TWENTY
HAYDEN
BOSTON
DECEMBER
Two weeks later, Rick has gone quiet.
He was sending me texts every hour on the hour, and now there’s nothing. I’m not sure what it means, but I don’t think it’s good.
And the timing just seems too convenient since he stopped messaging me the day after Britney’s arrest hit the news.
Woman Arrested After Trespassing in Former Bullies Star Hayden Sawyer’s Apartment
If I thought the media was bad before, it’s hit a whole new level in the last two weeks. Ruby has been responding to them on our behalf, issuing an official statement and requesting privacy.
Which has not been granted.
At least the officer outside Emerald’s room has added some small measure of security, especially since the man who assaulted her still hasn’t been caught. I try to listen to Detective Anthony’s words to let them handle it, but it’s harder and harder each minute he walks free.
And my wife is stuck in a hospital bed, healing.
Even worse, it’s Christmas Eve.
Usually, Emerald and I would spend Christmas together, and it would be... slow and wonderful. A pause in the chaos. With matching pajamas, of course, we’d roll out of bed at nine, make breakfast, and open the presents waiting under the tree.
I hadn’t even gotten a chance to buy Emerald’s Christmas present before this happened.
I was going to redo her office in the apartment—hire painters, bring her to a carpenter for custom bookshelves, and a new desk.
One of those outrageously expensive ergonomic chairs she always talks herself out of buying, even when I tell her to.
I wanted her to feel comfortable here. Now I see how flat that present would have landed, because Emerald was purposefully not setting down roots. Because this place never felt like home for her.
Linda has decorated the hospital room as best she could to be festive. She strung up lights, draped garland, and even set up a little fake tree in the corner of the room. She plays Christmas music through the small speakers I brought from the apartment, with Elvis softly crooning "Blue Christmas."
Tim and I have been packing up the apartment. I’ve decided to sell as-is, taking only our clothes and irreplaceable items. Even then, it’s hard to know whether something has been touched or worn by Britney. Everything feels tainted.
Ruby returned to Michigan a few days ago, still working for us from afar, but needed to get back to her clients after holding the world record for ‘shortest sports agent employment.’
Linda and Tim will remain here with us for the next couple of weeks. Both of their employers have said to take as much time as they need. Tim’s union sent flowers, and the kids at Linda’s school made get-well-soon cards for Emerald.
I’ve rented a three-bedroom house for the next couple of weeks so we can stay there instead of a hotel. I’ve been unable to stomach being inside the apartment anymore, especially after Aisha firmly told me we should sweep it for cameras or recording devices.
That made my skin crawl, thinking of someone recording my wife’s and my most private moments. Even when the search came up clean, Britney’s presence—and by extension Rick’s—still felt too strong.
Emerald should be discharged next Friday, assuming nothing changes.
Then we’ll go to the rental house until she’s medically cleared to fly home.
I’ve already looked into chartering a private plane.
After this many violations, this many strangers putting their eyes on her, I want to shield her from the entire goddamn world.
The hospital is paying us a substantial settlement over the tabloid photo. It wasn’t even anyone we knew or suspected. Just a nurse who saw an opportunity when a tabloid approached her outside and offered cash. She was arrested, fired, and had her license revoked.
At this point, I trust almost no one outside my family. I’m bordering on paranoia. I don’t know who’s connected to Rick or who’s been feeding him information, even with good intentions. He was my agent, trusted, someone I thought had my best interests in mind.
I’m looking over my shoulder more often. Anyone who looks at me because they recognize me as Haymaker Hayden is now a potential threat. Any time a hospital staff member walks in the door, I’m hovering over them as they check Emerald, looking for cameras or recording devices.
I’ve privated mine and Emerald’s social media accounts, especially after Doug’s press conference and the influx of new followers and messages.
It doesn’t feel enough. It won’t. Not until there are miles and miles between us and this place.
And even then.
I don’t think this is something we can just click our heels and wish away. I think going home will help, but I think that’s just the start of healing. Because these traumas, these violations—this is something deeper.
My wife wants to go home.
And so do I.
“There,” Linda finishes braiding Emerald’s hair and grabs a tiny red bow—the sticky kind Linda bought to put on presents—and places it on the end of her hair. “And now we’re all festive. What do you think, sweetheart?”
