Chapter 25
HANNAH
“When will you arrive?”
I roll my eyes as I walk out of my bedroom, towel drying my hair. “Saturday morning.”
“The day of?” My mother almost chokes on her own words.
“Yes.” I toss the damp towel onto the back of one of my kitchen stools, turning to open the fridge. “I have to work, remember?” Something you haven’t done since you were a twenty-two-year-old bottle girl living off tips when you met my father, I don’t add.
“You can’t come down on Friday?”
“No.” That’s a lie. I absolutely could go down on Friday.
It’s the Thunder’s last game of the regular season, but they’re advancing to post-season, so it’s not a huge deal if I miss it.
Depending on the draw, it’s unlikely they will play until the Monday after.
But I don’t want to go to this bullshit wedding at all, and I certainly don’t want to be there any longer than necessary.
“You’re not going to be there with me at the rehearsal dinner?”
I snap my mouth shut because she sounds genuinely upset, and sure, my mom and I don’t see eye to eye because, for the most part, she’s a heartless cunt, but I’m not heartless. And she is, after all, still my mother.
Pinching the bridge of my nose, I close my eyes tight. “I mean… maybe I could fly down on Friday afternoon.”
“Oh, please, Hannah,” Mom pleads. “It would mean the world to me.”
Damn her. I’ve never heard her sound so… desperate.
“I’ll have to ask my boss.” I roll my eyes at myself because of course Patrick will say yes. In fact, he’ll likely tell me to take the week off, go down and spend the week with your mother, Hannah. I grimace at the thought. “I can’t make any promises,” I say sternly. “But… I’ll ask.”
My intercom buzzes, startling me, and my spine stiffens because I’m not expecting anyone and, naturally, as it always does, my first thought goes to Chris.
Mom is gushing again over something to do with the wedding that I truly do not care about, so I hurry to press the button on the speaker box, not saying anything and waiting.
“Let me up, you sneaky little slut!” Fran’s voice is shrill and knowing as it spears the silence of my apartment, and I can’t help but laugh, pressing the button that unlocks the entrance.
“I-I beg your pardon?” My mother gasps. “Hannah?”
“Mom,” I say through a stifled laugh. “I have to go.”
“Make sure you ask your boss,” Mom says quickly. “I need to organize the place—”
“Bye, Mother,” I interject, ending the call.
Toasty bounds past me and down the hallway, sitting at the front door and staring at it, whining.
Seconds later, a knock sounds, and I hurry to answer it, sliding the bolt and pulling open the door to see Fran standing there cloaked in a number nine Robbie Mason jersey that swims on her, satin pajama pants, and fluffy slides, holding a bottle of white wine in one hand and a bottle of red in the other.
“What are you doing here?” I huff a laugh, hugging her as she steps over the threshold.
“I’m here to watch the game, of course.” She grins at me, tugging on the jersey she’s wearing and pointing at the team logo on the front, stopping to give Toasty some love which he accepts with a satisfied groan.
And I know exactly why she’s here. And it’s not to watch the fucking game. But I allow it, following her inside and grabbing the La Cantina menu from where it’s stuck to the fridge door by a magnet. Because if I’m going to be interrogated, I’m not doing it without tacos.
We make it eight minutes into the first period when Rusty is sent to the box after arguing with the refs, and the camera pans to Happy laughing from the bench, my father smacking the back of his helmet, obviously telling him to cut it out, which only causes the announcers to chuckle too.
Tonight’s game is so unserious. Houston is at the very bottom of the division, and with only three games to go after tonight, there’s no real risk to the Thunder’s standing.
So of course Fran will use tonight’s game as an opportunity to pry.
And it’s just as I scoop a big dollop of guac onto a chip, popping it into my mouth, that she does.
“Does Happy have a big dick?”
I almost choke on my mouthful of food, holding my fist to my mouth and coughing harshly. Grabbing my wine glass, I take a big sip to wash it down, clearing my throat and wiping the tears from my eyes before turning to gawk at her.
She smiles casually, like she didn’t just ask me that, and I blink at her, wondering momentarily if maybe I was imagining it. But nope. She continues.
“I bet he does. He has that big dick energy.” She nods to herself as if that answers that.
I take another sip of my wine, watching Alex Henry score the second goal of the game.
“So, is it serious?” Fran nestles in closer, Toast Malone grumbling when he has to move his head an inch to better adjust himself on her thigh. Traitor.
