Love, Utley (Love Letters #1)

“Mom!” I try to cut her off, but she ignores me.

“— had a crush on when she went to HOP University. But she was only there a little while since she had to come home after my stroke. And she never got to see him again.”

I’m annoyed with my past self for telling my mom that much, but after she got out of the hospital, she could tell something was distracting me. So I told her about the boy I liked.

But I didn’t tell her the whole truth, about just how much my heart was broken. Because Mom’s a romantic, and she would’ve insisted I go back even if we both knew that was impossible.

“Aw, that’s sad.” Chelsea’s mouth tips into a frown. Then she asks the real question. “Is he still cute?”

Instead of replying, I put the straw between my lips and suck down half my matcha.

SEVEN

MADDOX

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.