LOVE, UTLEY

  LOVE LETTERS BOOK ONE

  S.J. TILLY

  Love, Utley

  Love Letters Series Book One

  Copyright © S.J. Tilly LLC 2024

  All rights reserved.

  First published in 2024

  No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition, including this condition, being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. All characters in this publication other than those clearly in the public domain are fictitious, and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Cover: Lori Jackson Design

  Model Image: Wander Aguiar Photography

  Editors: Jeanine Harrell, Indie Edits with Jeanine

  & Beth Lawton, VB Edits

  CONTENTS

  Prologue – Hannah

  The Letter

  1. Hannah – 15 years later

  2. Hannah

  3. Maddox

  4. Hannah

  5. Maddox

  6. Hannah

  7. Maddox

  8. Hannah

  9. Maddox

  10. Hannah

  11. Maddox

  12. Hannah

  13. Maddox

  14. Hannah

  15. Maddox

  16. Hannah

  17. Maddox

  18. Hannah

  19. Maddox

  20. Hannah

  21. Maddox

  22. Hannah

  23. Hannah

  24. Maddox

  25. Hannah

  26. Maddox

  27. Hannah

  28. Maddox

  29. Hannah

  30. Maddox

  31. Hannah

  32. Maddox

  33. Hannah

  34. Maddox

  35. Hannah

  36. Maddox

  37. Hannah

  38. Maddox

  39. Hannah

  40. Maddox

  41. Hannah

  42. Maddox

  43. Hannah

  44. Maddox

  45. Hannah

  46. Maddox

  47. Hannah

  48. Maddox

  49. Hannah

  50. Maddox

  51. Hannah

  52. Maddox

  53. Hannah

  54. Maddox

  55. Hannah

  56. Maddox

  57. Hannah

  58. Maddox

  59. Hannah

  60. Maddox

  61. Hannah

  62. Maddox

  63. Hannah

  64. Maddox

  65. Hannah

  66. Maddox

  67. Hannah

  68. Maddox

  69. Hannah

  70. Maddox

  71. Hannah

  72. Hannah

  73. Maddox

  74. Hannah

  75. Maddox

  76. Hannah

  77. Hannah

  78. Maddox

  79. Hannah

  80. Maddox

  81. Hannah

  82. Maddox

  83. Hannah

  84. Maddox

  85. Hannah

  86. Maddox

  87. Hannah

  88. Maddox

  89. Hannah

  90. Maddox

  91. Hannah

  92. Hannah

  93. Maddox

  94. Hannah

  95. Nate Waller

  96. Hannah

  97. Maddox

  98. Hannah

  99. Tony Stoleman

  100. Max Lovelace

  101. Hannah

  102. Maddox

  103. Brandon

  104. Maddox

  105. Hannah

  106. Hannah

  107. Maddox

  108. Hannah

  109. Maddox

  110. Hannah

  111. Nate Waller

  112. Maddox

  113. Hannah

  114. Maddox

  115. Hannah

  116. Maddox

  117. Hannah

  118. Maddox

  119. Hannah

  120. Hannah

  121. Maddox

  Epilogue 1 – Maddox

  Hannah

  Epilogue 2 – Maddox

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by S.J. Tilly

  This book is dedicated to every woman who has ever had to work with a man.

  PROLOGUE – HANNAH

  The heavy door slams closed behind me, echoing through the dorm hallway, but I’m too elated to care.

  Last night…

  Kicking my shoes off, I aim straight for my bed and flop onto my back.

  Maddox Lovelace.

  Football player extraordinaire.

  The tall, broad, dark-haired, dark-eyed man who has been on my mind since the first moment I saw him earlier this week.

  The charismatic athlete I’m quickly becoming obsessed with.

  The man everyone calls Mad Dog, even though I’ve already seen a softer side to him.

  I sigh.

  Never in my wildest dreams did I think my first week at college would go like this.

  I mean, sure, I did two years of college already, but that was living at home and going to the cheapest local community college. This is university life. HOP University. And hot damn, has it lived up to its name.

  I curl my fingers around the fabric of the borrowed hoodie I’m wearing and bring it up to my nose.

  Since Maddox knows I have it, and he let me wear it out of the library, I’m not going to feel weird about inhaling his scent off it.

  Even though, from the way I spent the night plastered to his side, my own shirt probably smells like him.

  Soap, fresh-cut grass, and sandalwood.

  Heaven.

  I know I should change. Should probably shower too. But exhaustion from lack of sleep is creeping in, and it’s much more fun to lie here and think about last night.

  Thinking about Maddox coming to the library.

  How he sat there waiting for my shift to end, asking if I’d like to study with him.

  Going to that private study room on the second floor.

  The kiss.

  I let my eyes close.

  That kiss was the best kiss of my life.

  Or best kiss of my life until later.

