THIRTY-ONE
HAYDEN
WISCONSIN
FEbrUARY
"Excuse me, do you happen to know Jace Ward?"
The man behind the register smiles at my wife as she asks the question. Earl, the worn patch on his shirt reads. He's likely Tim's age, mid-fifties, and only slightly taller than Emerald.
At the last store we were in, I was recognized and asked a bunch of questions I wasn't going to answer.
Wanting to avoid more attention, I quickly got Emerald out of there, and we walked down to this small bait and tackle shop.
As we entered, she said she would speak this time—a kind of exposure therapy.
Emerald wanted to get comfortable around men and speak to them again.
"Better question to ask if someone doesn't know him," Earl chuckles, leaning on the counter. "Jace is our hometown pride—well, he was before all that drug nonsense..."
"He still lives around here?" Emerald asks eagerly.
"Sure does. Lives in his family's cabin, down off Old Ezekiel Road, right on Beaver Creek."
"Old Ezekiel Road," Emerald types into the GPS on her phone. Earl smiles, visibly charmed by my sweet wife. I snort in amusement, and that catches his attention.
"Say, you look familiar," he tilts his head, pointing. "Do I know you?"
"No," I smile, shoulders hunching to hide my size. I know it just makes me look hunchbacked, but old habits die hard. "Just got one of those faces."
"That's just my husband. I'm Emerald," Emerald says, reaching her hand out and distracting Earl, who takes Emerald's hand and gently shakes it. "We're old friends of Jace's."
My eyebrow lifts at how smoothly the words leave my wife's lips.
"Ah," the man nods. "You guys play hockey?"
"Oh, no—we hate the sport," Emerald says baldly, making me cover up my laugh with a cough.
"That's a damn shame," Earl shakes his head, looking right at me. "You sure got the size for it, friend."
"I hear that all the time," I grin, Emerald shooting me an amused look.
"Beaver Creek, right?" Emerald says, pulling his attention back to her with a bright smile.
"That's right, hon."
"Thank you, sir," Emerald says, and I wave as we walk out of the store. It started snowing about an hour ago, and I keep Emerald close as we walk the block back to our car.
I raise an eyebrow, "We hate the sport?"
"Was I convincing?" she asks hopefully.
I press a kiss to her upturned forehead.
"Very."
Once we're back in the car, Old Ezekiel Road is easy enough to navigate, about twenty minutes outside of town, down a forest-lined road. My hands grip the steering wheel, eyes scanning for any sign of life.
"So, what's the plan?" Emerald asks from the passenger seat.
"That's a good question."
Emerald huffs and smiles. I have no idea what to say to Jace, since he wouldn't let me say much yesterday.
"Who the fuck is this?"
"Jace Ward? This is Hayden Sawyer. I was represented by Rick Fox. I wanted to ask you—"
"Fuck off."
He hung up on me, and it took me seven more calls to realize he wasn't going to pick up the phone.
So, Emerald suggested we take a road trip to Superior, Wisconsin, to see him in person. My initial reaction told me to tell her no. Or tell her I'd go alone, but Emerald had given me a sharp look like she knew what was on my mind. And I wouldn't let the words escape my throat.
Also, I was quite against my wife being out of my sight, so early this morning, Emerald and I packed a bag and drove the ten hours to Wisconsin to find Jace.
She was sad to leave Merry and Pip, but Linda had sent a text message showing Tim napping on the recliner with the two furballs on his shoulders, so I think they're doing just fine.
A mile down the road, the trees open up to give a view of a frozen creek— Beaver Creek reads the chipping sign—and right at the edge is a cabin, smoke rising from the chimney.
I park next to an older green Jeep and notice a carseat in the back.
As Emerald opens her car door, I quickly circle to her side, help her step out, and keep a firm grip on her as we navigate the snowy, icy path.
I can sprint on ice and keep my balance, but although Emerald is graceful on skates, she has a habit of tripping over her own feet on snowy ground.
There's a ramp on the steps leading up to the porch, and Emerald and I share a confused look. When we're in front of the front door, Emerald raises her fist and knocks. It only takes a moment for the door to open, and the words I'm about to speak die in my throat.
