Chapter 23 Hannah
HANNAH
The media is going crazy at the breaking news of Brookes Devereaux pulling out of The Masters on such short notice.
His reps are citing exhaustion, but of course, I know the truth.
And the photos of Brookes leaving New York this morning, with his head down, a ball cap covering his face, surrounded by security while photographers pulled at his shirt and pushed and shoved around him…
it just cements the fact that his decision to pull out of the tournament, and all future competitions until further notice, has been the best decision Brookes could have made.
I feel for the man in these photographs.
And I hate that I was so cruel toward him while he was secretly going through something so horrible.
I truly do hope that Brookes gets the help that he needs.
Patrick flew back to Los Angeles this morning, where he lives with his wife and two daughters.
And he told me to take the day off to decompress after everything that went down yesterday, which was an offer I immediately accepted.
Emotionally and mentally, I’m fine after what happened.
Yes, it was scary seeing Brookes lying on the floor, covered in his own vomit, not knowing if he was dead or alive.
I never want to see anything like that again.
But I’m okay. In fact, if anything, yesterday was an eye-opener for me.
I grew up in this industry, and it reminded me that there is so much more to all of this.
It’s not all fame and celebrity, money and winning; there’s a real dark side to this business, and it can be dangerous if it’s taken advantage of.
What happened yesterday made me realize that I need to spend more time with my dad away from hockey.
Yesterday also made me realize that I like Happy Slater—I really like him—and I think I want to be with him.
And frankly, I don’t give a flying fuck what anyone has to say about it.
So, upon Patrick’s insistence, I took the day off today.
Toast Malone and I walked down to Hudson River Park and spent some time basking in the morning sunshine.
While Toasty was passed out on the sofa after our walk, I took myself out for a ME day, and I got a mani-pedi, spent way too much money in Sephora, and then bought something special.
Something I’m wearing right now as I pose in front of the free-standing mirror in the corner of my bedroom, snapping a photo of myself with my phone and attaching it to a new text message.
Me: What do you think?
I wasn’t expecting a response so fast, since they flew to Texas early this morning. I assumed he was probably resting or busy with pre-game prep, but my phone buzzes almost instantly with his reply, and I fall back onto my bed, pathetically giddy.
Happy: Are you fucking kidding me, Baby Draper?
I smirk at my phone.
Happy: Your dad is literally sitting in front of me while we watch game tape, and you send me a photo of you wearing my goddamn name and number on your back?
Happy: I’d excuse myself to the bathroom if I didn’t have a raging hard on right now.
Me: So, you like it then?
Happy: Like it? I fucking love it! That jersey was made to be worn by you. Although I’m a bit sad you didn’t get it from me… Where did you get it from?
Me: NHL shop. It was in the window as I walked past, so of course I had to go in and buy it.
Happy: Wait a second. My jersey was in the window of the NHL shop?
Me: Yep. Front and center. I even took a photo of the storefront so I could show you. [Photo]
Happy: Look, Mom! I made it!
I smile. He’s so cute. And honestly, it’s a crying shame that Happy doesn’t seem to realize just how good of a player he is.
Happy: I’m gonna need you to wear it the next time I see you.
Me: Win against Dallas tonight and it’s the only thing I’ll wear next time you see me…
Happy: Fucking deal.
Since Dallas and Millie are from Texas originally, and the Thunder play the DFW Knights tonight and the Houston Drillers tomorrow, Millie and Emily flew out to Texas to meet up with the guys, watch the games, and spend some time with the Shaw family.
Fran invited me to the apartment she shares with Robbie to watch tonight’s game with some of the other WAGs, but I had to politely decline because when those women get together to watch a game, they spend most of the time gossiping instead of actually paying attention.
Plus, Jackie Harris, wife of Thunder captain, Rusty, is as much of a C U Next Tuesday as her husband; I try to avoid her as much as I can.
So, tonight, it’s just me in my Slater jersey, Toasty wearing his custom-made Draper jersey, a bottle of rosé, and dumplings ordered from the best little dumpling joint in the city.
The perfect evening. At least, it was the perfect evening, until the Knights came out of nowhere after the break and scored three quick goals, pushing them into the lead.
Our guys aren’t playing bad. In fact, they’re playing better than I’ve seen them play so far this season.
But it’s as if Dallas-Fort Worth have suddenly figured out that their spot in the playoffs is in jeopardy, and they’re like a completely different team than the Knights who have sucked for most of the regular season.
