We need more of hap and his wife 🥹
haps diva of a wife gives the clubhouse a call (og post)
Happy’s really fucking sick of being in this place. He’s been stuck in the clubhouse all goddamn day, only catching a break to have a smoke on the picnic tables outside. He wants to go home to wife, and hold her against his chest while she rants and groans about some asshole from work, and take care of her so good her complaints turn into moans and scratches down his back.
But no. He has to stay here, and go over this idiotic plan one more time, and then sit around for an hour at a party he doesn’t want to be at for “team morale” and watch all of his brothers pick up crow eaters. Why the fuck would he want a crow eater when his wife is the most beautiful, angry, attitude-having angel on the planet?
A phone is ringing. It’s not the chime of a personal phone making a little song, muffled in someone’s pocket. It knocks Happy from his growing grumpiness, the way it shakes against the wall and the cord jiggles back and forth.
“We’re still paying for that fuckin’ thing?” Bobby looks over to the wall-mounted analog phone that hasn’t been set off in well over a year at the latest.
Kip, the skinny little blond who just started prospecting picks it up off the wall when Bobby yells at him to.
“Put Happy on the phone.” It’s a woman with a Jersey accent, who snaps the order impatiently.
“Uhm, okay, give me a second.” Kip hears her sigh over the line before he puts the phone down to his shoulder. “Uh, Happy?” He calls out. The man nods. “This lady’s askin’ for you.”
“Who?” Kip puts the phone back up to his ear.
“He’s asking who this is, ma’am.”
“Tell him it’s his fuckin’ wife, kid, jesus christ, how many other women is he talkin’ to?” He turns back to Happy, looking a little bit more frightened and a lot more stressed.
“It’s your wife.” The clubhouse fills with confused looks, none of them besides the few who’d been to the house are aware of a wife. Happy stands from where he’d been at the bar, holding his hand out for the phone. On a usual day Happy would be very confused on why she’s calling the clubhouse phone, but he’d given her the number in case of an emergency years ago and he broke his phone from dropping a wrench on it last night.
“Just, um,” Kip covers the speaker with his hand. “Just to let you know and whatever, she doesn’t sound very…um, happy.”
“She don’t ever sound happy. Give me the fuckin’ phone.” Kip does as he’s told, and shuffles away.
“Hey, my girl,” Happy greets her.
“Yeah, hi baby, could you bring me a pack a smokes home when you’re done with your club shit? I’m out.” Thank fucking God. He couldn’t think of a better excuse to get out of this than his wife needing him. See? An angel.
“Oh, alright. See you in a minute then, David, love you!”
“Love you too, my girl,” The line cuts off as soon as Hap finishes speaking. He hangs the phone back up and grabs his jacket off the barstool, throwing it back on.
“In trouble, Hap?” Chibs questions.
“Nah. She’s in a good mood, just wants a pack.” She’s been in a good mood all week, actually. He took her to the beach last weekend and promised to take her again on Friday, which definitely helped. He spoils her rotten, but seeing that pretty face that’s always cold and a little mean looking turn all bashful and smiley is worth it.
“Well, would you look at this,” Bobby watches the tall man with a smirk. “Big, bad Happy got a leash on after all. You always at her beck and call?”
“Yeah.” There’s no sense in beating around it. His girl, she’s got two big, scary dogs who listen to her every word. One is their cane corso, the other is Happy. He leaves with no other words and immediately starts the trip back home, with a stop to get her Newports, of course.
Happy does a lot for the club. He kills and maims, he tortures and mutilates. He wouldn’t do anything for it, though. For her? He’d walk to the ends of the Earth and back. He’d dive into the pits of hell and find a way to climb back up to his angel in heaven. For his girl, he’d do anything.
