Chapter 11

CHAPTER 11

brOCK

Something I like about Presley is that she lets me be dramatic. When I sent her a text that I was in town, she didn’t demand answers right that second. She let me drop my bomb in flair and said, “When and where?”

We end up deciding she’ll pick up tacos from a food truck nearby and meet at a park a few blocks from her apartment. She’s wearing a hoodie, beanie, and jeans, because while sixty-five degrees is practically summer weather to my Wyoming-boy heart, Presley is a California girl. After the last couple days I’ve had, I want to sit out and enjoy the sun, and she said she was happy to indulge me.

She waves when she meets my eye and hurries toward the picnic table I’m sitting at. I rise to greet her. She sets the food bags on the table and then wraps her arms around my middle, just like she did a couple days ago.

Something about this woman’s hugs calm me to the core. I’ve been buzzing with energy since the game on Thursday, but both times she’s hugged me have quieted that buzz to a whisper in my brain.

“You have a meeting?” she asks when she pulls back, but she keeps her hands at my waist, clutching the sides of my long- sleeved shirt like she’ll force me to answer now that she’s got me in her sights.

I smile and sigh at the same time. The last couple days have been hard, even the moments my agent assured me plenty of teams would want me. There was still an insecurity in all of it that wouldn’t let me settle. The niggling thought in my brain that I might be good, great even, at what I do, but my speaking out to the media at the worst possible times outweighs it all. That I was too much of a liability.

“The Rays made an offer,” I tell her.

She lets out a tiny squeal that she cuts off, and bounces on her toes. “And?”

I nod at her, and she jumps back into my arms, making me laugh.

“My dad said everyone was going to want you. He said the Rays would make an offer, and I knew you would be so great here.” Her words come a mile a minute, and I laugh again. It doesn’t stop her. “Brock, you’re going to be part of a line that appreciates how good you are.”

“I hope so,” I say. Truth is I love what she’s doing right now. It’s pure and sweet, no playing to my ego or anything. That buzzing has turned into a happy energy, and the whispers that I’m on thin ice no matter where I go dissipate in my head.

She gives a light swat to my chest. “No, seriously, Brock. I saw a tweet from Jett McCombs . He said he was crossing his fingers the Pumas picked you up because you see everything. Jett. McCombs.”

If Jett could hear her now, his head would grow three sizes. Her tone has all the awe that a three-time champion deserves, but it’s still funny since we came onto the Pumas together as rookies.

I chuckle. “Jett and I both knew it was a long shot. The Pumas let me go four years ago. It would be strange for them to pick me up again.” I shrug like it doesn’t mean anything. “Would’ve been cool to play for them with Jett qb-ing. ”

She draws in a breath. “Of course you’re buddies with him.” She slides into a seat at the picnic table. “Well, I’m glad it’s the Rays. I’m gonna get you a hoodie right away. And maybe now we can finally beat the Pumas in a playoff game.”

I grin at the way her smile turns competitive and sit down across from her. She nudges a bag of tacos toward me and then opens the one in front of her.

“Obviously we’re going to beat them.” I open my bag and take out a couple of tacos. There are also containers of fresh salsas and veggies. The homemade corn tortillas are stuffed with meat, and it reminds me that Presley gets football life one hundred percent. Even for a lunch out, she’s taking the time to get me extra protein and clean foods. I make a note of the name on the bag and commit it to memory to order from again.

“When is your physical?” she asks.

I’ll have to be cleared by the Rays’ training staff before I can start practice. “Tomorrow morning. They want me ready ASAP.”

Her smile widens into her cheeks. “Of course they do.” She reaches over the table and grabs my hand, clutching it in hers. “I am so happy you’re coming to the Rays, but more than anything, Brock, I’m happy that you’re happy.” She pulls her hand back to take a bite of her taco. It looks like there are only two in her bag.