“Like I’ve been telling Millie literally all day,” I say, “it’s none of anyone’s business.”
“You and Happy would be so cute together,” Fran beams, not taking the hint apparently. “The coach’s daughter and the—”
I hold my hand up. “Stop.”
“Okay, but just give me something, please?” She’s bouncing up and down, hands clasped beneath her chin in the sign of a prayer. “I’m a nosy asshole—you know this.”
Rolling my eyes, I can’t help but laugh because she’s right; she is a nosy asshole.
“Fine,” I huff. “I… I like him.”
Fran gasps, her eyes lighting up wide and bright. “Like… like him?”
I nod.
“Like… not just sex?”
I nod again.
“Awww!” Fran claps her hands together all excitedly. “This is just perfection. The whole group coupled up!”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” I hold my hands up, stopping her. “We’re not coupled up, we’re just—”
“Fucking, and your emotions are getting in the way,” she answers for me before sipping her wine all smugly, and damn her because she’s right.
“I mean, yeah,” I admit, looking down at my own wine.
“Okay, so what’s all the hesitation about?” Fran presses, her face twisting into a slight grimace as she says, “Is it his slutty man-whore past?”
I can’t help but laugh at that.
“Because Dallas is proof a man can change when he meets the one,” she assures me.
“No, I don’t care about any of that,” I say honestly because I truly don’t. As long as a man isn’t a cheating asshole, I don’t really care how many people he’s been with, as long as he’s been safe.
“It’s just…” I trail off, because I can’t tell her what’s causing the hesitation.
It’s not just Happy; Happy and Lucky are a packaged deal, and honestly, I’m terrified of getting serious with him and it not working out, and Lucky being the one left hurt.
That little girl has been through enough.
I sure as hell don’t want to risk causing her any more pain.
“Is it your dad?” Fran asks with a wince.
I press my lips together, meeting her eyes and, the truth is, unlike most girl dads who coach sporting teams, I think my father would actually love it if I were to date one of his players.
But I nod because if it means not telling her the truth, I’ll blame poor old Dad.
For now, that’s all Fran or anyone needs to know.
My phone shudders next to me, and I glance at the screen, seeing a new message from an unknown number. My heart flies up into the back of my throat, because immediately I assume it’s Chris. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s tried contacting me from a burner account.
Turning away from Fran, I unlock the phone, and my eyebrows knit together when I read the words on the screen.
Unknown: Hey, Hannah. I’m so sorry to bother you. I got your number from Happy’s iCloud. It’s Allie, by the way.
Confused, I hesitate before responding because this is weird, and I hate that my guard is up because Happy has already assured me Allie is Lucky’s nanny and nothing more. I update her contact in my phone and tap out my reply.
Me: Hey, Allie. No need to apologize. What’s up?
Allie: So, I feel really bad because it’s Saturday night and you’re probably busy, but Happy is obviously in Texas, on the ice, and I can’t settle Lucky. She’s really, really upset, and when I told her Daddy can’t FaceTime her right now, she asked for you.
I balk, taken aback as I read Allie’s words at least three times.
Me: She asked for me?
Allie: Yeah, she said she wants Hannah.
My heart hitches in my chest, skipping a beat. Lucky asked for me. I know Happy said it’s surprising that she opened up with me so quickly, but the fact that she’s asked for me because her dad isn’t available? I swear I feel tears burn the backs of my eyes.
“Is everything okay?”
I startle, turning to find Fran watching, her face a little fraught with worry.
“Um, I-I…” I’m lost for words because I can’t tell her the truth. I heave a sigh. “Actually no, there’s a huge… thing happening at work. Blowing up. A… a story.” Lies, lies, lies, but judging by Fran’s face she buys every word.
“I need to go to the office for… an emergency meeting.”
“Oh no. I can leave,” Fran says. “Or if you need me to stay with Toasty, I can hang out with him.”
I smile down at Toast Malone, his big head still resting on Fran’s thigh, his eyes only opening to look at me as if to say, Bitch you better not fuck this up for the both of us.
“Would you mind?” I ask. “I’m not sure how long I’ll be…”
“I don’t mind,” Fran assures me with a wave of her hand.
“I owe you one.” I pull her in for a quick hug. “And snacks are in the cupboard above the coffee machine.”
She pulls back, winking at me, and I go back to my phone.
Me: Allie, I can be there in 20.
Allie: OMG, Hannah, you’re a lifesaver.