Chapter 15
HANNAH
Apparently, his dad, Jonny, bought the place back in the nineties so that they would have a base for when Linda was in the city for her modeling.
He converted the entire basement floor into a state-of-the-art recording studio where his band, The Rouse, recorded their triple platinum album, Clandestiny.
Jonny held onto the property, and now Happy lives here, in a five-story townhouse, all by himself.
Or at least that’s what everyone thinks.
I’m not entirely convinced anymore. First his phone call where he told someone he loves them, and now, his secretive text messages forcing him to ditch me after I practically offered my pussy to him on a silver goddamn platter.
It’s why I’m here now, completely unannounced and probably a little more tipsy than I should be considering I’m about to potentially find out that Happy Slater is harboring some secret relationship with a woman he may or may not be cheating on.
With me. My hands ball into fists at the thought because I swear to all that is holy, if I find out that I am, once again, the other woman, after Happy dared to look me dead in my eyes and assure me that there would be no other women, if I walk up that pretty stoop lined with pretty potted flowers, to that blue door to confront him, and I find out that he lied, I am going to lose my ever-loving shit.
With a deep, fortifying breath, I hop out of the Uber, the Toyota pulling away as I stand on the sidewalk staring up at the grand, limestone building with its greenery climbing up the facade and the Juliette balconies coming off every high arched window.
I don’t miss the way my heart races. And the truth is, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t nervous.
I am. And it’s not just the possibility of finding out that Happy might have lied to me.
If I’m being deadass, when Happy and I walked Toast Malone together the other night, when he and I had an actual conversation for the first time ever, I saw Happy in a different light.
And… I don’t know; feelings are looming.
With another deep breath, I shake out my hands as I walk up the steps, stopping at the top and pressing the button for the doorbell before I can chicken out.
I’m left waiting for a few minutes, but that’s not surprising considering the size of this place.
I glance at the Ring camera and suspect I’ve been seen, so when I hear the telltale sound of hurried footsteps come from the other side of the big blue door, I stand up as tall as my five-feet-six allows me, squaring my shoulders and lifting my chin a little higher.
But when the door opens, revealing a beautiful raven-haired woman, my bravado immediately falls as the realization that I was fucking right crashes over me like a tsunami.
“Hi…” The woman smiles, tentatively. “C-can I… help you?”
I swallow hard around the lump wedged painfully in my throat. Don’t cry. Don’t you dare fucking cry. Clearing my throat, I swallow again. “Is H-Happy here?”
The woman arches an eyebrow, looking me up and down. It’s not in a judgmental way, or even a defensive way. It’s more confusion. More… curiosity.
“He… um—” The woman glances over her shoulder, searching for what, I don’t know, but when she turns back to me, she looks almost panicked as she says, “Hold on. I’ll just… I’ll see if he’s available.”
Available? What is this? A fucking brothel?
The door closes with a gentle click, and I huff incredulously, taking a step back because… she just closed the door in my face. My anger has officially returned, and I’m about to lose what very little cool I have left, vitriol burning the tip of my tongue.
A minute or so later, the door swings open again, Happy standing there, a little out of breath, his hair a chaotic mess, the white button down he’d been wearing earlier untucked from his suit pants, the sleeves rolled up, a few buttons unfastened, a suspicious pink stain on the collar.
He’s the definition of a disheveled mess, and his face is fraught with a combination of surprise and concern.
“Baby Draper?” He looks me up and down, his shoulders falling in apparent relief, like he’s actually glad it’s me. He rakes a hand through his already mussed hair. “Allie said there was a girl at the door, and I was so scared it was some puck bunny who found out where I live.”
I gawk at him and, in a deep voice, I throw back the words he told me himself with angry stabbing finger quotes, “I promise it’s not what you think…?”
Happy’s eyebrows knit together, and I think he’s genuinely confused. The audacity.
“Who the hell is Allie?” I whisper-yell.
He stares at me for a long moment, the cogs in his mind turning, albeit slowly, before he cocks his head to the side in understanding.
But just when he’s about to say something, the moment is interrupted by a tiny human with honey blonde hair dressed in Bluey pajamas sidling in next to Happy and hugging his thigh.
I look from the little girl back to Happy, blinking once.
