, and I gently tuck her in. She watches me closely as I do so, her eyes practically burning a hole into my head.
After, I lift the blanket up around her bare feet, wincing at the small cuts, blisters, and the pink color of them. Enveloping both of her cold feet in my warm hands, I gently squeeze and stay there until they don’t feel like icicles anymore. Emerald’s eyes don’t leave mine the entire time.
I then grab her fuzzy slippers from the bag and slide them on her feet. I pull the blanket back down and tuck it around herlegs.
“Better? ”
Emerald lifts her right hand and gives me a thumbs-up.
An idea hits me.
“Hey, maybe we should use hand gestures for things, so you don’t have to write things down. For quick things, obviously. Uh, we could do,” I hold my thumb up and then down, “Good and yes. Bad and no.”
Emerald just watches me. I crook my fingers. “This could mean come closer… and if you wanted me to go then…”
I trail off because Emerald is giving me the perfect symbol for going away.
She’s flipping me off.
Amusement feels foreign now after the last day, the last two weeks, really, but it also feels really good.
“That works perfectly,” I nod, biting my lip so I don’t smile at her. Emerald seems to be fighting some amusement, too, the way her split lips are twitching and looking like they want to tilt upward.
They do, for a brief moment, before the movement must pull on the cuts, and Emerald winces in pain, lifting a hand to them.
“Okay, we can talk more later. I mean, not talk obviously, but—”
She’s flipping me off again, telling me to leave.
But it doesn’t sting. In fact, it feels something close to normal. I give her a smile and a nod, watching her purse her lips to keep from smiling. Her eyes, though, don’t lie, and they are bright.
Sunlight poking through the clouds, just a tiny thread of hope, but it’s enough.
“I love you, Emerald,” I say when I’m at the door. “More than anything.”
I leave before she can respond by flipping me off again .
When I walk out the door, I see Linda sitting on one of the chairs there, sipping her coffee with a small smile on her face.
“Go get some sleep,” she chuckles. “She’s right, you look awful.”
I huff and shake my head. “Thanks, Mom.”
She stands and turns to me, opening one arm. I crouch down to give her a hug. My eyes squeeze shut as she rubs my back, soothing and comforting me.
“Love you, son,” she whispers.
I nod against her shoulder, exhaling.
“Love you too, Mom.”