Their defense during the last fifteen minutes has been out of this world, and now, with Logan icing the puck with only ninety seconds to go, the Dallas home crowd is already celebrating as the players line up for the faceoff.
I sag defeatedly against the couch cushion, tipping back the remainder of my third glass of wine, Toast huffing an exaggerated sigh as he rests his huge head on my thigh. I scratch him behind his ear with a muttered, “Same, dude.”
“We’re into the final minute here at American Airlines Center, DFW holding onto a one-goal lead, but New York’s not going down without a fight, Harris winning the faceoff!”
I look back up at the TV.
“The puck’s in deep. Thunder cycling through the zone… back to the point—it’s Slater… Happy Slater!” the announcer practically yells.
Sitting up fast, Toast Malone grunts at my sudden movement, but I’m on the edge of my seat watching the action unfold on the ice.
“Happy Slater winds—he shoots—he scores! Happy Slater! The defenseman comes roaring in and lights up the lamp with seconds left in the third!”
I jump up onto my feet, wine sloshing over the side of my glass as I shout, “Yes, Happy!”
“What a rocket from the blue line. Absolutely no chance for the Knights’ goalie.
And, just like that, as the siren sounds, the New York Thunder have stormed back to tie it up!
Can you believe this? The arena is shaking!
A two-goal lead erased in a matter of four minutes, and now we’ve got a battle heading into overtime. ”
You know how wine, or any kind of alcohol for that matter, makes you braver than what you normally might be when you’re stone-cold sober?
Well, an hour later, after taking Toasty for a walk and opening my second bottle of wine, I’m kneeling on my bed, wearing Happy’s jersey and nothing else, holding my phone at just the right angle to get the best lighting possible, waiting as the line trills through the silence of my room, my dildo perched at my lips.
But when the FaceTime connects and the screen flickers, I regret every decision I’ve made leading up to this point when, instead of Happy’s handsome face filling the screen, it’s Millie and Emily, their eyes identically wide and, understandably, full of shock.
“Oh my God!” I cry, tossing the dildo across the room, the silicone hitting the brick with a loud thwack.
“I knew it!” Millie squeals victoriously while, at the same time, Emily at least has the decency to shield her eyes, clearly trying not to laugh.
I pull the neck of my jersey up and over my head, concealing my flaming red face.
“What are you guys doing with my phone?” I hear Happy laugh from a distance before a few cuss words ensue, followed by the sound of a struggle. “Shit! Baby Draper?”
“Baby Draper?” a chorus of male voices echo.
“Aw, Baby Draper!” Millie and Emily chime.
The noise in the background dies down, followed by the click of a door, and suddenly it’s silent, nothing but my mortification ringing in my ears before Happy’s low, knowing tone breaks through the embarrassment. “Baby Draper, you’re okay. It’s just me.”
Tugging the jersey down, I gawk at the screen, relieved to find Happy alone, in what appears to be a hotel room.
“There she is,” he says with that infectious grin.
“I cannot believe that just happened,” I groan, scrubbing a hand over my face.
“What’d I miss?” Happy laughs.
Unable to look at him, I whisper, “Trust me, you don’t wanna know.”
“Sorry, baby. I was in Mason’s room playing Call of Duty, and those four came in to see if we wanted to go grab a late dinner with them. Millie must have seen your name flash up on my screen.”
“Oh, she saw a whole lot more than my name on your screen…” I mutter.
Happy chortles. “Damn, now I’m really bummed.”
“Sorry, I should have checked if you were free to… talk.” I glance up at the screen to find him getting comfortable on his bed.
“Well, I’m free now.”
“How are you so casual right now?” I gape at him incredulously. “You don’t care that all of our friends are probably sitting around right now talking about me FaceTiming you wearing your jersey while rubbing a dildo over my lips?”
“You were rubbing a what over your what?” Happy is the incredulous one now, sitting bolt upright, his eyes nearly bugging out of his head.
I deadpan.
“Screw those guys, Baby Draper.” He scoffs, waving a dismissing hand. “Where’s the dildo?”
And I can’t help but laugh because yes, my friends are going to harass me about this new development. In fact, I already have at least three text messages that have come through on my phone from Millie in the last fifty seconds. But the wine has a hold of me, and right now, she’s got me brazen.
“You’re alone?” I check.
Happy nods, his grin lingering. “Just me and the big guy.”
He turns the phone, and I see the five-person tent pitched in his sweatpants, an ache blooming between my thighs.
His beautiful face appears back on the screen as he says in a low, gruff, and demanding tone that lights a fire in my belly, “Now, go get your toy, Baby Draper…”