Chapter 31 Happy
HAPPY
KPop Demon Hunters is blaring even louder than it was before I stole Hannah away, and as we walk into the cinema room, I’m stopped in the doorway, grinning at the sight of Lucky dancing on the sofa, where she knows she’s not supposed to be, Toast Malone sitting on the floor looking up at her like he’s her protector, ready to catch her if she falls.
“Lucky Duck,” I say after a few moments.
Lucky startles, turning while sitting her butt down at the same time, a sweet smile on her face like she wasn’t just dancing on the couch cushion.
“Hi, Daddy,” she says, saccharinely sweet.
I look back at Hannah and take her hand in mine, offering her a reassuring smile when her eyes widen at the unexpected contact.
“Hey, baby girl, Hannah and I have something to tell you,” I say, walking around the sofa with Hannah.
“What is it, Daddy?” Lucky asks, her gaze dipping to where my hand is wrapped around Hannah’s, and the unexpected sound that comes out of my daughter right at that moment—something mixed between a crawdad and a banshee—nearly pops my damn ear drums and makes Toast Malone let out a howl.
Jumping up from the couch, Lucky crashes into us like a little hurricane, wrapping her arms around us both. “Is Hannah your girlfriend?” She bounces up and down excitedly.
Fuck. The word girlfriend almost knocks me off center, but yeah. Hannah’s my girlfriend.
“Yeah, baby,” I say, crouching down to Lucky’s height. “Is that okay with you?”
“Yes!” Lucky squeals again.
Hannah crouches down and wraps Lucky in a hug. “Thank you, Lucky.”
Our moment is suddenly interrupted by the sound of a familiar voice coming from downstairs. A voice that sends a shiver raging down my spine because you have got to be fucking kidding me.
“Where’s my Lucky girl!” a smoky, rasped voice bellows up the stairs.
Hannah glances at me curiously.
I close my eyes on a resigned sigh.
“Grampa!” Lucky squeals, turning and nearly knocking me over as she bolts out of the room with Toast Malone galloping closely behind her.
“Grandpa?” Hannah gawks at me, blinking like she’s hoping this is some sort of mistake.
“Uh… yeah, so I guess you’re about to meet my dad—” I scratch the back of my neck awkwardly, quietly panicked more than I should be for no other reason than my dad is fucking embarrassing at the best of times.
“Happy!” Hannah hisses. “I can’t meet your dad right now. Look at me!” She throws her hands up in the air.
Of course, I do look at her because she’s my favorite thing to look at it. And dressed in my sweats and her little crop top, her hair a mess, cheeks flushed with that telling post-coital glow, she looks better than perfect.
“You look beautiful,” I assure her, closing the distance between us and grabbing both her hands. Pressing a kiss to the tip of her nose, I link my fingers through hers.
“But he’s Jonny Slater.” Her eyes bulge.
I quirk a brow. “You’re not a secret Jonny Slater fangirl, are you?”
She deadpans. “No. But he’s your dad.”
“Yeah, and he’s the last person who should be judging anyone, trust me,” I scoff. “You’re fine. I promise.” With a reassuring smile, I lead her out of the room.
“Now, whose beast is this?” my dad’s voice booms with a chuckle, and I just know Toast Malone has probably cornered him like the first time he met me.
“That’s Toast Malone.” Lucky giggles. “Hannah’s doggy!”
“Hannah?” Dad asks curiously.
“Oh my God,” Hannah groans softly, cowering closer to me.
I squeeze her hand, flashing her a grin, and as we clear the stairs, I find my father on the floor with Toast Malone rolling around with him on one side, and Lucky cuddled up to her grandfather on his other side.
“Hey, Dad.”
Dad sits up, his weathered face breaking into a wide, shit-eating grin as he looks from me to Hannah and then down to our joined hands.
Pushing up to his feet, my father wipes his hands over the back of his low-slung ripped jeans, coming toward us in all his heavily tattooed and pierced glory, the Siouxie and The Banshees t-shirt he’s wearing so old and worn it’s practically threadbare.
He rakes a hand through his overgrown jet-black box-dyed hair, the trademark smile he’s perfected, the one women still drop panties for even now, thirty years later, highlighting his dimples.
“Well, well, well,” Dad says, looking Hannah over with serious regard. “Who do we have here?”
Hannah hesitates, glancing sideways at me before smiling up at my father. “H-Hannah. Draper.”