  Until we lost track of time — me reading from The Count of Monte Cristo out loud, him with his head on my shoulder following along.

  Until the lights went off.

  Until we were locked in.

  Heat unfurls in my belly as I remember that moment. The tension between us grew so fast it crackled when we tested the front doors of the library and found them locked.

  I’ve seen it in movies.

  Read about it in books.

  That tangible sexual energy that should be neon pink instead of invisible.

  Electricity that’s life-giving instead of deadly.

  And when it snapped…

  My thighs clench at the memory.

  The experience was otherworldly.

  Maddox lifting me into his strong arms.

  Maddox carrying me across the building even as our mouths were fused together.

  Maddox shoving furniture together to make a bed for us.

  Maddox removing his clothes after he removed mine.

  Maddox kissing me. Down there. Before he filled me so full. While talking so dirty.

  I clench my fists around the fabric and force my eyes open.

  I want to shove my jeans off and recall the scene in much finer detail. But I don’t need to do that. Because I’m seeing him again. Tonight.

  The sunlight streaming through my window brightens with each passing minute, reminding me that it’s still early. The custodian who let us out must’ve been the first employee on campus, considering it was barely dawn when he unlocked the doors.

  With a groan, I roll back out of bed and trudge to the window, reaching for the blinds.

  It’s Saturday. The first weekend since classes started. And I intend to spend the next several hours sleeping since my next shift at the library doesn’t start until this afternoon.

  I’ve pulled the blinds in place, and I’m just undoing my jeans when my phone rings.

  The sound is muffled, the device buried in the front pocket of my backpack, but I find it before it stops ringing.

  It’s not someone saved in my contact list, but the area code is from my hometown, so I answer it.

  “Hello?”

  The female voice on the other end is kind. “Is this Hannah Utley?”

  “Yes.” I nod, even though she can’t see it.

  “My name is Jane. I’m a nurse at Health Place in St. Paul. I’m calling on behalf of Ruth Utley.” My stomach drops at the sound of my mom’s name on a stranger’s lips. “She’s okay, in stable condition, but she’s suffered a stroke and is currently admitted to our ICU.”

  “Wh-what?” My knees turn to jelly, and I sag into the hard desk chair in front of the window.

  “I’m sorry to be calling you with this, but she’s responsive and asked that I contact you.”

  Her words make sense. But I can’t find a way to believe them.

  “But she’s okay?” I ask, needing her to say it again.

&
nbsp; “She’s okay. One of her customers was there when it happened, so the ambulance got to her quickly.”

  Mom’s customers.

  She was at the shop when it happened.

  The nurse says something else, and I think I mumble a thank-you before the call ends. But I can’t focus as a heavy weight settles on my chest.

  It’s always just been Mom and me. And her flower shop, Petals. She owns it, manages it, runs it. She’s there every day.

  She has other employees, but she does most of the work.

  She can’t afford to pay someone else to work full time.

  If she can’t work, then she can’t pay her bills.

  And that means… I can’t stay here.

  I have to go home. I have to see her, make sure she’s really okay, with my own eyes.

  And I can’t come back.

  My lungs ache as I pull in a breath.

  I can’t come back here, taking out student loans, while Mom struggles. Possibly losing her business. Then our home.

  That weight wraps around my rib cage.

  I need to drop out.

  I need to leave.

  Today.

  Now.

  I slip my phone into my sweatshirt pocket and pause.

  Maddox’s sweatshirt.

  If I leave, move several hours away, how will I see Maddox again?

  Heat builds behind my eyes.

  I can’t cry over him. Can’t cry over a guy I’ve only known for a week. Only slept with once.

  The pressure builds inside my skull, and I picture us walking side by side, his massive body shielding my shorter and softer one.

  I can’t cry over a boy when my mom is in the hospital.

  I can’t. And yet…

  I glance at the notebook on top of my desk.

  My finger trembles as I press the doorbell.

  There’s a moment’s delay before I hear the chime through the closed front door.

  I shuffle back a step.

  And wait.

  No other sounds come from inside the house.

  I lean to the side, peeking through the big front window, but all I can see is an empty living room.

  I’m at the right house. Even if there wasn’t a giant football-shaped flag attached to the porch railing, one of my coworkers described the Football House to me in detail, so I know I’m at the right place.

  But when another minute passes and no one comes to the door, I accept that I have to make a decision.

  I can ring the doorbell again and again, hoping someone is home. And then I’m the annoying person who woke them on a Saturday morning. Or I can stick the letter in the mailbox and hope someone checks it sooner rather than later.

  Maddox and I aren’t supposed to meet until this evening, but I’d hate for him to go to the library looking for me when I’m not going to be there.

  Even if he finds the letter tomorrow, I’d hate for him to go one single night thinking I ditched him.

  That tightness from before slithers around my rib cage, and my fingers tighten around the piece of paper.

