92. Hannah

NINETY-TWO

With my soiled undies hidden inside my purse— because I couldn't bring myself to leave them in my office trash can— I climb the steps and unlock the front door.

I can hear Christmas music coming from the kitchen, and the sound of it makes me smile.

The choice of genre might seem weird to anyone else, but it's Mom's tradition to listen to holiday music anytime she bakes cookies. Which is why, even though I should really go take a shower, I follow the scent of vanilla and browned butter across the house.

"What're you…" I trail off as I cross the threshold into the small kitchen and blink at their outfits. "What are you wearing?"

Chelsea and Mom look up at the same time, then simultaneously drop their attention back to the little island where they are…

I move closer.

Oh.

Okay, sure. This is normal.

Just my family making sugar cookies shaped like little football jerseys. Decorating them with red and yellow frosting to mimic the colors of the Biters. And at least three have the number ninety-nine piped on with white icing.

Ninety-nine. Maddox's number.

I reach out and touch the corner of one.

"Maddox had them sent over," Chelsea tells me as she squeezes her piping bag.

"The cookies?" I ask, confused.

"Huh?" Chelsea glances up at me like I'm crazy. "No, we made these." She gestures to the two dozen jersey cookies. "We used Grandma's Christmas sweater cookie cutter."

"That's, uh, clever." I have no clue what is going on or why they're pretending this isn't completely bonkers. "Do the cookies have something to do with all the…" I wave my hand at them. "Outfits."

Chelsea makes a sound, but Mom answers. "Aren't they nice?" Mom holds her arms out and twists side to side. "Chelsea said we should bake something as a thank-you, and then when we came across the sweater cutter, well, an idea was born."

I widen my eyes. "Will someone just tell me what the hell is going on?"

"Oh hush, we're trying to concentrate." Mom waves me off. "Yours is on the dining table."

I look between Mom and my niece, taking in the real human-sized Minnesota Biters jerseys they're wearing. And I take in the baseball hat on Chelsea's head with the embroidered mosquito mascot. And the red, yellow, and white pompom hat on Mom's head.

"What —"

Mom cuts me off. "Go open your gift."

I puff my cheeks out and spin around. "Fine."

Obviously, Maddox was involved in whatever this is. At this point, I don't even know why I'm surprised by anything he does.

Stopping in front of the table, I look at the white box sitting on the surface. My name is printed on a small sticker stuck to the corner of the box.

There are two empty boxes on the other side of the table, lids tossed carelessly to the side. But I lift the lid off my box slowly.

A small card sits on top of the tissue-wrapped interior.

I take it out.

My Little Bunny,

I won't have my girl (or her family) wearing any number but mine.

And to replace what was… lost.

Love,

Your Big Bad Wolf

Feeling unsteady, I set the card aside.

Love.

My fingers tremble as I peel the tissue paper back. A jersey just like the one Mom and Chelsea are wearing is folded inside.

The material is thick, the stitching is pristine, and when I hold it up, I can tell he got the perfect size.

Turning it over, I look at his name. Lovelace.

How many times did I dream of wearing this?

How many times did I imagine in my mind that we were madly in love, and I was at his game, in the stands, wearing this exact jersey?

I drape the jersey over the back of the chair and pull the next item out of the box.

My throat tightens.

It's not a hat.

And it's not from the Biters.

It's a gray zip-up hoodie. With the HOP University logo high on the chest, over the heart.

A replica of the one I kept from him.

The one I burned.

And it doesn't matter that the house is warm from all the baking, I unzip it and shove my arms inside the sleeves.

It's sized for Maddox, not for me.

And dammit.

I love him.

Tears well in my eyes, and I pull the sides of the sweatshirt across each other, wrapping the material around my body.

I love this man.

The one who gives my niece nicknames.

The one who makes me dinner and fulfills old promises.

The man who takes up just as much space in my heart as he does in real life.

I love him.

And I don't really know what to do about that.

"Show us what you got," Mom calls from the kitchen.

My breath hitches. Mom is one of the two reasons why I don't know what to do.

"Yeah, come on. I wanna show you this cookie," Chelsea, the other reason, shouts even though we're only ten feet away.

I wipe at my eyes.

Maddox told me he wouldn't ask me to choose between him and them, but ultimately, won't it come down to that? Or does he plan to wait six years until Chelsea goes to college before we take our relationship to the next level? And even then, I can't just leave my mom behind. We've been living together for my thirty-five years of existence.

She's recovered, been better for a long time, and could physically live on her own. But could I really leave her at the same time Chelsea leaves?

Would I want to?

I blink up at the ceiling.

Am I seriously crying over the idea that I might not live with my mom for the rest of my mortal life?

What is wrong with me?

Shaking my head, I sniff a few times and dab at my eyes with the edge of my hoodie sleeve. Then I step back into the kitchen.

