HANNAH
Istare down at my phone after sending Happy the details that he needs to get up to Brookes’s suite, nerves getting the better of me because this is so against the NDA I signed.
Brookes is weak, lying on the sofa in the sitting area of the suite, wearing sweats, his face sallow, lips pale, dark rings shadowing under his eyes. He’s a far cry from the Brookes shown in the media, from the Brookes I’ve come to know the last few days. Gone is the cocky, arrogant, self-important jerk; he’s a shell of that man.
I scan the plates on the coffee table, noticing how little he’s eaten. But I can’t blame him; if I’d had my stomach pumped, I can’t imagine I’d have much of an appetite either.
Patrick, Jared, and Cam, who flew straight up from Florida the second he got the call, are all in the dining room, seated around the table talking quietly about how to deal with the unexpected turn of events, and I glance at them as I pad past the doorway, taking a seat on the arm chair next to the sofa where Brookes lounges, staring through the television instead of at it, while some high action movie with The Rock plays.
“Do you want me to order you something different?” I ask.
He glances at me, and I indicate the plates of untouched food, but he shakes his head, turning back to the TV.
I rake my teeth over my bottom lip, tapping my hands against my knees. Glancing at him from the corner of my eye, I shift in my seat. “Do you wanna talk?”
Brookes shakes his head again, not looking away from the television this time, his jaw ticking as if he’s grinding his molars.
He hasn’t said more than a few words since waking up. In fact, the only thing he’s said to me was that he didn’t want me to leave. But I wasn’t going to anyway, even if it meant missing my date with Happy. Brookes needed someone, and, for some reason, I was that someone, and I knew Happy would understand.
What I didn’t expect was Happy to want to come straight here. I glance at the time. He should be here soon. My stomach twists; God, I’m going to get into so much trouble.
“Um, Hannah?”
I turn, finding Patrick standing in the doorway of the sitting room, scratching the back of his neck. And I assume by thewhat-the-helllook on his face that Happy is here. Right on time.
Standing, I smile innocently, and Patrick deadpans. I glance sideways at Brookes, walking out and joining my boss in the hallway.
“What is Happy Slater doing here?” Patrick asks through gritted teeth, his voice barely a whisper.
I roll my eyes. “We had plans, and?—”
“Really?” He rears back. “You and Happy Slater?”
I swear, this man is a bigger gossip than a sixty-year-old woman getting her roots done at a neighborhood salon.
“Besides the point, Patrick,” I chastise. “When I told him I was unable to make our…plans… he insisted he come here.” Shrugging a shoulder, I soften a little, unable to fight my smile. “I couldn’t say no. And, besides, Happy Slater can keep a secret like nobody’s business.Trustme.”
Patrick purses his lips. “Okay, but he’s going to have to sign an NDA.”
“He’s a professional athlete and the son of famous parents,” I remind him. “I’m sure he’s familiar with the process.”
“He’s in the foyer.” Patrick nods, turning back to the dining room.
I hurry down the hallway, stopping at the sight of Happy standing in the foyer of the fancy suite. He looks so handsome in his dark blue jeans and white button down, and the fact that he really took the time getting himself ready for our date seriously tugs at my heartstrings.
“Hey,” I say softly.
Turning, Happy’s dark eyes take me in, and he crosses the distance, coming right up to me. And, for a moment, I think he’s going to wrap his arms around me, maybe even kiss me. But he doesn’t. Instead, he seems to hesitate, tucking his hands into the pockets of his jeans and rocking on his heels.
“Are… are you okay?” he asks, looking down at me.
I swallow back the disappointment that lingers on my tongue like a bad taste and nod, glancing down at the shiny marble floor. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
Happy looks over my head, down the hall. “Is Brookes okay?”
“Um, I mean, I think so.” I shrug. “He’s not really saying too much. But he’s refused to continue filming the special, and… he wants to pull out of the Masters.”
Happy rubs his chin contemplatively. “You realize he’s an addict, right?”
