THIRTY-SIX
HAYDEN
MICHIGAN
APRIL - SEVEN YEARS AGO
This is hell.
I've died and gone straight to hell, because that is the only explanation for this birthday dinner.
Emerald had been so excited to meet my father, thinking it was an important step in our relationship.
I picked her up from her dorm room, and when she opened her door, I just stood there like an idiot at the sight of her. Her roommates' cackling laughter brought me back to earth and made me snap my mouth shut.
Dark hair curled, smiling red lips, and an off-the-shoulder little black dress that hits above her knee.
It was appropriate for the upscale steakhouse my father chose.
All the skin I was seeing made me want to sling her over my shoulder, carry her back to my dorm, and celebrate my birthday the way I wanted.
With my head between her thighs as I feasted on my chosen birthday cake for hours.
Emerald saw the glazed look in my eyes and giggled. "Later, birthday boy."
Her dad was already waiting to drive us to the restaurant and drop us off.
Tim had grinned at me in the rearview mirror and wished me a happy birthday like he really meant it, like I was already family, and Emerald had spent the whole ride chattering in a way that would make me smile on any other day .
And all I could think about was the cold knot in my gut.
She didn't understand.
From the moment Emerald had been born, she'd been surrounded by noise, chaos, love, and warmth.
You could see it in the way Tim let Linda turn their house into an Oz fever dream.
In the way that Linda didn't care when Tim tracked in mud and snow on his work boots after a long day.
In the way Ruby and Emerald are complete opposites and still the best of friends.
They all love and accept each other, faults and all.
Emerald couldn't understand cold silences. How one man can suck out all the life in a room, rivaling a black hole.
Hal Sawyer was already at the table when we arrived, wearing a dark suit and flirting with one of the young hostesses. His face changed when he saw the woman on my arm. He knew she was coming, but I guess he never expected Emerald.
She was nothing like the polished daughters of the men in his circle, girls who were no doubt beautiful but raised to be decorative and quiet.
Emerald was undoubtedly beautiful, but not decorative. And not quiet.
She was life. Warm, loud, bright, and strong.
Because of that, and because he saw the confidence her presence gave, the first words my father spoke to me were an insult.
"Finally got a hold of the English language, huh?" he drawled. "Guess there's hope for you after all."
Humiliation burned, and Emerald's smile dropped clean off her face.
"This is my girlfriend, Emerald," I muttered, suddenly hot in this monkey suit I squeezed myself into.
For him.
Emerald glanced at me with worry in her eyes for a moment before she schooled her expression and turned back to my father.
"Emerald Osgood. Nice to meet you, sir."
She held her hand out to shake his. Condescension settled over his expression as he shook it once. He didn't say anything else as we took our seats across from him.
Silence stretches, and the only thought I can focus on now is that this is my personal hell.
It's not until after we order our drinks—water, desperately —that my father speaks again.
And of course, it's all business, not personal.
"What's your trainer saying about your footwork?"
And that's how the fucking dinner goes.
Emerald tries so hard, to the point where I wanted to throw in the towel for her. She's her usual bubbly and sweet self. Asking questions about himself, my mother, and his business, to which he responds either sarcastically or with one-word answers.
Last month, we were in her dorm when she received a call from a student she tutors, and what I heard made me angry.
When I brought it up to her, half wanting to find that student and threaten some kindness into him, Emerald just sat in my lap and said that some people take her sincerity for patronizing.
She's used to identifying sarcasm and doesn't mind it.
But this is my father, and she's the woman I love.
For two months, I'd agonized over telling her I loved her. I'd never told anyone those three words before, and I didn't know if there was some procedure for it. The right way.
My teammates, being unhelpful morons, told me to say it after sex because "that shit's hella romantic."
In the end, it hadn't gone that way at all.
A month ago, I had been sprinting to the tutor center after getting my History test back, the one she had helped me study for. After my dyslexia diagnosis, the school finally gave me proper accommodations, and for the first time, the score in my hand actually reflected that.
She'd jumped straight into my arms when I showed her the A.
And I just said it.
"I love you, baby."
She'd blinked at me, stunned for half a second, before relief and mischief melted across her face.
"Because of my incredible tutoring abilities?"
I'd shaken my head and kissed her.
"Because you are Emerald."
And that's reason enough.
She smiled. "Good. Because I love you, Hayden."
Across from me, my father kept taking jabs, each one aimed to hurt. He asked about hockey, about training, about scouts, lacing every question with the same old, same old—you are a stupid hockey goon, and that's all you'll ever be, so you might as well excel at that.
Emerald is stiff as a board next to me. Anytime she opens her mouth to defend me from one of my father's insults, I lay my hand on her thigh and squeeze. Or I'll take her hand under the table and brush my thumb along the back.
It's not until we're almost through our food that she snaps, practically vibrating in her seat.
