THIRTY-NINE
HAYDEN
MICHIGAN
MARCH
"So, this is it."
"This is it."
The building is huge.
It used to be an old printing factory before the business went under years ago. Hal bought it outright, and construction is supposed to start next week. They're tearing it down to the bones and rebuilding from the ground up.
I guess that's appropriate.
"It's ugly as shit right now," Hal says, shoving his hands into the pockets of his coat as he turns to face the building. "But it'll be good when it's done."
I grunt, shifting my weight from one foot to the other. Hal had asked if I wanted to see it, and because I had time before therapy—and because Emerald said maybe I needed the same kind of release she got when we burned the jersey—I agreed to meet him here.
"What's the business model?" I drawl, turning to meet my father's eyes. "Projected revenue? Profit margin? Market demand?"
"Don't care if it loses money."
I snort. "That's new."
"This isn't business." His gaze goes back to the building. "It's personal. "
"It's always business with you."
"Was," he corrects quietly.
Something in his voice gets my attention.
"The board forced me out after my heart attack," he shrugs. "Turns out men like me don't inspire much confidence when they collapse in a conference room."
I don't like the picture that appears in my head at that, nor the sympathy that swells in me. I fold my arms over my chest. "So what've you been doing all these years?"
"Therapy," he lets out a dry laugh. "A lot of fucking therapy. My doctor said if I didn't deal with..." He gestures vaguely at himself and then weakly at me. "I'd end up dead within the year."
"And?" I prompt.
"And I fucking hated it," he huffs, crossing his arms over his own chest. I realize how much we actually look alike right now.
I've always known that, always heard it from everyone around us, but I truly did take everything from him.
"Spent the first six months lying. The next six months, trying to get out of it.
But then... I kind of liked it. I started feeling good after. "
"And what is your diagnosis?"
He smirks.
"That I'm an asshole."
Now that actually makes me laugh, small, but there. I share a matching grin with Hal.
"We kept circling back to you."
That kills all the humor in me.
"Hm... your greatest failure," I say coldly.
His eyes bore into mine.
"Yes."
The admission is delivered so certainly that it takes me back for a moment. I knew it was the truth, but I thought he would do the normal Hal Sawyer routine—deflect, deny, destroy.
I frown and turn to face him.
"You are my greatest failure. Mine."
"You don't..." I trail off, my hands going to my hair where I grip tightly and pull.
Irritation burns beneath my skin, making it feel too tight.
I storm right up to him, jabbing my finger in his face as I hiss, "You don't get to come here and talk therapy and regret. Not after what you've done to me."
"You called me stupid. Every single day of my life. Every failed test I brought home," I shout. "I'm not stupid—I have dyslexia! You just never bothered to look closer."
He nods. For some reason, his easy agreement just pisses me off more.
"I still hear your voice in my fucking head," I say, pointing right at my temple. "Stupid. Dumb. Goon. Every single day. The only thing that ever mattered to you about me was my ability to make money and carry on your name—your legacy. Fuck your legacy!"
He flinches at the force of my roar. I don't let up, I just release. "Do you have any idea what that did to me? How that feels as a child? To hear over and over that I'm too dumb, too soft, too disappointing to ever be enough?"
"Your heart attack, your therapy," I sneer. "It made you reflect because you were scared, weren't you?"
Something shifts in his eye, and he looks exposed. "Yeah, you were scared. Because who would come to your funeral? And who would actually give a fuck? Because I know you love business talk, old man, and the return on investment would be less than zero."
"I know—" his voice breaks, and I hate the sound of it.
"Stop saying that!” I explode, years and years of resentment burning inside my chest. I laugh mockingly, “ You 'know', so why? Why now?"
Hal doesn't say anything, but his eyes have filled with tears, and he swallows compulsively. He sets his hand on his chest for a moment and closes his eyes, focusing on breathing in and out.
For a brief moment, I'm scared he's going to have a heart attack, but instead, I watch him count backward from ten under his breath. He inhales and exhales slowly and carefully until his breathing is even again.
"You know the worst part? I believed every cruel word I spat at you," he laughs wetly, mirthlessly. "Because I thought the only way to forge a sword was to beat it into shape. That's how my father taught me, how his taught him."
He scrubs his hands over his face.
