Chapter 45
HAPPY
We win game one of round one, five-three, Logan snapping the puck into the back of the net with four seconds remaining in the third, clinching the W.
The guys and I celebrate on the ice as the home crowd goes ballistic, the energy ricocheting throughout the arena, enough to lift the goddamn roof off the place.
My body feels like it’s been run over twice by a fucking truck, I can already feel the bruise on my left side from an unfriendly check against the boards by the Halifax third line goon, Janacek, which earned him two minutes in the box.
But I could be missing a goddamn limb, and it still wouldn’t bring me down right now.
Like Coach said, you win the Stanley Cup one game at a time, and winning game one is the start.
And we did it. This is the best fucking feeling in the world. Well, second best, at least.
I follow Logan out of the locker room, the cheers erupting through the tunnel almost deafening as camera flashes go off in our faces. We’re stopped by VIP fans to sign jerseys and take selfies, which we of course do, because hell, we’re just as excited and stoked for the win as they are.
By the time we make it through the makeshift ticker-tape parade, I spot my girl up ahead, standing with Millie, Emily, Fran, and a few of the other wives and girlfriends, all wearing their matching jackets, and my heart almost bursts.
It’s a strange feeling going from perpetually single and slutty to suddenly feeling whole every time I see one person, but it’s a feeling I never want to lose.
Having someone here to greet me after a game, especially after a game like tonight…
it’s the one thing I never knew I always wanted.
I’m just bummed that I missed out on it for so long.
Allie took Lucky home because Lucky was tired and overstimulated and starting to withdraw. Mom and Lewis left with them. And I’m taking Hannah home to her apartment, where I intend on making love to her all night long because I need my girl right now, more than ever.
“Good game, you guys!” Fran congratulates Logan and me as we make our way to them.
Millie practically mauls Loges, nearly knocking him flat on his ass.
And I would never expect such a reaction from Hannah because, compared to Millie and all the other girls, she’s a lot more subdued.
But when she turns to me, I can’t help but notice how the smile on her lips doesn’t meet her eyes, her voice so soft I almost miss it through the din in the tunnel when she says, “Congratulations.”
“Thanks, baby.” I wrap my arms around her, pulling her flush against me.
Her hands lay flat against my chest through my shirt, and when she peers up at me, I narrow my eyes, studying her closely, my eyebrows knitting together because something’s wrong.
Leaning in, my lips graze the shell of her ear as I murmur, “Everything okay?”
“Yeah.” She nods, pulling back enough to meet my eyes. “Just… tired.”
I’m not sure I buy it, but I nod anyway. “Let’s get you home.”
I don’t like this one fucking bit. Something is definitely wrong. Hannah hasn’t spoken, hasn’t even fucking looked at me as I navigate the city streets, nothing but an old Three Doors Down song playing softly through the stereo, filling the void.
Hannah stares out the window, a contemplative look on her face, her hands clasped together in her lap.
And I’m dying to reach out, to touch her, to rest my hand on her thigh where it belongs while I’m driving with her in the passenger seat, but instead, I grip the steering wheel, holding onto it like it’s the only thing stopping me from falling apart right now while my mind works overtime to drive me crazy.
Did I do something? I can’t remember, but maybe I did without even realizing.
I rack my brain with everything that happened over the last few hours. I mean, I spent most of it playing hockey, but I don’t know, maybe I fucked up somehow. God, I’m so fucking stupid.
As I turn onto Bleeker Street, I drive slowly, rolling to a stop outside Hannah’s building and pulling up to the curb.
And normally I would shut off the engine, unfasten my seatbelt, and hop out of my truck, but tonight I don’t do that.
I sit staring at her, the engine idling, Three Doors Down fading into a super fitting Collective Soul song, waiting for what, I don’t even know.
Come on, Baby Draper, I think to myself. Look at me. Flash me that sassy-ass grin, and ask me in that bratty way if I’m just gonna to sit here all night. Put my mind at ease, baby, please.
“I should go up,” Hannah says, finally looking at me with another half-assed smile, unfastening her seatbelt.
I swallow hard. “Do you… want me to come up?”
Hannah looks almost pained, but it’s an emotion that’s gone as quickly as it appeared, shaking her head. “Actually, I’m not… I’m not feeling very well. I um… I got my period back at the game.”
My shoulders sag with relief because that explains the sudden shift in mood. I reach my hand across, gently cupping her cheek, ducking my head to get a better look into those pretty blue eyes that own my fucking soul. “Let me come up,” I say gently. “Let me take care of you.”
Her hand comes up to cover mine, and she leans into my touch, her eyes fluttering closed a moment. When she looks at me again, there’s a sadness in her gaze I wasn’t expecting, and the relief I felt seconds ago is gone, replaced by that same knot of dread low in my gut.
“Is it okay if I say no?” she asks, hopeful, like I might possibly tell her it’s not.
“It’s always okay for you to say no,” I assure her, looking deep into her eyes, searching. “But… I need to know you’re okay. I’m… I’m scared, baby.”
“I’m fine,” she says, but again, I’m not sure I believe her. “I’m just PMSing. I promise.”
I decide to drop it. Maybe she is just sick. I don’t know how these things work; I’ve never had a girlfriend, let alone a girlfriend who’s on her period. Nodding, I lean in and press a kiss to her lips, lingering a moment to breathe her in with a murmured, “I love you.”
“I love you, too,” she says, pulling back.
But then, as quick as the wind, she’s out of my truck and gone, and I’m left watching as she disappears inside her apartment building without even a final glance back at me.
With a heaving sigh, I let my head fall back against the seat, scrubbing my hands over my face with a muttered, “Fuck.”
The house is quiet and dark when I get home. Quiet, dark, and lonely.
I stop in the kitchen and grab a bottle of water before continuing upstairs.
I place the water on the side table and head toward Lucky’s bedroom, peeking inside her door, surprised to see her still awake, perched up against her pillows with a big book resting on her bent legs.
I should leave her while she’s quiet and happy, but the thing is, right now, I need a hug.
So, I gently push the door open and step inside, Lucky’s sleepy eyes lighting up when they spot me.
“Daddy!” she exclaims softly.
“Hey, Lucky Duck,” I whisper, padding across the room and taking a seat on the side of her bed. “Why aren’t you asleep?”
“I’m not tired.” She shrugs her little shoulders, offering me a toothy grin and moving the book aside.
I scooch in a little closer, snaking an arm around her. “I need a hug, baby girl.”
Nestling into the nook under my arm, she cuddles me tight, a small crease burrowing between her eyebrows as she gazes up at me. “Are you okay, Daddy?”
“Yeah, I’m okay,” I say with a sigh, pressing a kiss to the top of her head, breathing in the strawberries and cream scent that’s trapped in her hair. “Just a little sad.”
“You won,” she reminds me. “Why are you sad?”
And I know my five-year-old daughter is probably not the best person to be talking to about my girl problems, but the thing about Lucky is she’s actually a really good listener.
“I’m sad because Hannah was a bit sad tonight,” I admit. “And because I don’t know why she’s sad, I don’t know how to make her feel better.”
Lucky looks up at me again, and I see her little mind working overtime, her big brown eyes searching mine for a few beats. “Is Hannah sad because of what that mean man said to her?”
Lucky’s words hit me straight in my gut, my brows knitting together as I try to process exactly what she’s just said.
“Mean man?”
She nods.
“What mean man?” I press gently, the skin at the back of my neck burning.
Lucky’s forehead bunches, her lips twisting to the side as she looks up in thought before saying, “Chris…?”
Motherfucker.