7. Maddox

SEVEN

The security guard waves as I drive past the gatehouse and into my neighborhood. But my mind isn't on the road as I wind through the tall trees, past the long driveways. My mind is back in that conference room.

Today almost feels like a daydream. Like the events were impossible.

But it was real.

I saw Hannah Utley today.

I talked to her.

Because she works for me now.

I depress the brake and slow as I turn my car into my driveway.

Having grown up in Minnesota, I knew I wanted to retire here. So, after my first season playing for the Minnesota Biters, I bought this property.

Bypassing the circular part of the driveway, I head to my four-car garage and park in the empty spot.

My lower back aches as I climb out of the vehicle, and I take a second to press my hands against my hips and arch my spine.

Three decades of tackling dudes has taken its toll on my body, and after days like today— when I'm stuck in one chair for hours on end— I pay the price.

Still worth it though.

Before I shut my door, I reach into the passenger seat and grab the paper bag containing two burritos. Since I'm not playing anymore, and I don't work out as many hours as I used to, I don't need to slam this many calories at every meal. But Dana catered in salads for lunch, and I need some sustenance while I think.

As I step through the side door into the house, I hit the button to shut the garage door.

I toe my shoes off in the mudroom and toss my keys into one of the cubbies built into the wall. Most of the compartments sit empty, and I have a brief moment to think that I should probably buy some decorations or something to put in them, but if I haven't done that yet, it'll probably never happen.

In my socks, I walk past the laundry room, past an extra storage room, through the grand entryway that opens up into the living room, and then past the couches and into the kitchen.

The marble island seats eight, and I have double ovens built into the wall with a third in the gas range.

I set my paper bag on the counter and walk around the island to the cupboard with the plates.

Setting one down, I pull on another cupboard handle, and the entire wall panel opens, revealing the hidden pantry.

The light comes on automatically, and I find the bottle I'm looking for, then walk back out.

With everything I need gathered, I drag out one of the stools and sit down.

In silence, I unwrap my burritos and start to eat, shaking a bit of extra hot sauce onto each bite.

And with each bite, I fall deeper into the rabbit hole of wondering about Hannah. Wondering what her life has been like.

What did she say about switching to online classes? Her work schedule changed?

Shifting, I reach into my pants pocket and pull out the folded sheet of paper I snagged before I left the conference room.

With one hand, I smooth it out next to my plate.

Hannah Utley

Her résumé is standard. Name, address, phone number…

I take another bite, then set my burrito down to pull my phone out of my pocket.

With no shame, I enter her information into my contacts.

I run my finger down the page to the part with her work history and find the job that lines up with the time I knew her.

Petals Flower Shop.

She worked there for years and has listed her positions ranging from customer service to manager to accountant.

Did Peter say the name of the shop like it was something he was familiar with?

I pick up my phone again and type in the address listed for Petals.

It's in an older part of St. Paul, not that far from me and not that far from the office.

I type in Hannah's home address, adding it to the pins on the map, then hit the button to get directions and find myself staring at the travel time.

Twenty minutes.

I moved back to town seven years ago, and during that time, Hannah was either at home, at the flower shop, or working her way up the ranks at the company I now own. Meaning, for seven fucking years, she's been only twenty fucking minutes away. And I had no idea.

An ugly emotion twists around my heart.

What happened?

Why did she leave school, leave me, to come back to work at Petals? A place that— according to the dates on her résumé, she'd been working at since she was fifteen.

I click on the company's website, but it takes me to a disabled page. Going back to the map, I expand the information for Petals and see that it's closed.

It doesn't matter.

Back to the résumé, I stare at her schooling.

There's no mention of HOP U. No record at all of her time there. Like it didn't happen. Wasn't even real.

I shake my head at that thought.

It's her.

I know it's fucking her.

Same eyes. Same hair and freckles. Same vibrant spark of life.

I swallow, admitting to myself that she's not the same.

None of us are the same people we were in college.

For a long time— for too long— I thought about Hannah. I told myself I'd hear from her.

We never exchanged numbers during the week we knew each other, but she knew where I lived. She had to have. Everyone knew where I lived.

And even after that year, when I graduated and got drafted, she could've found me. It's not like my life was a secret. I was one of the highest-paid defensive tackles in the league. I've been on magazine covers. On talk shows and news shows and at celebrity events.

If she wanted to, she could have found me in seconds.

There were a few times over the years, a few nights when I was feeling especially lonely, that I'd search her name.

But she didn't have any social media, or at least none that I could find. And even though my buddy, Nate Waller, went into the tech business, I could never bring myself to ask him to look.

He would've done it if I asked. He knew how much her leaving fucked with my head.

But if he found her, and I know he could've found her, then what?

I just show up on her doorstep?

Beg her for answers?

What if she'd been married?

I stare at her name on the paper.

Still Utley.

Hopefully that means she's single. Or at least not married.

Just like I never got married.

It's not like I stayed celibate all these years. But I did make a point to only date women who didn't remind me of her.

Which, now that I think about it, probably saved me from marriage. Because no matter how much Hannah shredded my young heart by disappearing like that. A part of me always recognized that she was exactly the type of woman I'd want to spend my life with.

Not that any of that matters anymore.

Because when Hannah looked at me today, she looked at me like she didn't even know me.