Chapter 39 Happy #2
The way he says hockey, like it’s so beneath him, my palm itches with the need to slap him. Instead, I make a point of snaking my arm around Hannah’s shoulders, drawing deft circles over her skin, and reveling in the way his eyes flare with jealousy.
“That’s right.”
“Never really got into hockey.” He shrugs a shoulder. “Always seemed like such an… undignified sport.”
“Fair enough,” is all I say because I know he’s looking for a reaction, and not giving him one will only annoy him further. But unfortunately, Hannah doesn’t seem to get that memo.
Stepping forward, she glares at him. “So, you know my father is a hockey coach who used to play, right?”
Peter just shrugs, but even I can tell he was fully aware of that information.
“Undignified?” Hannah scoffs. “Well, at least my dad has a little more class than to get married on a plantation where innocent people were literally beaten, raped, and killed.”
“This is my family’s property,” Peter hisses, stepping up to Hannah, and I take that as my cue to swoop in, placing a hand up to stop him without laying a finger on his ass. “It’s part of American history.”
“Yeah, well that says a hell of a lot about you and your family,” Hannah retorts.
“Hannah!”
It’s only at the sound of Hannah’s name being called in a sharp tone that I look up to see most of the wedding guests are now watching the heated exchange between Hannah and her brand-new stepbrother.
I snag Hannah’s arm, rubbing my thumb over the inside of her wrist to bring her back to me, and she comes willingly, the tension in her shoulders easing with my closeness.
Hannah’s mother, the bride, appears in front of us, hands placed on her hips, that wedding dress still clinging on for dear life so as not to flash her tits to the entire reception.
She glances from Hannah to me and back again, arching a brow, the look in her eyes steely as she assesses her daughter from head to toe with nothing but scorn. “What on earth are you wearing?”
Hannah looks down at herself, ruffling the silky skirt of her dress. “A dress.”
“Red? Hannah, really?”
“It was all I had…” Hannah shrugs innocently.
Mrs. whatever her name is splutters angrily, looking at me. “And who is this?”
“My boyfriend.”
“Boyfriend?” Hannah’s mom snorts. “Since when do you have a boyfriend?”
Taking that as an invitation, I hold my hand out, flashing the woman a smile. “Happy Slater.”
She looks down at my hand like she isn’t sure I didn’t just go to the bathroom and wipe my ass without washing it. When she doesn’t shake it, I tuck it into the pocket of my suit pants, glancing curiously at Hannah and momentarily wondering how this thing gave birth to such an angel.
“Happy plays for the Thunder,” Hannah explains casually. “I’ve known him for years.”
“Oh, a hockey player, huh? I should’ve known.” The woman smirks, but it’s laced with nothing but pure threat as she looks back to Hannah. “Careful sweetheart… you’ll end up knocked up like I was at your age.”
Personally, I see nothing wrong with that.
In fact, the thought of Hannah’s belly swollen and full of my baby, a little brother or sister for Lucky Duck, only makes my dick twitch.
But I know now isn’t the time or the place to be thinking about things like Hannah pregnant, especially not when she’s literally full of my cum…
“Well, it’s a good thing I’m nothing like you,” Hannah sasses.
Her mother purses her lips. “There is no room for a plus one. Like I said, the seating arrangements were finalized two weeks ago,” she says, turning to me. “I think it might be best if your boyfriend leaves.”
It’s only then that I notice the blonde from earlier, Celeste I think, the apparent wedding coordinator, standing off to the side with her arms folded across her chest, looking more than a little smug, and it suddenly makes sense.
They don’t want me here for no reason other than it seems no one here wants to see Hannah happy.
“This was a mistake,” Hannah says with a scoff. “I never should have come.”
Hannah’s mother’s face is completely void of any and all emotion.
“The only reason I’m here is because my father, your ex-husband. You know? The one you cheated on?”
Someone gasps.
“He said I might regret it if I didn’t come,” Hannah continues. “But the thing is, I don’t even like you.”
Hannah’s mom sucks in a breath, holding her hand to her chest. If she was wearing pearls, she’d have clutched them.
“All my life, all you did was make me feel shitty about myself. Telling me I was never good enough, never pretty enough, never skinny enough, never popular enough, never… enough.”
At the sound of the emotion catching in the back of Hannah’s throat, I step closer to her, placing my hand at the small of her back to let her know that I’m right here.
“I am so done with you, Mom. I always like to try and see the best in everyone, but”—she shakes her head, looking her mom up and down—“you’re just a horrible person.”
“A horrible person? Hannah, I am your mother!” The woman scoffs, huffing an incredulous laugh as she looks back at a few of the people watching on.
“Yeah, you are,” Hannah says, nodding. “And I’m so fucking done with you.”
Grabbing my hand and holding it tight, Hannah meets my eyes, and I can see it in her gaze. She needs to leave. Now. So, without another look back at her mother, we turn away, and I usher my girl out of there so damn fast.