42. Hannah
HANNAH
Happy and I showered together before he left early for practice.
And I was planning on going home after he left, but then Lucky accosted me downstairs with her adorably messy post-sleep hair and her cute Bluey onesie pajamas, and now I’m making the only thing I know how to cook—chocolate chip pancakes—while she sits on the island counter eating the surplus chocolate chips and telling me all about a dream she had last night which included a friendly crocodile and a pigeon with one leg…
I wish my dreams were as vivid as Lucky’s.
Jonny is down in his studio doing whatever it is rockstars do in studios, and Allie left early to meet her friend for spin class and brunch.
So, it’s just me and Lucky. And the longer it’s just the two of us, the more Lucky jabbers on about her dream, the more she and I coexist in this world together, the more I start to think about this being a normal part of my life.
Me and Lucky. Hanging out. Making pancakes.
Watching KPop Demon Hunters. Giving each other glittery, over-the-top makeovers for absolutely no reason at all.
Growing up, I never imagined being a mother.
I wasn’t one of those little girls who had dolls and pretended they were my babies.
I never wanted to be a mom. Having babies was never on my to-do list. And it’s only in the last couple of weeks that I’ve come to realize that the only reason I was so hellbent on never being a mom is because mine was so shitty.
The one thing I wanted in life was never to end up like her.
Now, with Lucky, I’m starting to wonder if maybe it wouldn’t be so bad because I’m nothing like my mother.
And just maybe, if given the chance, I could be an awesome mom, the kind I always wish I’d had.
“Can I do the cream?”
I’m pulled from my thoughts by Lucky holding up the can of whipped cream, her eyebrows arched high with hope.
“You bet!” I nod.
She carefully aims the nozzle over one of the pancake stacks, but she’s trigger-happy, and with an unexpected spurt, cream goes everywhere, all over the pancakes and the countertop, some even landing on the floor. If Toasty were here, he would be living his dream.
“Oh no…” Lucky gasps, her face fraught with worry as she looks up at me like she’s not sure how to react.
And I hate that she seems worried, that she might possibly be thinking I’m going to chastise her.
Because I’ve been in her shoes before, and I know what it’s like to get into trouble for something you didn’t even know was a big deal.
Instead, I bite back a smile and collect a dollop of excess cream with my fingers, smearing it over her cute button nose.
She gasps again, pulling back, clearly shocked.
But when I see the glimmer of mischief flash in her big brown eyes, I don’t even try to recoil or flinch away when she grabs a handful of cream and does the very same thing to me.
And suddenly, it’s an all-out food fight.
Cream goes everywhere—our hair, clothes, anywhere but our mouths—Lucky finally tackling me to the floor in a fit of giggles.
“Cool, food fight!”
I look up to see Jonny standing there, a grin that looks so much like his son’s curling his lips as he looks from me to Lucky and back again.
Lucky offers me a conspiratorial glance, waggling her little eyebrows before jumping up and grabbing the can of cream, aiming it directly at her grandfather as he shrieks with laughter, turning and running with Lucky hot on his heels.
There’s a different energy at the Thunder’s practice facility as I walk in.
Fans are hanging out in the lobby, snapping photos of themselves with some of the players’ jerseys framed on the walls, the merch store crowded when it’s usually empty on a Sunday, and a buzz in the air I can only assume has everything to do with the fact that tomorrow, the New York Thunder enter their first playoff game in six seasons.
It’s kind of like Christmas around here.
The diehard fans—the ones who have stuck with the team through the worst of the worst—are more than ready to support the guys, win or lose.
“Hey, Hannah,” Lyle, one the security guards who has been working here for longer than my father has been on the coaching staff, nods at me, waving me through the metal detector.
“Hi, Lyle,” I say, stepping through.
“Looking forward to the game tomorrow?”
“You bet!” I grin.
“Go Thunder,” Lyle says, nodding at me as I continue up the stairs to the mezzanine level that leads to the back offices.
My heart races the closer I make it down the corridor to where my father’s office is.
I haven’t spoken to him, which is so unlike me.
I talk to my father daily, even if it’s just the occasional text message.
But I haven’t heard from him since Friday, before Lucky let it slip about Happy and me, and I know he’s pissed, because when he goes without talking to me for so long, it’s usually because he’s so angry he doesn’t want to accidentally say something he can’t take back.
Stopping outside his door, I take a deep breath and knock once.
“Come in!” his deep, gruff voice calls through the frosted glass.
I push open the door, thankful to see it’s just him, sitting behind his huge desk, the wall of glass behind him looking out over the practice rink that’s empty, the ice gleaming like it’s just been freshly Zamboni’d.