Linda takes the small compact mirror from her purse and holds it out to Emerald.
My wife averts her eyes from her reflection.
Linda’s smile falters slightly when she notices.
Emerald has been able to get out of bed since the chest tube came out. She still needs to be careful of her jaw, which is what the doctors are most concerned about with healing. When doctors cleared Emerald to shower, they said she could have me there with the nurse to help.
Emerald looked at me for a brief moment, then turned to the nurse and gave a thumbs-down. No.
I can’t pretend that didn’t crack my heart a little bit, but I would never let her know that. It’s not about me, it’s about Emerald’s comfort.
Later, that same nurse told us that Emerald cried when she saw herself in the mirror above the sink.
It’s the first time she’s seen herself since the assault.
Her jaw is still wrapped tight, but the bruising has lightened, now a pale greenish-yellow around her eyes.
The swelling in her face has gone down. Her ribs are healing.
Every doctor who comes in tells us her body is recovering beautifully.
But her mind...
“Why don’t we open your present from Ruby?” Linda smiles at her daughter, puts the compact away, and gently brushes her daughter’s cheek. “I think Santa will be fine with opening one gift early, hm?”
That’s an Osgood family tradition. Linda and Tim always allowed Ruby and Emerald to open one gift on Christmas Eve before bed. They still sign our Christmas presents from them as From: Santa.
It’s a whole show of the girls begging like they’re excited kids, and Linda and Tim pretending to think about it before finally relenting. I remember watching it fondly, smiling, on my first Christmas with them, a weird longing in my chest.
This is a family.
Emerald doesn’t respond to her Mom.
She just keeps the same, flat expression on her face.
“Baby?” I prompt softly.
Nothing. It’s like we’re not even there. Emerald hasn’t been Emerald for the last couple of weeks. Not even Ruby telling her she broke Britney’s nose could pull a smile from her.
My wife is withdrawing into herself, and it’s scaring me. She’s never done this before, never had a reason. I’ve always been her safe space. Lately, I bring her only trauma.
I don’t think she will feel safe until we’re back in Michigan.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and a quick glance tells me that it’s Aisha. My heart jumps— please be good news.
Emerald’s eyes meet mine for a brief moment when I step toward the door. I give her a small smile that she doesn’t return, and her eyes... god, her eyes are just so empty.
“I’ll be right back, Em,” I say. She doesn’t respond.
Just looks right through me.
Linda gives me a supportive nod as I head toward the hallway, nodding at the officer outside.
I answer the phone, pressing it to my ear. “Hi, Aisha. ”
“We’ve blown the top off,” Aisha says, sounding very pleased. “We gained access to Britney’s phone, laptop, and cloud accounts. You were right, Hayden. Nine months of messages with Rick Fox.”
I fucking knew it .
He didn’t need to pretend to be me on Instagram because he was talking to her directly . Britney’s appearances at away games and last-minute events states away, how she always seemed to know exactly where I was, when I’d be there, and where I was going next—it all makes sense now.
What I thought was unhinged, excessive fan behavior turned out to be stalking, aided by my agent.
But why?
“He was feeding her your travel schedule,” Aisha continues, “and in several cases, Emerald’s movements too.”
“Jesus Christ,” I growl, my hand curling into a fist hard enough to hurt, desperate to hit something.
“We found photos of her inside the apartment going back six months. She knew when you would be out of the apartment, at practice, meetings, and events. She even accessed Emerald’s yoga class schedule.”
My whole body starts thrumming, like every nerve is too charged and there’s nowhere for the energy to go.
“God, she’s fucking obsessed.”
Aisha pauses. “She wasn’t just obsessed, Hayden. They were crafting a narrative together.”
I blink, my entire body going cold.
“A narrative?”
“A long-term affair narrative. That you’ve been involved with Britney. That she was comfortable in your apartment. That Emerald is a crazy gold-digging wife who won’t let you sign divorce papers. That you and Britney were trying to have the baby your wife wouldn’t give you—”
My snarl cuts off Aisha, my rage skyrocketing to heights I never even knew I was capable of. Crafting a narrative that looked infuriatingly believable.
The lack of Emerald on my page, the messages to women that could make me look unfaithful already, the pictures of Britney everywhere I am, the annoying photos she would have us take together that I thought were just regular fan photos.