"You haven't even said 'happy birthday' to your son," Emerald asks him, her voice sharp and cutting off my father at his throat. "Are you planning on doing that?"
He looks at her for a long moment, like he can't believe the audacity. My hand squeezes hers tight, and even I look at her in surprise. No one—not my teachers, not my coaches, not my mother—has ever defended me to Hal Sawyer.
Not until Emerald.
My girlfriend doesn't back down from my father's glare; instead, she leans forward, like a challenge.
There's a grudging respect in his eyes that he kills as quickly as it comes, and he smirks, turning to me.
Raising his second glass of whiskey, he clears his throat.
"Happy birthday, Hayden. Congratulations on being born," he chuckles into his glass. "Maybe if my other swimmers were faster, they would be in the pros by now."
Emerald recoils and tosses her napkin on the table. "What the hell is the matter with you? He's your son!"
"Baby—" I go to calm her, out of concern because I know the next words out of his mouth are going to be cruel.
Hal's blue eyes—the same as mine—glare right at Emerald.
A smirk curves his lips.
And I brace myself.
"Listen, honey, I know you think you're hot shit right now because he's—God willing if he can pull his head out of his ass—going to go pro, but he won't with you up his ass—"
"Don't talk to her like that."
The words erupt from my mouth.
His eyes snap over to mine. Emerald looks over to me, surprised at first, before her eyes shifted into something that made my heart stutter.
Pride.
He laughs, disbelieving. "What did you just say to me?"
I lift my chin. "You heard me."
"I don't think I did," he laughs, eyes sliding over to Emerald. "Is her pussy that good? "
Emerald gasps, and I slam my hand down on the table. Silverware clatters and falls to the floor, shattering. All the noise in the busy restaurant quiets. People glance over in our direction, curious, smirking faces wanting to see drama play out.
Hal doesn't react, just takes a sip from his whiskey, swirling it around in his glass.
"College made you a tough guy, huh?" he asks, a mean smile on his face.
He tips his glass to Emerald. "You know, I actually feel a little proud.
I always wondered if you were gay, but this one's not so bad.
You do understand that if you want to fuck someone, you don't have to make them your girlfriend, right? "
He speaks slowly, enunciating every word like I have a hard time understanding him.
I just stare at this man in front of me.
"Just make sure you're the one who buys the condoms."
These words and tone are not unfamiliar to me. But with the woman next to me, the woman I love's honor on the line, all I feel is rage.
Emerald recovers faster than I and speaks softly, but with precision.
"You're so small," she whispers, catching my father's attention.
My eyes drift over to her, and the expression on her face hurts me deeply.
Understanding and heartbreak are tangled together, and I realize it's probably because Emerald can't ever picture her father speaking to her like this.
Love doesn't look like this to her.
"You hold so much insecurity inside of you that you let it bleed into Hayden to make yourself feel large."
Emerald shakes her head, my father's expression twisting into something vicious. His jaw locks, his teeth clench, and his eyes burn.
Emerald sits, unaffected, her voice steady, and she hits him right where it hurts.
"I've never met such a small man."
Silence.
The entire world goes silent and waits.
Even a couple of nearby tables are watching with anticipation.
The rage builds and builds on Hal's face, and my hand curls into a fist.
My father, showing the person he keeps relegated to boardrooms, slams his glass to the ground.
He stands up and points right in Emerald's face.
"I should smack you right in your insolent little cunt mouth!"
My blood boils.
Every muscle in my body tenses, and I open my mouth to defend Emerald, but she beats me to it.
I've seen men triple her size cower under my father.
But Emerald Osgood stands up, puts her face right in my father's, and snarls.
"Yes, that's it! Show the world who Hal Sawyer really is. You're a pathetic excuse for a man, and Hayden deserves a better father—"
I see the moment he loses control.
He lifts his hand—the flash of rings in the low light catching my eye—and it comes down toward Emerald's face.
I'm moving before I even know it.
The chair scrapes and topples over as I stand too quickly. In less than a second, I'm between them, and my hand is wrapped around my father's throat, squeezing until his face turns as red as my vision.
Emerald gasps my name, but all I see are my father's bloodshot eyes.
Fear cracks through the polished veneer of his face for the first time in my life.
And I feel powerful as I roar right in his face.
"Don't you fucking touch her!"
It's all a blur of movement.
Security separating us, the restaurant manager demanding we leave, Emerald pulling me outside.
I'm still determined to destroy my father for the way he spoke to her, for how he was going to strike the woman I love.
My father's roars chase us outside.
Emerald's arms wrap around my body like she is trying to hold me together.
"You're dead to me! Too stupid and pathetic to be my son. Don't ever fucking contact me again—"
And over my father's biting words, Emerald's soft voice is in my ear, drowning them out as she whispers.
"I love you, sweetheart. I love you, I love you, I love you..."