“Hannah Draper,” Dad muses, scratching his chin. He looks at me and winks, and my stomach dips because I just know he’s about to say or do something highly inappropriate.
Holding out his hand, nails painted electric blue, chunky rings adorning every one of his tattooed fingers, Dad offers Hannah another appraising once over like the old pervert he is. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had the honor of running into one of Happy’s friends…”
Hannah looks awkward as hell, and I throw my head back on a groan.
“This one’s cute, Hap.” Dad nudges me. “You should keep her around.”
“Dude, you are sixty-three years old. Can you be normal for, like, once in your life?” I spear him with a half-assed narrow-eyed glower. I love my dad. He’s my best friend, but man, the guy knows how to press my buttons.
“I’m just playing with you, Hannah.” Dad chuckles. “Jonny Slater.”
“Hi…” Hannah smiles nervously, shaking my father’s hand.
Dad moves to me, pulling me into an embrace with a murmured, “Good job, Hap.”
I roll my eyes, returning his hug with a few slaps on his back.
“What are you doing here?” I ask as I pull away, placing my hand on the small of Hannah’s back in a show of support she seems to need right now.
“Hey! Since when does your old man need an excuse to come visit his favorite person in the whole damn world?”
“He’s talking about me,” Lucky says with a sassy smile, sidling up next to my father and resting her cheek against the side of his jean-clad thigh. When Dad’s in town, I’m immediately demoted to the spare human in Lucky’s eyes.
“Damn straight, Lucky girl.” Dad reaches down and hikes Lucky into the air, positioning her onto his shoulders so she towers above us, squealing with glee.
“So, how long are you staying for?” I ask. I mean, technically the place belongs to him, but the man does have a habit of overstaying his welcome.
Dad looks to Hannah with wide eyes and scoffs exasperatedly. “Jeeze, dude.” He snorts, turning back to me. “Way to make me feel welcome.”
I roll my eyes again. “You know what I mean. Last time you were here, you stayed for three months and you ran out of underpants and started stealing mine… like you’re not a multi-platinum selling musician who can afford to go and buy his own skivvies.”
Dad laughs out loud. “I’ll be gone in a week, my dude,” he assures me with a pat on my shoulder. “I’ve got a good thing going with a French woman. A model. I’m flying out to see her next week.”
“Oh yeah?” I smirk. “How old’s this one?”
“I’ll have you know she’s thirty-four and fine as fu—”
I clear my throat loudly, interjecting his profanity and looking up at Lucky, still perched on his shoulders.
“Fudge,” he says, holding his hands up in defense. “Fine as fudge.”
“I like fudge!” Lucky chirps, innocently.
Dad chuckles. “Me too, cutie pie. Me too.”
“Well, I hope you brought enough underpants,” is all I say.
“Unnecessary, my dude.”
I quirk a brow, waiting for more.
“I’ve decided to free the balls,” he says casually, like my five-year-old daughter and my fucking girlfriend of fifteen minutes aren’t right here. “Can’t run out of undies if you refuse to wear ’em, kid.”
“Gross,” I mutter, unable to even chance a look at Hannah because yes, this is my father.
“Grampa!” Lucky squeals, throwing her back with laughter.
Dad chuckles. “I thought I’d stop in on my way, stay a little, hang out with my Lady Luck,” he says, gently squeezing Lucky’s knee. “Maybe I can catch a game.”
I nod. “Yeah, we’re wrapping up the regular season this week.”
“Can I come?” Lucky asks hopefully, as she does at almost every mention of my games.
I huff an exhale, looking up at her, which is the wrong move because the look of pleading on that little girl’s face is enough to make me hand her my black AMEX and tell her to go nuts.
“Baby, you know hockey games aren’t a nice place for a kid,” I remind her, noticing the way Hannah looks at me the moment the lie slips from my lips.
Lucky’s little shoulders fall on an obvious sigh. “Okay, Daddy.”
“I should go,” Hannah says after a few beats. “It’s getting late.”
“I’ll drive you,” I say, squeezing her hip softly.
“Are you sure?” She glances from me to my dad and back again. “You don’t want to stay and catch up with your dad?”
I make a face and she bites back a smirk.
“It’s fine,” Dad says, oblivious. “I can get little homie to bed. I can’t wait to read the next installment of Pig the Pug.”