17. Maddox
SEVENTEEN
As a group, we walk out of the restaurant and to the parking lot next door while the melted Gruyère and smoked ham sit like a rock in my stomach.
I want to tell Hannah to ride back to the office with me. Want to demand it, really. But singling her out now would put a spotlight on her. And even if I'm still a little bitter about her disappearing on me, I'm not looking to out our history in front of our colleagues. This issue between us is only between us.
I lift my hand in a wave as some of the guys call out their goodbyes.
I was planning to go back to the office. But maybe I won't.
"It's the BMW," Brandon says as he points to what must be his car.
It takes everything in me not to roll my eyes when he looks my way.
First, I would bet my left lung he made sure everyone knew he drove a BMW on the trip over here. No way this fucking tool didn't mention it a minimum of six times.
Second, is he seriously trying to show off to me? Money doesn't mean shit. Not as far as someone's character is concerned. But I played pro ball. For a dozen years. A simple search online will tell you how much I made each year.
Hint: it was a lot. Like a fucking lot. And I was smart with it. Invested, saved, didn't buy multiple houses or blow money on boats or other dumb shit. So now, I have even more.
I nod to Brandon. "They make good cars."
I don't buy new cars every year. But I did buy one this year.
Stopping next to my vehicle, I try really hard not to smirk. Because I drive a BMW too. Or at least I drove mine today; this is hardly the only vehicle I own.
Brandon's car is more practical, with four doors versus my two. But costing approximately four times more than his, mine is more fun.
He does a double take, and I swear his lower lip thins.
I'd never shame someone for what they drive, but Brandon deserves a little humiliation.
Maybe we can arrange a company game of dodgeball, and I can chuck something at his face.
It'd make me feel better. And from the looks he was getting today, I don't think I'd be the only one aiming for him.
I imagine Hannah taking her own shot at him, and it almost makes me grin.
I climb into my car and wait while everyone splits between Brandon's car and the midsize SUV another guy drove over.
The SUV goes first, then Brandon, and then I pull out.
Traffic isn't too bad, so we stay in a row as we move down the street.
I decide I might as well head back with everyone else, so I continue to follow along.
The light ahead of us turns yellow, and the SUV goes through, but Brandon stops just as it turns red.
I drum my fingers on the wheel, pleasantly surprised he didn't try to blow through the light. And glad because he has Hannah in there with him. If he put her in danger with reckless driving, I'd do more than embarrass him.
Leaning forward, I try to see Hannah through the back window. But she's in the front passenger seat, and she's short enough that her form is hidden by the seat and headrest.
The light turns green, and Brandon's car jerks forward. Clearly, he stomped on the gas.
"Fuckin—" I lift my foot off the brake as I start to curse the idiot, but then it happens.
A car crossing from the right is trying to run their red light at the same time Brandon is trying to jump the green. And they collide.
Hannah.
I slam on my brakes.
My heart beats painfully in my chest as I throw my car into park and scramble out.
I leave my door wide open as I sprint toward the two cars blocking the intersection.
Both vehicles are stopped. There's no smoke. No fire. But still, I feel like I can't breathe.
My shoes slap against the hard surface of the road.
Five more steps.
Three.
One.
I jerk on the passenger door handle, but it doesn't open.
Bending down, I look into Hannah's wide eyes through the window. "Open the door for me."
She nods, but the movement is frantic, and her lips start to tremble.
To my side, I hear someone get out of the other vehicle. It's gotta be the driver, but I don't pay them any attention.
"Babe." I press my finger to the glass, trying to get her to look down at the door handle. "Open the door."
There's movement beyond Hannah, and Brandon undoes his seat belt and reaches for his door handle.
The second he opens his, I hear the quiet thud of the rest of the doors unlocking, and I jerk Hannah's door open.
"Are you okay?" I crouch next to her.
"Y-yeah." She swallows.
I place my left hand on the doorframe for balance but rest my right hand on her thigh, letting her feel I'm right here.
Shouting starts near the front bumpers, the other driver obviously as much of a hothead as Brandon.