Her words burrow into me, and warmth spreads through my chest. I am happy. The last couple days were stressful and hard, and some of that energy is still bouncing around inside of me. But most of it has been converted to excitement. The way Lincoln talks about his team, the brotherhood they have, the way they all work together—I’ve been jealous of that for a while. The Rays have a few all-stars, like Anthony Hurley and Lincoln. Mark Travis, even though he's getting up there in football years. But for the most part, they’re a group of good players specifically selected for how they would fit on the team. Look at Eli Dash. He came to them after his worst season with the Arizona Cobras, but now he’s playing tight games with the Pumas, the best team in the league .

Lincoln might have put in a good word about me with the coaches, maybe even urged them to take a close look, but in the end, it came down to how I would fit with the specific team they’ve built. That does something for the hurt feelings I’ve been carrying most of my life—working my tail off to get a school like USC to notice me, going undrafted and having to try out for a pro team, getting traded by the Pumas for someone “better.” It’s been adding up, but I need to turn my personal narrative around.

“Thanks, Pres.”

She beams at me, lips closed over a mouth full of food, and I dig into my tacos with more gusto than before. They’re amazing. Denver has some great taco places, but something about being farther south makes these ones taste that much better.

When we’re done eating, we toss our garbage, and I walk Presley back to her apartment. I get a text from Mom while we’re walking, and Presley waves at me to answer it.

“She’s probably worried about you.”

“My mom doesn’t worry. She’s tough. Had to be.”

Presley scoffs. “Sure, she probably told you all the time that she wasn’t worried about stuff, but she’s a mom. She worries, whether you see it or not. She’s probably just better at hiding it than my mom was. Answer her text.”

Mom: Look what Kurtis got us!

It’s accompanied by a picture of her and Kurtis in yellow Rays sweatshirts. Mom is facing the camera so you can see the Rays logo, and Kurtis is turned around to show “Hunter” across the back.

I tilt the phone and show Presley.

“Oh, I love it!”

“You would.” I arch an eyebrow at her.

“Have they been together long?” she asks.

“About a year. He does stuff like this for her all the time.” I look at the picture again. I love seeing Mom happy the way she is with him. She’s had a fair number of boyfriends over the years. She was careful, especially when I was young, about when to involve them in my life. But as a teen, I always knew when she was dating someone. Flowers and other gifts would show up, or she’d take advantage of football camp to “go see friends.” Once I was an adult, she never forced relationships between me and her boyfriends, but she talked more freely about them.

“She looks happy.”

“He looks smitten,” I agree.

“Absolutely.” Presley leans closer to me to look at the picture again, giving it star-eyes.

We arrive at her apartment, and she unlocks the door.

“Are you going to tell me what you were so excited to show me this morning?” I ask.

“Absolutely!” She claps her hands and then gestures for me to follow her inside. “I can’t believe I forgot all about it after you said you were in town.” I catch a flash of pink to her cheeks before she turns around and disappears into her bedroom.

She comes back a few moments later holding a paper bag. “Prepare yourself,” she says with so much faux seriousness I have to swallow back laughter. Hanging out more with Presley is going to be a major plus of playing for the Rays. She’s a light in my life that balances my intensity.

She slides a book out of the paper bag, and I recognize it immediately. It’s a rare-ish collector’s edition of book fifteen, but I’m not sure why she’s so excited. She knows I have this same set.

Then she flips open the front page and shows me the signature. My mouth drops open, and I know I’ve given her the exact reaction she wanted because she bounces again, like she did when she found out the Rays signed me.

“Signed?” I say when she holds out the book for me to inspect. I read the inscription and then look back up at her. “Your aunt met him? ”

She throws up her hands. “I guess?” she cries. “She never said anything , Brock. I’m thoroughly perplexed about how she would get this and never say anything about it and then just leave it to me when she’s dead.”

I hand the book back to Presley, and she slips it into the paper bag, setting it on a side table next to her couch. “I feel like I would have liked your aunt a lot.”

“Yeah. You would have. It’s exasperating that she did this, and I have no answers, but I’m pretty sure she’s up there laughing hysterically at me trying to figure this out.” Her expression tenses for a moment as she stares at the bag.