"Ooh, that's cute." Mom smiles at the blue and black logo on my hoodie. "It's like the one you lost."

Yep, lost it at that park I never went to.

Chelsea scrunches up her face. "That's… nice."

"It is." I run my palms down the fabric. "I got a jersey too, if that's more impressive."

She nods.

"Speaking of, should you two really be wearing those while baking?" I can't help but ask. "I don't exactly know how to wash that material."

Mom waves off my concern with a bag of icing. "Maddox told us not to baby them."

It takes a second for that sentence to sink in.

"Maddox… told you," I repeat slowly.

"Mm-hmm." Mom leans back over the counter to keep decorating a cookie. "And we figured you could bring them to dinner as the dessert."

It feels like I just sat down halfway through a movie I've never heard of.

"Look at this one." Chelsea pushes a cookie toward me.

"What dinner?" I ask Mom, confused, as I move closer to the counter.

"The one tomorrow. Maddox will call you." Her answer doesn't make any more sense than her previous statements.

I stare at Mom, but she isn't paying attention to me.

What in the hell is she talking about?

"Aunt Hannah." Chelsea's impatient tone forces my gaze back down.

"Sorry." I turn the cookie so it's facing me.

Smidge is written across it.

And I die.

I've lost the battle against reality.

I'm no longer of this world.

I'm just a ghost floating away.

I'm dead.

"Uh, Grandma, what's wrong with her?" Chelsea says from somewhere in the afterlife.

"She's just having a moment," Mom replies.

I stare at the counter. The cookies. The ones with ninety-nine on them. The ones with hearts. The ones with footballs. The one that says Smidge. The one that says… I tilt my head. Is that G. Ma?

Mom's phone rings, and she answers. "Hello, Maddy."

I blink.

Maddy?

"Yes, she's here." Mom nods. "Yeah. Uh-huh. No. I think she's just a little overwhelmed. Having a bit of an episode."

"Mom," I sigh.

She glances at me but keeps talking into the phone. "Yep. She's wearing the hoodie. Hmm, I don't know how to do that."

"Mom." I try again. "Are you talking to Maddox?"

She turns her head away from me.

I pick up one of the jersey cookies and bite the sleeve off.

It's good. Very vanilla-y.

"Okay. Okay. Alright, I'll look," Mom says to Maddox before she pulls the phone away from her ear and taps the screen. "Is it working?"

"Yep, I can see you." A male voice I know too well sounds through the speaker of Mom's phone.

Mom lets out a sound of enjoyment as she holds the phone out, letting us all see Maddox's handsome face on the screen.

"Hey, Smidge." He greets Chelsea.

"Hey." She only spares the phone a glance before going back to decorating the next cookie.

"Let me see the sweatshirt," he says to my mom.

She tries to hold it at the right angle but gives up and hands me the phone. "You can do it."

Taking it, I walk out of the kitchen and sink into one of the dining chairs.

Resting my elbow on the table, I hold the phone up so I'm looking into Maddox's kind eyes.

"Hey, Bunny."

I shake my head. Then I shake my head again. And finally, a stupid smile wins out, pulling across my features. "What is wrong with you?"

He presses a hand to his chest. "Moi?"

"No." I shake my head. "You do not get to be handsome, sweet, and speak French."

He chuckles. "If it makes you feel better, my command of the French language is extremely limited."

"It helps."

I took French for a few years back in high school, and the idea of Maddox speaking it to me is too much.

Maddox smirks. "So… does the fact that you're already wearing the hoodie mean you don't plan to burn it?"

I lift a shoulder. "Only time will tell."

"Fair. Reserve the right of destruction."

I look at his familiar features. "You didn't need to do it, ya know?"

"The hoodie?"

"The hoodie. The jerseys. The hats. Any of it." I need him to understand. "We don't need you to buy us things. We like you already."

His smile softens. "I know, Bunny. But thank you for saying it."

"I like gifts!" Chelsea shouts from the kitchen, proving she's eavesdropping.

"Tell her she's my favorite."

"I will not," I reply.

You're my favorite he mouths.

I press my lips together.

He tips his head down. "Does the jersey fit too?"

"Haven't tried it on yet." The phone in my hand dings loudly with a notification, reminding me it's Mom's phone. "Why are we talking on my mom's phone?"

"Because you weren't answering yours."

"And when did you and my mom exchange numbers?"

"When I dropped off the gifts."

I narrow my gaze. "And when did you drop off the gifts?"

"Over lunch."

"So, you were here before our… meeting, and you didn't mention it?"

Maddox shrugs. "We had to stay on topic."

"Stay… on topic."

"Speaking of lunch." He brushes past the whole him stopping over here thing. "I'd like you to join me for dinner tomorrow."

My lips purse. "What sort of dinner?"