THIRTY
HAYDEN
MICHIGAN
FEbrUARY
"What do you think?"
"Give me a smile, beautiful."
Emerald beams, revealing all thirty-two pearly teeth, including two slightly crooked ones.
"Oh my God," I laugh, leaning closer to see. "They look just the same."
"I wanted them to stay crooked," Emerald says, shrugging her shoulders. Her cheeks have a sweet little blush to them as she mutters, "You always said you liked my crooked teeth."
"I do," I say, swallowing thickly.
Memories bubble up every now and again—Emerald's battered face, broken teeth, wiring, her terror-filled eyes.
Then, as Dr. Anson says, ground yourself in the present.
Remember where you are. So I do. I remind myself that we are in Ann Arbor, that Boston is far, far away.
My father is not here, and I will not use him to dictate my behavior.
I will not use him to explain away my behavior as I have before.
Whenever I feel anger rise, I recognize it and talk myself through it.
As long as I need to. I don't have a time constraint on healing.
It's fucking hard.
I felt hopeless during the first week. The second week, even more so.
Therapy is frustrating .
Thoughts of Rick would bubble up, even though we were home and no longer within his reach. I would feel the anger, try to recognize where it came from, feel it spike again, and get angry at myself for letting it spike. Even with all the wonderful distractions, it still bleeds into my mind.
But, as my Emerald says, Rome wasn't built in a day.
And I have years of behaviors to unlearn, and there are still loose ends to tie up.
I go to my appointments; I cry, vent, and sometimes yell.
And Dr. Anson just walks me through it, and I keep coming back for more.
The days after we returned home centered on stillness. Resting as long as needed, holding Emerald through relentless night terrors, adjusting to the quiet of suburbia after city chaos. I kept waking up in the middle of the night, feeling that something was wrong.
I'd untangle myself from Emerald, walking through the house, checking the locked doors, hearing Tim snoring softly from his and Linda's bedroom, the creaks and grunts of the old house's pipes.
I'd be standing in the middle of the living room as my eyes take in everything I've missed.
All the Oz trinkets, pictures on the walls—me included in many of them.
My gaze drifted to the two little urns sitting on the fireplace—Dorothy and Toto having crossed the rainbow bridge a couple of years prior.
Em was heartbroken when she received those phone calls from her Mom.
I'd promised her a whole litter of cats one day. Always one day.
The silence was strange.
There were no games to prepare for, no practices or training sessions to attend, no media appearances, no brand deals.
For so long, there's been routine. My job was guiding our lives to the detriment of our marriage, our mental health, and most importantly, Emerald.
All of her dreams were pushed to the back burner.
Iceland, because we would need time off that I couldn't get with doing brand deals in the off-season.
The cat Emerald wanted badly seemed unfair to adopt because of how often we were on the move.
Emerald spoke about eventually returning to school to earn her teaching degree.
When I was drafted, she finished her degree online as we headed to Minnesota and was happily working as an editor there.
But she said she wanted to teach in the future because she loved tutoring in college. And she helped me so much.
So, in the still of the night, I made plans.
And now, weeks later, they've been put into fruition.
As the oral surgeon walks Emerald through caring for her implants, I scroll through my text messages.
Aisha reaches out every now and again on a burner phone to check in and ask how we're doing.
She doesn't have many updates for us besides Doyle being sentenced to twelve years in prison and the slow investigation into Rick.
She and Ramirez aren't giving up, even though I've almost gotten to the point where I have.
No matter how much I look at our time in Boston, I can point the blame at Rick for as much as I'd like, but I was the one who had a duty to protect my wife and marriage.
No one else. I was the one who had a duty to seek therapy, not use Emerald as a bandaid whenever I needed, and give nothing but money in return.
We walk out of the oral surgeon's building, hopefully for the final time. I glance at my wife in the morning sun. She's always saying she loves how clean and crisp the winter air feels, especially here in Michigan, and I watch as she takes a deep breath, tilting her head up to the sky .
The bruising has faded, the swelling has disappeared, her teeth are back, and her jaw is no longer sore. She's eating solid food now, and I went right out and got her a burger from Margaret's when she was finally cleared to eat. She almost cried at the first bite.
