FORTY-TWO
HAYDEN
MICHIGAN
DECEMBER
"Mrs. Sawyer, by the time you struck Mr. Fox with the hockey stick, he was already on the floor, correct?"
Emerald looks directly at Preston Peterson, Rick's defense attorney, and answers the question.
"Yes."
She's been steady the entire time she's been on the stand.
Steady as the prosecutor guided her through that fateful day.
How Rick entered through the front door, leaving the stolen beater down the street.
How she defended herself with what she could grab, hid in the closet as he taunted her, and pepper-sprayed him.
How she took the hockey stick again and again.
I've heard the story so many times I could recite it myself. She told me in the ambulance through choppy sobs. She told her parents at the hospital, and recounted it to numerous police and lawyers.
Each time I hear what my wife endured, it carves a fresh wound on my soul. In my nightmares, I see her broken and bloodied, her body racked with sobs as she whispers, " I didn't want to die. It's not enough time with you."
My Emerald. My brave wife.
And now, seven months later, she sits on the stand, facing down questions from the man paid to defend Rick .
"And yet," the defense attorney says, "you continued striking him."
My body goes rigid at the implication.
From next to me, Ruby lays a hand over my forearm, squeezing slightly.
God. Every second of this trial is torment.
Ruby had consulted all of us beforehand about the importance of this trial.
I can't react. I can't yell out that my wife did what she needed to do to save herself.
Not without getting thrown out of this courtroom. I need to be here.
My wife needs me. Or maybe I need her more.
Emerald doesn't flinch at the thinly veiled accusation.
Instead, she leans forward and speaks clearly into the microphone.
"Yes."
The attorney tilts his head.
"So then you would agree, wouldn't you, that at some point victim and aggressor flipped?"
Ruby squeezes my arm once more.
On her other side, Ramirez and Aisha sit rigid with anger, fists clenched and faces set. Tim's hand curls into a fist hard enough that his knuckles crack, his eyes never leaving the attorney.
Emerald shakes her head. "No."
"No?" the attorney questions, before pointing right at Rick. "Would you look at Mr. Fox, Mrs. Sawyer?"
My eyes slide to Rick.
He looks nothing like the smirking, smug showman I hired. He looks ruined. He has scars all over his face. The right corner of his mouth is permanently twisted into a scowl, his nose practically a z-shape. There are three fewer teeth in his mouth.
I see his shoulders flinch when he sees Emerald looking at him.
Good, you should be scared. She kicked your ass.
"You were angry when you continued striking him, correct?"
"Objection. Leading," Amy Martin says. She's the District Attorney prosecuting this case. Ruby interned at her office five years ago.
The judge narrows her eyes at Peterson, then nods once. "I'll allow it. Answer the question, Mrs. Sawyer."
Emerald meets my eyes for a brief moment, and I give her a small nod. You've got this, baby.
"I was angry," Emerald says softly. The defense attorney smirks victoriously for only a moment, because her next words wipe it clear off his face. "I was angry that he broke into my house and attacked me, cornered me. Slammed my head into the wall. Called me a bitch and a cunt while he did so."
My hands clench into fists so tightly my short nails bite into my skin.
Someone in the room gasps softly.
"I was angry that he pointed his gun at me. I was angry that he taunted me while I hid from him. I was angry that he wanted to play the children's game of Marco Polo— "
Rick flinches at the last word, and sick satisfaction rips through me at that. When the District Attorney said "Marco Polo" during the opening statements, Rick nearly had a panic attack, and the judge had to call a recess.
"—as he hunted me through my house. "
My chest swells with pride at my wife's unwavering voice.
God, I love you, Emerald.
Ruby looks smug as hell beside me, lips quirking while she raises an eyebrow at Ramirez, who gives a quick approving nod.
Tim mutters under his breath, 'Atta girl.'
The defense attorney looks like he's shrinking in front of her as Emerald's green eyes blaze.
"So, yes, Mr. Peterson, I was angry . And I was terrified that if I stopped, he would get up and shoot me dead, like I watched him shoot my father-in-law dead."
There's a brief jolt in my chest at the reminder, less than it was, which my therapist says is progress.
The courtroom goes dead silent as she finishes. No one moves. No one even breathes.
The judge raises an eyebrow when the seconds stretch too long and clears her throat, which restarts the noise.
"Mr. Peterson?" she prompts.
"No further questions, your Honor," he mutters, returning to his seat.
The judge softens when she looks at Emerald. "You may step down, Mrs. Sawyer."
Emerald nods and stands, walking over to sit back down next to me. Like she used every bit of strength left in her up on that stand, she practically collapses in the seat. I'm there before she can fold in on herself, arm around her, mouth at her temple.
"I'm so proud of you, baby."
Her eyes close for a second. "I love you."
I kiss her hair gently, my arm tightening and pulling her close .
From behind, a hand lands on her shoulder. We both turn to meet the eyes of Samantha Ward, Jace sitting next to her, hand on her wheelchair, and giving Emerald a nod. The Wards came from Wisconsin for the trial, staying in the guest room at our brand-new Ann Arbor house.
Linda jumped at the chance to babysit Christopher while we attended the trial, shoving us out the door this morning so she could spoil him.
Emerald turns enough to give Samantha a small smile.
It's nice to have them around, to have someone who understands . Emerald adores Christopher, who's grown quite attached to my wife, calling her Aunt Em, which just sends Linda over the moon.
To be honest, when I see Emerald holding Christopher, I see him as our own calling her 'mama.'
