Chapter 48
HANNAH
My gaze flits from my computer to where my phone lies face down on my desk next to my coffee mug. It’s been three hours since I’ve heard from Happy, and I’m trying not to think the worst, but that’s easier said than done.
When he left here, he was going straight to practice, and when he got to the facility, he sent me a text message to tell me that he loves me.
But that was hours ago. I’m really starting to worry.
When he asked me if I trust him and I told him I do, I wasn’t lying; I do trust Happy, more than I thought I’d ever trust anyone other than my father.
It’s Chris Garret who I don’t trust. Not one bit.
And this silence is deafening; I can’t shake the feeling that something is seriously wrong.
I glance across the office floor to where Millie sits, happily tapping away at her keyboard, bopping her head to whatever music she’s listening to through her Beats. Clicking from my emails to the Teams messenger app, I open my chat with Millie and type a new message.
Me: Have you heard from Logan?
From my periphery, I see Millie’s head turn in my direction, but I pretend not to notice.
It’s quiet hour; every day after lunch, the office goes quiet in an attempt to regroup for the remainder of the day.
And after Happy’s unexpected appearance this morning, I’ve already caused enough of a scene in front of my colleagues for today.
The last thing I need to be doing right now is interrupting quiet hour.
Millie: Yeah. He’s at home. Napping. Lucky asshole.
I frown, picking up my phone to check it in case I might’ve missed the shudder of a notification. But there’s nothing. I heave a sigh.
Millie: Is everything okay?
Glancing across at my friend, I meet her eyes to find her looking at me with a worried expression.
We went to have lunch down in the square earlier, and I decided to tell her the truth about my affair.
Millie is my best friend. And since her boyfriend knows, I decided it was only fair to finally tell her.
When she found out it was Chris, she was so shocked she fell right off her chair and onto the pavement.
A suited man sitting at the next table over abandoned his Chipotle to rush over and help her back up, worried she was having a medical emergency.
Millie thought I’d been having an affair with a player, and when I asked who and she said Rusty, I shoved her so hard she almost fell straight back off her chair again.
Me: I haven’t heard from Happy.
Millie’s eyes flare as she reads the message, chewing on her bottom lip while she seems to contemplate a response.
Millie: Maybe he’s getting some PT?
Me: Maybe…
Millie: Want me to ask Loges?
I’m about to tell her not to worry when quiet hour is interrupted by a lanky, plaid shirt wearing hurricane tearing down the stairs in a flurry of excitement and panic, pulling me and everyone else from their work.
“Holy shit!” Patrick rushes directly toward me, which isn’t a good sign, a piece of freshly printed paper flailing in his hand. “Did you know??”
“Know… what?” I ask reluctantly, nerves swirling low in my belly.
“Hot off the press,” Patrick says, clearing his throat as he reads off the paper in his hands. “New York Thunder GM, Chris Garret, resigns effective immediately citing personal reasons.” His gaze shoots to me, widening expectantly. “Please tell me you have all the details.”
I throw a sideways glance at Millie to see her mouth agape, and I look back up at Patrick, quickly shaking my head. “No… I-I had no idea…”
“The news desk is preparing a breaking broadcast,” Patrick says, giddy with excitement as he checks his phone, shaking his head to himself. “I never liked that jerk.”
Standing, I grab my purse and my phone, every limb trembling. “Um, I’m gonna go—” I point in the direction of the elevators.
“Oh, yeah!” Patrick encourages my early exit. “Call me if you find anything out.”
“Sure,” I lie.
“I’ll call you,” Millie says as I hurry past her desk.
I nod, continuing, practically punching the call button for the elevator while scrolling through my phone and dialing Happy to find out what the hell has happened in the last three hours and exactly who knows what.
There are swarms of reporters waiting on the sidewalk outside the Thunder’s practice facility, security working hard to try to keep everyone in check.
It’s a big deal when someone at Chris Garret’s level resigns effective immediately, and citing personal reasons as to why only makes matters worse because it doesn’t take a degree in investigative journalism to read between the lines.
Happy didn’t answer my phone call, but he did text me to tell me he was stuck at the facility.
So, of course, I came straight here from the office to find out what the hell has gone on, my nerves at an all-time high as I think the absolute worst. I know he told me that hockey is just a game and that he’d choose me and Lucky if ever forced to choose between the two, but playing hockey is more than just the game; it’s a brotherhood, an extended family, a home away from home.