There is no evidence on her face of the attack, besides some fading pink scars around her jaw and eyebrow.
No physical evidence, I remind myself, when Emerald's body freezes as two laughing men walk out the door behind us.
Based on their scrubs, they work there, maybe heading on their lunch break.
Emerald keeps her eyes on them as they walk by, stepping almost behind me as they pass on my right side, keeping me between her and them.
I use my big body to block them from her sight, face-to-face with her now.
"You are safe, Emerald," I murmur, her panicking eyes meeting mine for a split second. "Say it."
After a moment's hesitation, keeping her eyes on them as they walk to their cars, she whispers, "I am safe."
"Where are we?"
Emerald glances around, and I watch as her shoulders slowly drop. "Ann Arbor."
"And what's in Ann Arbor?"
Emerald grins, though it's a little shaky. "Home. You."
"And will I let anything happen to you?"
"No."
"So that means?"
Emerald sighs, the color coming back to her face.
"I am safe," she says, then steps into my arms. Gently, I let them close around her.
In private, she's comfortable with my touch, as long as it's not abrupt.
I always approach within her line of sight and keep my footsteps heavy.
In public, she's still wary—especially near large men—but as long as I'm here, she calms.
"Want to get some coffee?" I ask, trying to mask the excitement I feel about where we're headed.
Emerald's face brightens, and she nods. "Yes, please."
I smirk.
"Come on, I have a place in mind."
◆◆◆
"This is one of the best days of my life," Emerald coos, lifting up the ginger kitten to her face and nuzzling its soft fur.
"Honey, look how cute."
My heart jumps at the term of endearment, not having heard it since that day. I'm looking right at my wife's face as I reply, "The cutest."
Another kitten, all black, walks right over to Emerald and demands attention. It reaches its little paw toward her. Emerald laughs, scooping it up with her other hand and pressing a kiss to its meowing head.
"Oh, I'll give you some attention too," she giggles, both kittens now playfully batting each other.
We're sitting in a cat cafe I found online, they have adoptable cats running around for people to play with and get to know while they serve coffee and pastries.
Emerald's coffee has been abandoned; she has become enamored of petting and playing with every single cat in this building, but these two little kittens have claimed her.
I lean back on this comfortable sofa, sip my coffee, and just watch my wife's joy.
After talking with Linda and Tim—who we'll be staying with for another week—we got the green light for cats. Emerald and I found a home to rent in a quiet neighborhood not far from her parents' house or Ruby's apartment. We're taking things step by step.
First, just existing together and getting into the routine of a hockey-free life.
One of the cafe's workers comes over to check on us, a kind old lady who I spoke to on the phone yesterday when I found out about this place. She smiles at my besotted wife, and before she can even ask anything, I'm handing her my card.
"We'll take both."
"Hayden! Wait—" Emerald gasps, her words contradicting the way she cuddles the loudly purring monsters to her chest. "We can't take two—"
"They're a bonded pair," the employee—Kristy—cuts in helpfully, shooting me a sly wink. "They're siblings, so it's a two-fer."
"Oh, I can't separate them, then," Emerald says, glancing back down to the kittens who seem to have already chosen her as theirs with the way they're clinging onto her.
"I'll be right back with the paperwork," Kristy chirps, bouncing back up to the front.
"Sweetheart," Emerald says slowly, and I'm practically purring now. "Are you trying to buy my forgiveness with kittens?"
"Maybe," I shrug, grinning slyly. "Is it working?"
"Hmm..." Emerald hums, lifting up the two kittens who have the smuggest looks on their adorable little faces. "You're on the right track."
My smile widens.
◆◆◆
"It's Wyatt."
Emerald glances up from the floor where she's playing with the cats .
Linda and Tim are still at work, so we've had the house for the day. Earlier, we got home from the pet store where we spoiled our new additions—Merry and Pip.
Pip, the little ginger guy, is sufficiently distracted by a catnip-filled toy, while Merry is more clingy and won't let go of Emerald. Anytime she puts him down, he keeps crawling back up her legs to be held.
Before, I would have shielded Emerald from this call, not wanting to upset her.
But I can't do that.
I won't do that.
She takes a seat on the couch next to me, and I put the call on speaker. Wyatt doesn't wait for a greeting before he starts speaking.