Runaway ✔

138 • Happy

With gritted teeth Happy stared at the pie in front of him. It had been months since he had eaten anything like that, but he couldn't appreciate the irony of it all. He glared at his father, who had put the piece of cream cake in front of him and was now shrugging his shoulders. Happy didn't want to know what dick his father must have sucked to get this done. 

"There's no doubt she's thinking about us. This way we're still a bit connected to her."

Happy snorted. "No chance in hell you will cross her mind today."

In the beginning Happy had believed his snide comments hit his father, but in the meantime he seemed to be immune for them. He was way too glad he could see his son daily. That Happy still hated him, didn't seem to bother him at all. 

He turned away from his father and started to eat his pie. It was a luxury he didn't want to skip, even if it gave him the feeling he was betraying himself. That however was a feeling that was plaguing him ever since he had gotten here and his father and his buddies had welcomed them, offering protection. Nobody had lifted a finger to them. In the past twenty years his father had declared himself as the king of the prison. Nothing reminded him of the man who Happy had cursed almost all his life. Or maybe he did. His friendly words and gentle nature still made it hard to believe his father had been a drug dealer killing two young kids. 

He moved his fork to his mouth and closed his eyes for a moment. He was inside for half a year and he really started to miss good food. The other half of the pie he however shoved to Tig, who raised his eyebrows in surprise. 

"What are we celebratin'? They finally stepped on the cockroach?"

"It's Dana's birthday. Turns twenty-six today."

Happy suppressed a sigh. For once he thought to be there on her birthday, so he could make up a bit for those lost years. He was still blaming himself. He should have kept her closer, should have discovered how Maddox treated her and he should have taken her away from that place. 

"Congrats," Tig answered, his mouth full. The piece of cake had already disappeared in it, as if he had been afraid Happy would change his mind. 

He tried to imagine how Dana was celebrating her birthday now. He knew she was no longer with the club. There were only tiny bits of information Tig and he managed to get out of their brothers, but he knew she had left the US with Juice a few months ago. First the news had almost given him a heart attack, but now it turned out to be a good move. He shook his head at the thought of how serious their feelings apparently were. He had given them a few weeks at most, but Juice really seemed to be head over heels. Happy knew that thought should reassure him, especially now he couldn't do anything himself to protect her, but he still questioned Juice's resilience. But he guessed he shouldn't complain, it seemed like everything went according to plan. 

Happy stood up and together with Tig he walked to the basketball court. San Quentin wasn't so bad. Everyone left them alone. Even though his time in jail had never been so hopeless before, the former times had been more intense since he could have been killed any moment. There had always been club enemies around. But here... Here nobody seemed to have heard of the Sons of Anarchy – or at least had no problems with them. It should fill him with relief, but Happy was afraid he would let his guard down because of it. 

He had to keep in mind why he was here. Not because he had killed twenty-six people and had tortured double that rate, but because Maddox had wanted to put him in jail. He had wanted to corner him – and there was no doubt that Maddox would use his presence here to make Dana do things he didn't want to think about. He probably had enough people working here who could kill him instantly. 

However, he shouldn't look too far ahead. No matter how sneaky Maddox's plans had been, he hadn't succeeded in getting Dana back. Despite the homage that was probably coming up in hell as soon as Happy died, he prayed every night to Maria, Jesus, Allah and whoever he could think of to keep his sister away from that psycho. 

For he – and that knowledge was making him furious over and over again – couldn't do it himself. 

He caught a ball that was thrown at him and hoped to run off the frustration, even though he knew all his thoughts would return when he was back in his cell, surrounded by silence. Before Happy joined the match, he glanced at his father. 

He really didn't understand how the man could sit so peacefully at the table, knowing what monster was after his daughter. That was the only thing Happy had told him about her; hoping his father would hate himself for it.