Someday, but not yet.
We're still healing from what happened.
Grief still surprises me. I feel it while brushing my teeth, driving home from therapy, or when Emerald holds me. My feelings for my father were mixed, but a child inside me remembers loving him. I think of him and the could-have-beens.
My therapist says there's no time constraint on processing grief. Sometimes it hits immediately. Sometimes it's delayed for years. But it's best not to fight it and lean into the feeling.
Crying is good. Crying is a release.
And when I shatter, my wife gathers every trembling piece of me, holding me until I can breathe again.
I held a small funeral for my father, a way to say thank you and goodbye.
None of his old business associates came.
My mother didn't answer her phone—not from me or Ruby .
Hal didn't have anyone from his old circle to carry his casket.
But he had me.
And Tim.
And Jace.
And Ignacio.
And Demar.
And Frank.
We carried his casket, and he was buried a hero in my eyes for saving my wife.
Emerald spoke at the funeral, and I could barely breathe through it, biting down on my tongue to stop my tears. My wife, in a simple black dress, a healing bruise on her temple, stood at the front of the church and spoke with a steady voice.
"I don't believe we should be defined by our worst moments, but by what we can learn from them."
Later, Emerald cried and confessed that she felt guilty about Hal sacrificing himself to save her. She feels like she's the reason I won't ever get the could-have-beens.
I cradled her face, kissed her sweetly, and told her the truth.
That she is the most important person in my life.
She is my wife.
She is my home.
And I wouldn't trade her for a billion could-have-beens.
A lawyer reached out to me about Hal's estate shortly after the funeral.
Apparently, he reinstated me as the sole beneficiary four years ago.
That's when my mother finally remembered that I exist. I had Ruby handle her, and she never reached out again.
I inherited everything: his money, his properties, and the Ann Arbor ice rink. Construction finishes in a couple of months. He left it unnamed, so I chose when they asked.
Emerald's City Ice Arena.
My wife giggled in delight when I proudly showed her the mock-ups.
"Appropriate," she murmured against my lips. "And very clever, honey."
Tim and Linda retired from their jobs and will be running the rink for us.
Linda's already organizing an opening day, and many of my old League friends—including Demar and Frank—will be attending with their families to sign autographs and raise money for charity.
Emerald and I stay up late and brainstorm ideas. We're already planning hockey and figure skating camps, as well as lessons for people who want to skate for fun.
It'll be a safe place for some kid like me, and that's enough.
The last seven months have been about healing, grieving, and building something better.
But first, we need to close this final chapter.
It takes only fifteen minutes to reach a verdict.
"Good sign," Ruby murmurs as the foreperson stands, answering the judge if they've reached a verdict.
Emerald's hand in mine tightens, and I squeeze three times.
My eyes remain on the back of Rick's head as he stands trembling next to his attorney.
He knows.
"In the matter of the State of Michigan v. Maxwell Richard Foxworth III, we the jury find the defendant... guilty on all counts."
Emerald exhales next to me, long and slow, and the tension in her shoulders drops completely. I feel myself mirroring her, my fingers tightening around her hand in mine.
Rick's head drops, and his shoulders slump over in defeat.
The court is adjourned, and the officers walk over to Rick, place him in handcuffs, and lead him away.
Before he goes, he turns and makes eye contact with me. I stare back. I can't read the expression on his scarred face. It's not remorse, but it's something close to it.
And I avert my eyes, because that's all he deserves now. The officers pull him, and he's led through the door to be taken back to his jail cell. He won't be comfortable there for long, Ruby says he'll die in prison, and the one he's going to will not be kind to him.
That's after he's extradited to Boston to face his charges there.
Rick's story is over.
Emerald stands staring at the front of the courtroom. I cradle her face in my hands, "Hey," I say gently, and her eyes find mine. "There she is."
"It's over," her voice is scratchy, and tears gather in her eyes. My thumbs are there, brushing them away as they slip down her cheeks. "It's... really over."
I nod. "Yeah, baby. It's over."
Like the sun bursting through a storm, a rainbow coloring the sky, Emerald laughs through her tears. I lean down to rest my forehead against hers, both of us just breathing in the peace, the relief.
Emerald and I walk out of the courthouse, media gathering like hounds waiting for a fresh bone. Our story's gone viral nationwide and reporters from all the major networks are here.
"Emerald, is it true you were considering leaving him before the assault?"
"Haymaker, do you feel emasculated knowing your wife had to save herself?"
"Would you say Rick exposed cracks in your marriage that were already there?"
"Will your marriage survive this?"
One invasive question after another, I tuck Emerald in close to me and guide us to the parking lot. Officers are already there, pushing the media back and escorting us safely to my SUV. Some things change, and some things stay the same.
Ruby has already drafted a release for us that we'll post on our social media pages. We haven't been spending much time on there as of late, but without the rot of Boston, things have gone in a more positive direction.
The Boston Bullies have been pretty much gutted from the inside out. The Murphys were forced out after Doug's arrest and are under new ownership that seems less toxic and more focused on a family-friendly experience for the sport.
And additional security measures have been put in place to protect players' families.
The league announced Emerald's Accordance , which now requires security escorts for every family member as they leave for their cars or transport. Emerald cried when they spoke to us about it, happy to know that something good could come from something so terrible.
We get into the SUV, and for the first time all day, it's quiet.
"So," she says softly. "What now?"
I smile and lean over the console to kiss her.
"Now," I grin against her lips. "We go see some elves."