  I lift my hand, aiming for the doorbell, but pause.

  Maybe no one is even home. The people who live here are all on the HOP U football team, so they could all be at practice or the gym or something. I don’t know what their schedule is like, but I doubt they get the weekends off.

  A clock ticks loudly in my mind.

  I have a bus to catch, and I’m running out of time.

  Biting down on my lip, I lower my hand and turn away from the house.

  Last night was great. Amazing. A dream.

  And I think Maddox feels the same way.

  But what if he doesn’t?

  What if he just did a good job convincing me?

  What if he’s home, and I keep ringing the bell, and I wake him and his house up, and I have to tell him face to face that I’m leaving? Moving home, hours away, but that I still want to have a relationship.

  What if I do all that, and he turns me away?

  He’d be nice about it.

  I don’t think he’d laugh in my face. But it would still be rejection. And his roommates might be there to watch. They might react.

  And I don’t know if I could handle that. Not right now. Not with Mom…

  I swallow.

  It’s not worth the risk.

  I turn away from the door and hurry down the front steps and across the yard.

  When I pull the mailbox door open, I see a few letters inside. There isn’t a lot of mail, so hopefully that means someone checks it fairly regularly.

  Not wanting the mailman to get mad about me hand delivering a letter, I tuck the folded piece of paper between two of the envelopes in the pile.

  I wish I had an envelope to put my letter in, but I don’t, so it’s just a piece of paper folded in thirds and taped shut.

  Not exactly private, but it was the best I could do.

  With one last glance up at the house, I shut the mailbox and turn away.

  “That everything?” the bus driver asks, like the two suitcases and three boxes containing all my college dreams weren’t enough.

  I nod.

  He holds his arm out, gesturing for me to go ahead and board, but I hesitate.

  I look left, then right, hoping for the hulking form of a dark-haired man jogging toward me, waving his arms.

  But Maddox isn’t here.

  He didn’t magically find my letter and sprint across campus to meet me at the bus pickup area.

  Each trip I took, walking the boxes, then my suitcases over from my dorm room, I’d look around, checking for any signs of him.

  And I felt like a fool every time.

  Just like now.

  Shaking my head, I square my shoulders and hook my thumbs through the straps of my backpack.

  “Thanks, I’m ready.” I smile at the bus driver as I move past him and onto the bus.

  The lie rolls off my tongue.

  I’m not ready.

  Not ready to leave HOP University.

  Not ready to see my mom connected to IVs and machines and whatever else.

  Shuffling down the aisle, I choose an empty row near the front.

  The container of orange Tic Tacs rattles inside my backpack as I drop the bag onto the aisle seat, then I scoot in until I’m seated next to the window.

  Staring forward, I admit that, most of all, I’m not ready to give up on Maddox Lovelace.

  Just because he’s not here right now to see me off doesn’t mean it’s over between us. He’ll see the letter tonight, maybe tomorrow, possibly the next day. And then he’ll call.

  I drag my backpack onto my lap and pull the zipper open.

  When I reach in, I pause when my fingers connect with the corner of a book.

  My breath hitches, and I pull it out of the bag.

  It’s Maddox’s book. The one we read together last night.

  I didn’t mean to take it. I’d forgotten I’d even stuck it in my bag.

  The spine creaks as I open it to the place we left off.

  It’s a long ride home, so I might as well keep reading.

  It can be practice for when Maddox calls me. Maybe we can make that a weekly thing: him sitting on the phone while I read to him.

  He’d buy a second copy and let me keep this one but follow along in his own. Maybe even take a turn reading to me.

  I blow out a breath and move my eyes to the page.

  If I focus on this, fall into this story, then I won’t have to think about the letter I left for Maddox. And I won’t have to worry about all the unknowns that lay before me.

  THE LETTER

  Dear Maddox,

  I’m sorry to give you a note like this, but I don’t want to leave without telling you where I’m going. And I can’t leave without letting you know how much last night meant to me. Not just the locked-in part, but all the stuff that came before it too.

  Being around you makes me feel safe. Like I’m protected from anything bad. And you… You make me feel small in a world where I’ve always felt too big.

  And I know we just met, and I know it will be hard to do long distance, but I’d like to try. I’d like to still see you. Or at least talk to you.

  I hate that we never exchanged phone numbers. I assumed we’d have time to do it later. But since my time has run out, here is my number. 651-555-1304

  There’s no easy way to say this next part, so I’ll just do it.

  My mom had a stroke last night and is in the hospital. They say she’ll be okay, but I need to move back home to help her run our store.

  And I don’t think I’ll be able to come back.

  I’ve already emailed my adviser to drop my classes. I’ve packed up everything in my dorm room. And by the time you’re reading this, I’ll either be at the bus stop outside the quad or back home in St. Paul.