Because I'm staring down the barrel of a shotgun .
Emerald gasps and, instinctively, I wrap my arm around her waist and pull her behind me. Stepping back, I widen the distance between us and the shotgun. Emerald clutches the back of my jacket, and I prepare to hand her the car keys and tell her to run.
My heartbeat hammers in my throat. All I see is my wife in this gun's sights, knowing that if his finger twitches, she'll be hit.
And die.
"Get off my fucking property!"
The voice is a vicious snarl, and he steps further out of the house into the fading sunlight.
Jace Ward. He looks completely unlike the confident man I played against. He wasn't a brawler, though he's got the build for it—only a couple of inches shorter than me, but lean, I can see that even under the thick flannel he's wearing.
His blond hair hangs longer, his full beard matches, and his blue eyes—rimmed by dark circles—look dull. This man seems almost feral as he bares his teeth at us, gun unwavering, aimed at my chest.
My patience snaps, "Hey! Put the fucking gun down!"
"Get off my—"
"Stop pointing that gun at my wife!" I roar, and Jace's eyes drift over my shoulder, and he must see Emerald because his eyes widen.
"Shit," he hisses, lowering the barrel of the gun to the ground instantly. His face pales, "I'm sorry, ma'am, I didn't—I wouldn't—"
Emerald, still partly behind me and with my arm around her waist, speaks up.
"It's okay," she says. I pull her closer, still on edge from moments earlier when the shotgun was pointed at her. "I'm Emerald Sawyer. This is my husband, Hayden. We need your help."
Jace frowns, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down as his eyes shift left to right.
"My help?"
"Jace?" a soft voice calls from inside the house, "What's going on?"
Jace's entire face transforms, going from guarded to tender in an instant. He doesn't take his eyes off us, but turns slightly so he can reply in a rough voice lined with affection.
"It's okay, baby. Don't come out here."
A few moments later, the reason for the ramp wheels herself out of the house.
A small woman with dark brown hair, much like Emerald's, peers at us curiously with large blue eyes. Her head tilts as her gaze trails from me to Emerald, peeking out from behind me.
"Samantha Anne," Jace sighs wearily, now stepping in front of her and mirroring the way I'm shielding Emerald. "What did I just say?"
"Hi," she says, ignoring him. "I'm Samantha. This is my... h-husband, Jace," she stumbles on the word husband, and Jace's face flinches, a flash of pain crossing it before he secures the stony mask back on.
Emerald steps out from behind me, despite my arm tightening slightly in an attempt to keep her protected while Jace is still holding the shotgun, even loosely.
"I'm Emerald," she says with a smile. "This is my husband, Hayden Sawyer. We're sorry to impose, but we would like to speak to you."
Jace's eyes narrow, "About what?"
"Rick Fox."
Samantha's face pales at the name, but her jaw clenches in anger. Jace immediately walks over and bends to whisper in her ear, but she just shakes her head.
"No!" she exclaims, cutting off Jace, before looking back to us. "Please, come in."
Jace sighs, defeated, though he has his hand on Samantha's knee and rubs it affectionately. She meets his eyes, hers burning with fire, while his remain weary. He stands and walks behind her, nodding for us to follow him into the cabin as he wheels Samantha back inside.
Inside, the cabin is warm, a fire roaring from the large hearth.
There's someone cooking on the stove, a stew, I think, and my gaze can't help but catch on the many children's toys scattered across the floor of the living room.
A small hallway shows three rooms, and the doors have been widened to accommodate Samantha's wheelchair.
"Would you guys like coffee or tea?" Samantha asks as Jace wheels her to the kitchen table.
"No, thank you," Emerald smiles at Samantha, who returns it after a moment of hesitation. I shake my head when Jace gestures to the kettle on the stove, and he takes a seat next to his wife.
Emerald and I sit opposite them at the table. Jace keeps his eyes on me, his body rigid and jaw set. I can't help but match his energy, my hands clenched into fists on my lap to keep them from shaking. The adrenaline is slowly exiting my body, but my heart rate hasn't come down yet.
"So," Samantha asks, Jace's shoulders rising slightly at the sound of it. "You're here to discuss... Rick Fox."