I crouch to peer at her. “Pres, it’s okay to be mad at her for not telling you.”

She shakes her head. “Oh. It’s not that. I mean, I’m annoyed, yeah. Because it was probably a great story. Maybe it’s in one of the letters she left me, and I have to wait to find out.” She sighs. “It’s fine.”

I pull her into a hug. If there’s one thing I’ve learned from my mom, it’s that “fine” doesn’t always mean “fine,” and there’s an edginess to her words that says she feels more than she’s letting on. Presley melts into me, putting her face against my chest and wrapping her arms around me. She sighs, and I almost expect her to start crying. She’s not afraid to do that with me, something that makes me want to puff out my chest in pride that she trusts me that much. Another lesson my mom drilled into me: tears are normal and nothing to freak out about.

Unless it’s because someone hurt her. The same would go for Presley. She’s the closest friend I’ve had in a long time, besides Lincoln, I guess. And even with him, his life has been so busy since he met Layla and then basically became an instant dad.

“It really is okay, Brock. I promise,” she says into my chest, but she doesn’t make any effort to move.

“If you’re sure?” I lean back to look at her. Her cheeks are red, maybe with embarrassment even though she knows crying in front of me is fine .

She steps back and smooths her hair. “Really. Do you want to hang out, or do you need to go?”

“Hang out,” I say. Going back to my hotel room would mean thinking too much about everything that’s happened this week, even if it ended well. “Should we finish the Christmas movie I slept through?” I suggest, plopping down on her couch.

“Or we could … decorate Christmas cookies?” she says.

I sit up. “I’m in.”

She tilts her head toward the kitchen. “I already have everything. I made the cookies after work, and I was going to go over to my mom’s to decorate until you said you were in town.”

I stand and follow her as she moves toward the island that separates her kitchen area from the living room. “I feel bad for taking this opportunity from your mom.”

“Don’t. I’ll go over to her house and decorate again with her sometime. She’s big about Christmas too. Where do you think I got it?” She turns away from me, opening her fridge and depositing containers of frosting on the counter. I see the sugar cookies sitting on a cooling rack next to the stove. They’re the perfect shade of cream and golden brown on the bottom.

“Those look good,” I say, pointing to the cookies as she gathers decorating materials. It’s a lot, which shouldn’t be surprising since she’s told me how much she loves Christmas, and I can tell this is a tradition. She has a kit with frosting bags and tips for different shapes. I take a seat at the island on one of the stools, shifting around until I’m as comfortable as I’m going to get.

“Sorry,” Presley says as she watches me. “I don’t get many six-seven guys in here.”

“I’m used to other people’s furniture not being exactly the right size for me. It’s like being Goldilocks but the opposite,” I joke to make sure she doesn’t worry about it.

She brings a tray of cookies over and then takes a seat next to me. She starts chatting about the Rays as she begins spreading a layer of white frosting over a cookie, and I relax into the comfort of our friendship and the lightness to this moment. She turns on some Christmas music to play softly, and I feel settled and comfortable for the first time since Monday night.

I went to my mom’s house that night. Packed a bag and left Denver. She was there for me like she has been my whole life, but I couldn’t shake the failure that surrounded me in that moment. Mom, Tim, Lincoln, Jett, Presley, everyone assured me from the moment Denver let me go that it was Denver’s mistake. Some commentators said it too. Jett texted me as soon as he found out, saying the Devils are trying to right a sinking ship by tossing overboard the only people who care about saving it. I’m grateful for my friends and family and the ways they support me.

So I’m not sure what it is about sitting next to Presley, quietly talking about a dozen different things these last few minutes, that makes the last remnants of that storm inside me die down completely. There’s something different about her friendship. I know Jett and Lincoln through football, and to a certain extent that’s why Tim is in my life too. So maybe that’s it. Maybe it’s that she’s in a sphere outside of football, and she’s not my mom.

Whatever it is, I’m grateful for it and glad I’m going to have it all the time once I move to LA.