I lean a little farther into the car and look at the two sitting in the back seat. "You guys alright?"
They both nod.
"Can one of you call the cops while the other keeps Dipshit out there from getting into a fistfight?" I tip my head to gesture toward Brandon and the other driver, who are still yelling at each other over a couple of damaged bumpers.
"We're on it," one of the guys replies as they both exit the car.
When they're gone, I gently squeeze her leg and say her name. "Hannah."
The soft material of her shirt vibrates as she pulls in a choppy inhale.
"Babe, I need you to get out of the car." I don't want to trigger any bad memories by calling her that, but the familiarity seems to be getting through to her. "I'm gonna unbuckle you, okay?"
"I can," she practically whispers.
"I know you can." I give her a little smile as I lift my hand from her thigh and reach across her lap.
The belt clicks, and I lift the buckle, letting it slowly reel back.
Hannah blinks at me.
I place my hand back on her thigh. "I'll lift you out of this car if you make me, but I'm pretty sure that'll cause a scene."
Sirens sound in the distance, and considering we're in the middle of downtown St. Paul, it's not a surprise the police response is quick.
Hannah exhales, and it sounds steadier. "Okay."
I dip my chin. "Okay, you want me to carry you?"
Her mouth twitches. "Okay, I can climb out."
"If that's your wish." I pretend my knees don't crack when I push myself up to standing. "Come on." I hold my hand out.
For a moment, I expect her to push me away, but instead, Hannah places her palm in mine.
I grip her hand firmly while she climbs out of the car, and she takes a second to steady herself before looking up at me.
"Thanks." Her fingers are shaking.
"Are you really okay? You're not hurt?"
Hannah starts to shake her head, but I reach up with my free hand and place it on the side of her neck, stopping her movement. "Before you do that, pay attention to your body. Does anything not feel right?"
The skin on her neck is so soft and warm I want to press my face against it.
Listening to me, Hannah slowly moves her neck and shoulders before she shakes her head again. "Nothing hurts at all," she tells me.
"Promise?"
She rolls her lips together as she nods.
Reluctantly, I lower my hand from her neck.
"I'm just… I don't know why that scared me so much." Hannah lifts the hand I'm not holding, and we watch it tremble before she lifts her eyes back to meet mine. "I've never been in a car accident before."
I love that she's no longer avoiding my gaze.
I hate that it's because she's frightened.
"Let's make that your last one, yeah?" I give her fingers a squeeze.
She nods, and a smile starts to form, then it breaks, and she sucks in another breath.
"Shh." I lift my hand back to her neck.
"Sorry." Hannah dashes the back of her hand over her cheeks.
"It's okay to be scared, but you're okay."
She sniffs. "It's stupid."
"It's not stupid." Giving in to the urge, I lightly move my thumb up and down the column of her throat. "Do you want a hug?"
She brushes away another tear as she glances to the side. "Probably shouldn't."
The three guys from our office are only a few yards away— at the front of the car. And two cop cars are pulling to a stop in the intersection.
"I'm just comforting an employee." I try to make it sound reasonable. "That's okay, right?"
Hannah sniffs again, but a little of the light returns to her eyes. "You gonna hug Brandon too?"
I huff out a laugh. "If he asked me to." Then I tip my head to the side. "Might squeeze him a little tighter than necessary though."
There's one more sniffle, then Hannah drops my hand and steps into me.
Just steps into me.
I bring my arms around her, wrapping around her shoulders and upper back, pulling her closer. Holding her against me.
Hannah rests her cheek against my chest and presses her hands into my back, her palms on either side of my spine.
I want to kiss the top of her head. I want to press my nose into her hair and inhale her scent.
But I know we're being watched, and Hannah was probably right that hugging her might be inappropriate. But she's my employee, and she was just involved in something traumatizing. If a hug makes her feel better, then I'm going to fucking hug her.
Her back expands under my arms as she takes a deep breath, then exhales it. "Thanks, Maddox."
Our bodies are already flush, but I still squeeze her tighter.
Because for the first time in fifteen years, Hannah Utley spoke my name.