"It might be helpful if you explain your... experience with him first," Emerald suggests, my back straightening at the sound of her voice. My hand moves and seeks out hers on her lap, and she takes mine in both of hers, squeezing.
"We met Rick about five years ago. Jace had a falling-out with his last agent, who was skimming money off the top. Rick presented himself as a... decent man," Samantha's mouth curls in disgust, and Jace scoffs, muttering curses under his breath.
His arm goes to the back of Samantha's wheelchair, his fingers lightly playing with the ends of her hair. His gaze is fixed out the large front window, facing the frozen lake. There's something wistful on his face, his eyes going distant.
"Things were fine in the beginning," Jace growls, his voice hoarse. "Smooth, to be completely honest. I was making good money, and the team was doing well. Rick was a wizard. Able to negotiate more money without breaking a sweat. For two years, things were great..."
His voice breaks on the last word. Samantha looks over to him, her face soft, but there's also a guardedness to it.
Her hands resting on the table twitch toward Jace's, but she doesn't reach out to him.
Despite the obvious love palpable between these two people, there's a barrier that I can't see.
My hand squeezes Emerald's, and she squeezes back. Three times.
"I wasn't always like this," Samantha says, gesturing to the wheelchair. "Our son's birth did not go well—"
Jace cuts in, his voice a growl. "—my wife nearly died giving birth to our son, and I almost missed it because Rick scheduled me for a last-minute appearance."
"Chris was early," Samantha weakly defends Jace, because she just can't seem to help it. Emerald's eyes soften, and there's a brief flash of recognition in there.
"It doesn't matter, baby," he says, looking at her, his eyes hard and glassy. The look on his face startles me. I've seen it before, when I looked in the mirror after Emerald's attack. "I should have been there for you."
"You got there to see him born—"
"But I wasn't there for you, " Jace grits out, stressing the last word.
"How is your son?" Emerald gently cuts in, Jace and Samantha snapping their head toward her.
"He's great. Walking now," Samantha smiles proudly, Jace's lips curling almost imperceptibly. "Looks just like Jace."
"He's all you," Jace rasps, Samantha glancing over to him, her eyes soft. Jace clears his throat, "I tried to take time off, but... Rick has this way of steering the conversation—"
"Exactly where he wants it to," I finish, Jace, meeting my eyes with first surprise, and then understanding. "I know what you mean."
"I was making good money, but the hospital bills for Sam's surgeries and physical therapy were piling up—don't you dare feel guilty, baby.
It's not your fault," Jace says, not even giving her a glance, but just knowing that she had opened her mouth to apologize.
"We were in the Cup final. I was just trying to finish out the season.
I... I was going to take time off to be with my family. .."
Jace scoffs and shakes his head. "We were tied in the series, and Rick called me the night before the last game. With an offer."
"An offer?" I ask, my dread rising.
"Make sure the Bullies lose," Jace's tone is almost smug, sounding like Rick himself. "And there's five million dollars in it for you."
The air leaves my lungs. Emerald and I share a horrified look, and the guilt wells inside of me for this monster I let into our lives.
"He wanted you to fix the game," I whisper.
"I did fix the game," Jace curls his lip in disgust. "I made damn sure we fucking lost, and I... I betrayed my teammates and told myself it was for my family."
Shame settles on Jace's face, the weight of his regret hitting me right in my chest .
Money. Power.
That's what it all comes down to, isn't it? What else can make us do things we swore we never would?
"The next day it hit my bank account, and I... I confessed to Samantha what I did."
Samantha's gaze drops, her eyes squeezing closed.
"I told him to fix it," Samantha says, her voice shameful like it's a confession.
Jace shakes his head firmly, meeting his wife's eyes.
"You told me the right thing, Samantha Anne. Don't you forget it."
"But you wouldn't have gone to Vegas," Samantha says, the tears spilling over her cheeks. Jace's arm twitches like he wants to brush the tears away, but as soon as his arm moves, it jolts, then drops.
"Vegas?" I ask sharply, catching his attention. "What happened?"
Jace's eyes blaze with fury, and he snarls through clenched teeth.
"Rick set me up."