Dad glances up from the papers on his desk, chomping his gum like he always is, doing a double take when he sees me.
Leaning back in his chair, he folds his arms over his chest, one brow arching as he looks at me over the top of his glasses.
“Well, well, well, if it isn’t Happy Slater’s girlfriend… ”
I roll my eyes, sighing heavily as I help myself to one of the chairs in front of his desk, inviting myself since he seems to have misplaced his manners. Sitting down, our blue eyes lock in some sort of intense stare-off, neither of us saying a word because we’re stubborn like that.
“So?” Dad finally breaks the silence, and I try not to gloat, biting back a victorious grin.
“So what?” I play dumb.
He cocks his head to the side, pursing his lips.
“What do you want to know?”
“Everything.”
“Everything?” I quirk a brow, a smirk tugging at the corner of my mouth.
“Well, obviously not everything,” he splutters, face turning red.
I decide to put him out of his misery and, instead of teasing or baiting him any further, I tell him the truth. “It just happened. The night of Fran Keller’s birthday. I was stuck without a ride. It was raining. Happy drove me home.”
Dad removes his glasses, rubbing his eyes. “And it’s… what? Serious?”
“Yes.” I nod. “I love him.”
Silence ensues as Dad just stares at me in the wake of that admission. I can tell he wasn’t expecting it, but neither was I when it happened. And that seems to be the trouble with love; it seems to come out of nowhere and when you least expect it.
“He has a daughter…” he whispers after a moment, not a hint of judgement in his tone.
“Lucky,” I say with a fond smile. “She’s… amazing.”
He rubs his chin contemplatively. “Did you know?”
I shake my head. “No one did.”
Dad looks off into the distance, shaking his head to himself. “God, I hate that he felt like he had to keep such a huge part of his life a secret…” For a moment, he looks sad as he says, “I want my players to know they can talk to me about anything. Maybe I’ve been too hard.”
I shake my head. “No, Dad. It’s not that. Happy was protecting her. He’s such a good dad,” I say in response, and when my father meets my eyes again, I offer him a small smile. “He’s a lot like you.”
“A good dad you couldn’t even tell you had a boyfriend?” he retorts.
“It’s not that I couldn’t tell you,” I say with a wry smile. “I tell you everything, you know that.”
He huffs, but I can see the hint of a smile in his eyes.
“It just… it happened so fast.” I shrug. “One minute we were just casually fuck—”
“Whoa!” Dad holds a big paw up in the air, stopping me mid-word, looking at me like I’ve lost my mind. “C’mon now, I’m not that good of a dad…” he murmurs.
I snap my mouth shut, clamping my lips between my teeth in a sheepish smile.
“The point is, I didn’t mean to keep it from you.
It happened really fast, and I’m sorry you had to find out the way that you did.
” I offer him a warning look as I continue, “But please do not take this out on Happy, because I meant what I said. I love him. And I’ve never loved anyone before. So… let me have my moment.”
“Honey,” Dad says, offering me a long-leveled look, “I’ll tell you exactly what I told Slater this morning when he sat where you’re sitting right now, looking like he was about piss his pants.”
“Happy came in here?”
Dad nods. “He did. And I gave him my blessing. Told him I was happy for y’all.”
My shoulders fall with a relieved exhale, and I lift my chin a little higher. “Well, good. Because I’m happy, too.”
“I’ll tell you what else I told him,” he continues. “If he so much as even thinks about fuckin’ around, I will find out, and I will not hesitate to kick his ass.”
I bite back my smile, shaking my head at my father. “And I would expect nothing less from you, Dad.”
“How was the wedding?” Dad asks, changing the topic.
“I never want to see that woman again,” I say honestly.
And, because my dad knows me, he doesn’t ask why, or what happened, he just knows that I wouldn’t say that just to say it.
“Okay.” He nods. “Well, if she reaches out, I’ll have that fight for you.”
I swallow hard around the lump that wedges itself in the back of my throat. And I’m not sad about losing my mother; I’m sad that I gave her more than what she deserved.
“Thanks, Dad.”
He nods again, sliding his glasses back on. “Now get the hell outta here because I have a playoff game to prepare for tomorrow.”
I smile, hopping out of my chair, pausing to ask, “With Alex… out”—I say out because no one has confirmed his career is over yet. It’s more than likely over, considering the extent of his injury, but it’s bad luck to say it before it’s officially confirmed—“is Happy going to start tomorrow night?”
With a sigh, Dad drops his chin, offering me a warning look over his glasses.
Again, I bite back my smile, turning and hurrying out before he calls security to escort me.