"I told myself that I was hardening you for this tough world. That only men survive in this world," he drops his hands and looks straight at me. And smiles, proudly. "But you were never like me, Hayden. Never like your mother. You were... better than us all."
I frown, unwanted tears pooling in my own eyes. The tone he's using I've never heard before, and the vulnerability in it sounds so alien coming from him.
"I was cutting you down because I was threatened by you.
Because you were better than me. Even as a boy.
Especially now as a man. You were soft and loyal and kind—things I didn't know how to be.
And because of that, I called you stupid.
Because it was the one thing I could jab at and I'd know it would hurt you. "
He's out of breath, and a wave of dizziness hits me.
"That supposed to make it better?" I rasp.
"Did it make it better with Emerald?" he asks, shrugging.
"Fuck you!” I growl, turning to head back to my car .
"Hayden," his voice is pleading, and he grabs my arm. I rip it out of his grasp, and he stumbles for a second.
"I didn't say that to hurt you. I said it so you could understand that it doesn't excuse a damn thing," he continues. "I abused you. I humiliated you."
Stepping back, I put some space between us. Hal stays where he is and nods, accepting the distance.
"And your birthday dinner," his face falls, and he looks disgusted. "I can't believe I was about to hit her."
My jaw locks, and my fist clenches at my side.
"Emerald was right," he nods firmly. "God, that girl. No fear. No kissing ass. She just... saw me. Exactly what I was. Small."
The corner of my lip lifts briefly, just at the image of my brave wife.
"That terrified me more than anything," he shakes his head.
"I would have killed you," I say quietly. "If you'd touched her."
"I know," he says. "Because you're a good man."
"I don't want your pride."
"I'm not giving it, I'm just feeling it. You're not like me, and that's something to be proud of."
"So what is this?" I gesture to the building. "Atonement?"
"Maybe," Hal shrugs. "But I wanted to create something good. For kids, for families. I wanted to create a safe space for some kid like you to escape to."
His words hit, and I stare at the building, trying to picture it.
My mind leads me down the path of the not-so-distant future, of Emerald and me bringing our own kids here to skate, if they want. A little girl holding each of our hands as we glide around.
The image fills me with such love that it aches.
"Well, you usually had good ideas," I nod, begrudgingly. He gives me a small grin, and I return it briefly before looking back at the space. "Should be a good rink."
"I hope so," Hal nods.
◆◆◆
Therapy leaves me dizzy and drained. I unload everything: the confrontation with my father this morning, burning the jersey with Emerald last night, and my relentless thoughts.
And I feel better, a little lightheaded, but better. Able to focus instead of having to comb through the thick sludge of trauma and figure out my feelings.
I'm not ready to forgive Hal. I don't think I'll ever forgive him. But this morning, I heard his words and the truth behind them.
It was enough for now.
Sliding into my SUV, I reach into the glove box and grab my phone. My hand freezes when I see the notifications.
Twelve missed calls from Hal Sawyer.
And he left a voicemail five minutes ago.
My heart pounds as I hit the notification and press the phone to my ear.
"Hayden!" he shouts, sounding like he's running. "My guy got an alert of Rick Fox at a gas station in Ann Arbor! They caught him on the security camera. I'm going to head to your house—I'll just drive by and check on Emerald, I won't talk to her. I promise—"
My car is started, and I'm backing out of the space in half a second. Speeding out of the parking lot, onto the main road, my other hand dials Emerald's cellphone .
I'm twenty minutes away. Fifteen if I speed.
It rings. And rings.
It rings. And rings. And rings.
My voice is begging. "Come on, baby... pick up the phone—"
Hey, this is Emerald. Leave me—
Her voicemail. I hang up quickly and dial again.
It rings.
And rings. And rings.
Hey, this is Emerald. Leave me a message...
"Baby, Rick Fox was spotted in Ann Arbor. Lock the doors. I'm on my way home. I'll be there soon, I promise. I love you."
I hang up again and call her once more.
It rings. And rings.
And then—
"Sorry, Haymaker, we're playing hide and seek."
My heart stops dead in my chest at the voice.
On Emerald’s cellphone.
Slimy and arrogant, all lacquer gone, leaving the rot exposed.
I snarl, "Rick!"
He chuckles, the sound stringy and unhinged, his voice sing-songy as he calls.
"Emerald? Oh, Emerald.... come out to play...."