Happy hesitates before crouching down on one knee, getting to the little girl’s eye level so she can whisper something into his ear. Wrapping an arm around her slight shoulders, Happy smiles from her to me. “That’s Hannah,” he says, indicating me, and the little girl waves, flashing me a shy grin.
I wave back, my confusion well and truly piqued because what the hell is going on?
Happy hesitates for a moment before meeting my eyes. “Hannah, this… this is my daughter, Lucky.”
Holy. Fucking. Shit.
As I follow Happy and his… daughter… up a grand spiral staircase, it’s as if I’m in some sort of trance. Like I’m no longer in control of my own self. Catatonic, almost.
As expected, the inside of the house is just as breathtaking as the outside. An eclectic mix of old-money, art deco, and ultra-modern—chaotic, but I’d expect nothing less from someone as unhinged as Jonny Slater appears to be.
When we clear the landing, I’m met with the first floor, which consists of one huge sprawling space that contains a big open kitchen toward the back, an informal eating area, and a cozy den at the front filled with a luxurious U-shaped sofa and toys galore.
I pause, noticing the woman, Allie, in the kitchen, standing behind the island looking almost as confused as I am. And I feel sick. Because if this is my way of finding out that not only is Happy very much not single, but that he also has a child, I might just die right here on this very spot.
“Hey, Lucky Duck, you wanna go on up to bed, and I’ll be in soon to read your book?” Happy says to the adorable girl who is looking only at me. Her big brown eyes twinkle before she turns to her dad and nods.
“Come on, girlfriend,” Allie says, walking out from behind the kitchen counter. She holds her hand out, and as soon as Happy sets Lucky down onto her feet, she runs to Allie and, with one last curious glimpse back in my direction, they disappear up the stairs.
I snap my head Happy’s way to find him already looking like he’s waiting for me to speak first. So, I do. “Happy, you—” I stop myself, searching for words that make at least some semblance of sense. “You have a child.”
He lifts a hand, rubbing the back of his neck. “Uh, yeah.”
I shake my head, at a loss despite the multitude of questions I’m desperate to know the answers to that are currently swirling around in my mind.
“Allie is Lucky’s nanny,” he says after a beat, pointing at the stairs they just walked up.
“She lives here with us, but last night she had a late class, and my mom was here looking after Luck. That’s who called when we were—” He snaps his mouth shut before adding softly, “My mother. Not another woman.”
“Oh,” is all I can manage, looking down at my hands and feeling really bad for doubting him. When I overheard him say I love you, he was talking to his mom.
“Who else knows?” I ask gently. “About… Lucky.”
“Nobody outside of my family and my agent,” he answers without missing a beat.
My eyes flare. Happy has a secret child and she’s at least six, maybe even older. Hell, I know nothing about kids; she could be ten for all I know. Happy has played with the New York Thunder for three years; how has he managed to keep this from everyone?
“Not even Logan?” I press.
He shakes his head, but then he offers a slight grimace. “I mean, there is one person at the team who knows…”
I wait, my heart inching up into the back of my throat because I’m almost certain I know who he’s talking about, and that revelation makes my gut twist.
“Chris Garret.”
A wave of nausea rolls through me.
“I’m not ashamed or anything. Lucky’s the best part of my life,” Happy says vehemently.
“I’m just not ready to share her with the world yet.
She’s… been through a lot already at such a young age.
And there’s a lot of shitty people out there.
Stalkers and fuckin’ weirdos. I grew up around it, and the last thing I want is to risk putting my daughter through it. She’s my whole goddamn world.”
I nod, because although I don’t understand the level of fame Happy grew up surrounded by, I do remember the overzealous hockey fans that would come up to me when my dad would take me out for something as casual as ice cream.
I remember being nine, and a group of so-called fans hurled abuse at my father when we were walking out of The Cheesecake Factory a few days after his team was eliminated from the playoffs.
They were shouting horrible things, getting really close; it was terrifying for me.
I certainly wouldn’t want that for my child.
“She starts Kindergarten in the fall, so I know I can’t keep her in this bubble forever.” Happy indicates the house around us. “I’ve done everything I can to keep her safe, and I’ll continue doing it for as long as I possibly can because I’m all she’s got…”