And I know this because it’s why my father dedicated his whole life to it.
Without hockey, Happy will survive, but I know it’ll hurt having it taken away so suddenly, whether he wants to admit it or not.
Today’s security guard, Mel, lets me in, nodding curtly at me as I enter.
“Do you know where my father is?” I ask, hopefully.
“I haven’t seen him, but it’s been a madhouse here this afternoon.” He shrugs, huffing a breath. “I have no idea. Sorry, ma’am.”
“That’s okay. I’ll try his office. Thanks.” I press my lips together in the semblance of what I hope looks like a smile, waving at him as I head directly for the stairs.
As I navigate the winding corridors past rooms occupied by back-office staff on phone calls that look intense even through glass walls, the energy around the place is palpable and prickly, lots of fingers raking through mussed hair, heaving sighs, and clenched jaws.
My father’s office door is closed, but I can see through the frosted glass that the light is on. I knock, receiving an unexpected “Fuck off!” in return. So I knock again and add in a sing-song tone, “That’s really no way to speak to your one and only daughter…”
Seconds later, the door is swinging open with haste, but instead of my dad like I expect, it’s Happy, his face fraught as he looks me up and down.
My eyes widen when I see that inside the office is not only my father, but also Bob Oakley, the owner of the team, and the president, George Sampson, and a woman I’m pretty sure is the team lawyer. Wow.
I glance at my dad, and my heart sinks when he quickly looks away as if he’s avoiding me, almost as if he can’t bear to look at me. He knows. Fuck. My stomach roils.
My biggest fear of people finding out about me and Chris was not only his poor pregnant wife discovering that her husband is a cheating asshole, but it was also the risk of my father finding out.
The last thing I’ve ever wanted in my life is to disappoint him.
I can only imagine what he must be thinking of me right now.
“Happy, I think we’ve gotten all we need from you. You can take off if you’d like,” George says, glancing at the woman who nods as if to answer his unspoken question. He offers me a kind smile. “Hi, Hannah.”
I wave like I’m on autopilot because what the hell is going on, and why won’t my father look at me?
“Come on, baby,” Happy says under his breath, taking my hand and escorting me back out of the office and into the corridor.
“Hold up.”
I freeze at the sound of my father’s low voice, looking over my shoulder to see him push up from his chair and head my way, his eyes still avoiding mine as he walks out of his office, closing the door behind him.
Glancing from my dad to Happy and back again, frustration bubbles in my chest when he keeps his gaze fixed on the floor, rubbing his chin contemplatively, a furrow etched between his brows.
Because no matter what, I’m still his daughter.
He should love me unconditionally and always be able to look me in my eyes.
“Dad?” I press, my throat tight with trepidation. Please don’t fail me now.
Finally, he lifts his gaze, and instead of the judgement and the disappointment I was expecting to see, there’s nothing but sadness, and maybe even a little guilt.
“I’m sorry, I—” He stops himself, voice gruff and thick with emotion. Dragging a hand down his face, he tries again, “I-I don’t know what to say, but I love you, Han. And… God, I’m so damn sorry for what that bastard did to you. I—” Snapping his mouth shut, he exhales heavily through his nose.
My shoulders sag with the weight of relief, and a thick swallow works its way down my throat, tears stinging my eyes. I nod, unable to say anything.
Dad pulls me in for a hug that’s almost bone-crushing and full of nothing but love, and as I hug him back, I squeeze my eyes closed, reveling in his hold, a pesky tear sliding down my cheek and seeping into his black New York Thunder polo.
“You go with Happy,” Dad says softly, pulling back. He holds me at arm’s length, getting a good look at me, his gaze flitting to where Happy stands behind me with a protective hand resting on my hip.
Dad presses his lips together in a tight smile and nods once as he adds, “You found a good one, baby girl.”
My smile is watery as I glance back at Happy to see him wink at me. And, turning back to my dad, I wrap my arms around him, needing one more hug.
“I love you,” I whisper to my father before pulling away.
He nods curtly, stepping back, and Happy takes my hand in his, and we walk down the corridor together. And, with one last look back at my father, I find him watching us leave, the hint of a proud smile ghosting his lips.