“Ew,” Millie scoffs beside her. “Sister, remember?”
“You look so fuckin’ good, Baby Draper,” I mutter into Hannah’s ear, stepping up flush behind her. “Please wear it.”
“I mean, if I must,” she says on a bored sigh, flashing me a mischievous grin over her shoulder.
“Brat,” I murmur, pressing a kiss to the crook of her neck, causing her to shiver again in my favorite way.
“Okay, well before you two start fucking on my bed,” Fran interrupts, “there’s something else…”
Hannah and I turn to watch as she reaches back into the box, smiling conspiratorially as she pulls out another WAG jacket, only this one is a lot smaller, and instead ofSLATERbejeweled across the back, it saysDADDY, and I swear to God, my eyes burn with emotion.
Hannah gasps, rushing over to get a closer look. “Oh my God, that is so damn cute!”
“I know. Who knew Jackie wasn’t a twenty-four-seven cunt bag?” Fran shrugs.
“Fran!” Emily chides.
“It’s true,” Millie says. “She is a bit of a bitch.”
“Abit?” Hannah snorts.
“My two favorite girls wearing my number at my very first playoff game,” I muse, moving in next to Hannah.
“Oh my God, you two are adorable!” Fran gushes.
“Let’s surprise her!” Hannah whispers, eyes wide, all excited. “Us girls can all be dressed in our matching jackets, and then we can surprise Lucky with her very own.”
I nod. “She’ll feel so special.”
Hannah shrugs her jacket off and folds it back up into the box along with Lucky’s, and Fran finds a big tote, hiding the box inside for us to take home when we leave. And we all file back out into the living area to find Lucky leaning over Robbie’s hands, her tongue poking out the side of her mouth as she concentrates so hard, painting his thumbnail in a bright fuchsia pink.
“Sit down, Daddy,” Lucky says, not looking at me. “You’re next.”
I can’t help but beam as I move to the chair next to Logan, taking a seat.
“Sure thing, baby girl.”
CHAPTER 44
HANNAH
Lucky grips my hand tight as I walk through the underground maze of tunnels, her eyes wide as she takes it all in. There are people everywhere, but not nearly as many as are up on the public concourse. I’m trying to make this experience as seamless as possible for her, knowing how uncomfortable she is around crowds, and one of the perks of being the daughter of the head coach of the New York Thunder is that I get to take a shortcut through the concrete bowels of Madison Square Garden.
Jonny flew out to France last night, but Allie, Happy’s mom, Linda, and Linda’s husband, Lewis, are all here tonight, up in the private suite Jonny paid for to ensure Lucky has a safe space, knowing the game one home crowd would be a lot for her little emotions to handle.
I brought Lucky down here to see Happy one last time before the guys head out for the game. Not because she asked me to—she was having fun up in the suite with Fran, Emily, and Millie, wearing her very own WAG jacket, eating snacks and dancing to Taylor Swift—but I brought Lucky down here because Happy asked me to. He sent me a text message five minutes ago, asking if I could bring her down for last one Lucky hug. I think he’sreally nervous for tonight. Not just because it’s the playoffs, but because he’s starting, and because he has some huge skates to fill while Alex Henry is out.
When we arrive outside the Thunder locker room, I smile at one of the officials standing guard, and he nods his chin at me, waving me closer, and as I peer in through the open doors, I can see my father front and center, giving one of his pre-game speeches which is really just him cussing a lot, clapping his hands, and throwing a few buzz words in there to keep morale high.
Lucky and I navigate the people standing on the outside, and we nestle into an out-of-the-way nook, waiting. But just as I get us situated, my gaze unexpectedly meets a familiar icy gray glare focused directly on me.
I don’t look away. I won’t give him the satisfaction of breaking first, instead lifting my chin a little higher, myfuck youface set firm as I stare him down, and I can’t help but wonder what the hell I was even thinking with that whole… situation. I swear I was delusional because there is no way this man resembles anything even remotely close to George Clooney from ofOne Fine Day.
Chris’s eyes flit down to Lucky, zeroing in on where Lucky holds on tight to my hand, and I notice the way his jaw tics, the slightest hint of his top lip curling, and it takes all I have not to grab one of the Gatorade bottles lining the table next to me and pelt it directly between his eyes.
“Let’s get out there, and let’s show Halifax, our fans, the league,everyonewhy we’re fuckin’ here!”
I startle, pulled from my death-like glower by my father’s booming voice, followed by a deafening roar. Next to me, Lucky flinches, cowering into my side, and I look down to find her face scrunched up. I crouch down and wrap an arm around her and she opens her eyes, relief softening her features as she glances about the room to see everyone moving.
