Chapter 14

CHAPTER 14

PRESLEY

I’ve picked up my phone at least a dozen times since I got home from work to text Brock. It’s so natural to check in with him on all the little things that happen with my day, but after last night, everything I send is going to sound flirty or like I’m trying to convince him to like me back.

So now I have a private window open on my web browser, searching every article about the Christmas ring in hopes of distracting myself from the dumpster fire I’ve made of my friendship with Brock.

I miss him.

I miss him so much, and it’s only been a day of no contact.

This might be why I have a sad love song playing on repeat on my phone, and every time it gets to the chorus about never getting to talk to their ex again, I sing it at the top of my lungs with what I feel like is some serious emotion and believable heartbreak.

It’s even clearer to me now how hard I fell for him, how much our friendship meant to me, and how heartbreaking it is that he doesn’t want more. For a few seconds, our kiss was electric. I could have melted into him. I drift into a daydream where instead of him yanking away from me so quickly like he did, he pulls me to him, wrapping his arms around my back. I shiver at the thought and then scowl.

No, Presley. No. That’s not going to happen.

But do I truly regret the kiss?

Mostly, yes. Okay, probably fifty-fifty.

“Back to the task at hand, girl.” I focus my concentration on the news articles I’ve found about the Christmas ring. How in the world did Aunt Shannon end up with the ring in her possession? I’ve tried image searching to see if there were replicas out there and maybe this is one of them, but everything I can find is about the stolen ring. Even searching for Westcott Christmas ring replica doesn’t lead to anything but some Facebook posts about Mrs. Westcott’s attempts to find the ring among her neighbors. That was funny.

Can the NSA spy on my private internet searches? Probably. And this doesn’t look good for me if they do. They’d start asking questions like why do I have it? And why am I so interested in having a duplicate? And why haven’t I turned it in if I’m innocent?

I need advice about what to do, but I don’t know who to call. Mom will make me turn it in but having Aunt Shannon’s name dragged through the mud will break her heart. It’s best if she doesn’t know. Brock is the only other person I trust enough. I have friends from high school and college, but they’re not that kind of friends. Mom and Aunt Shannon were my best friends once I moved back to LA after college and, truth be told, I didn’t try very hard to find friends my age. I was always with Mom and Aunt Shannon. I go out with my friends from time to time, but none of those relationships are the kind where you confess you’re pretty sure you’re in possession of stolen property.

I’ve listed out everything I can remember from the Westcott’s Christmas party, but there’s not much since Aunt Shannon died unexpectedly a couple days later. Things that happened just before her death are either in crystal clear focus or completely blurred from my mind .

Sifting through the pictures Mom, Aunt Shannon, and I posted on social media that night has helped me piece things together. The bottom line is that I don’t remember a time period long enough where Aunt Shannon could have ditched me, Mom, Dad, and Thomas to go steal the ring from the safe at the Westcott’s house. Their long staircase would’ve made it next to impossible. Aunt Shannon could still walk on her own, but navigating stairs? It would have taken her forever to do by herself.

So … someone else had to have taken it, and then Aunt Shannon somehow got it. Could Thomas have been in on it? He was making jokes about it…

No, there’s no way. He’s like family. He’s an FBI agent and a straight arrow. He would never.

My hand falls to my phone again, itching to call Brock.

I pull my hand back. What would he even say? He doesn’t have any special expertise that’s suddenly going to help in this situation. I just want to talk to him.

I bury my face in my hands and let out a growl of frustration. Then I take a deep breath and go back to my computer. I open Facebook to check out Aunt Shannon’s friends. I’ll know most of them, so the ones I don’t, maybe I can look up. If I’m lucky, one of them will be the obvious thief. They must have stashed the ring at Aunt Shannon’s house, coincidentally in the box she was leaving for me. The boxes were stored in her bedroom closet. It would have looked like any random storage box.

That makes sense.

I click on my notifications out of habit. I’m not on Facebook a lot, but it’s where the main fan group for TOK is. I’m derailed from my purpose by wondering if Brock is in the fan group. I’ve never seen him comment or post anything. He could have joined under a pseudonym if he didn’t want people to troll him. He has an official Facebook fan page that I assume is run by someone else since none of the posts sound like Brock at all.

Yes, I’ve checked.

I can’t help it. I click on the TOK page and then on the members of the group. There are around a hundred people in the fan group, so it’s easy to scroll through and find Brock’s name. He’s on Facebook as Brock Bennett Hunter with his middle name (his mom’s maiden name, he told me once). Unless you’re a big football fan, you wouldn’t put it together. His face is more recognizable than his name, thanks to the memes. His picture is the most hilarious thing. It must be from high school. I can see Brock in the shape of his face, but he doesn’t have a beard, and his hair is longer, slicked back like he’s some kind of villain. I snort. I follow Brock on Instagram—that’s where we connect on social media from time to time—and he definitely isn’t posting pictures like this. I’m so tempted to screenshot it and send it to him. Two days ago, I wouldn’t have even thought twice. Now it’ll look like I’m stalking him.

I click on his name, and sure enough it shows me that he hasn’t interacted with any of the posts on the page. He’s a lurker, and I love it because that fits.

I click back into the main discussion page even though I’m pretty sure I’m caught up on TOK news. I was on last week, and the last post was two weeks old.

A post from the admin has taken its spot though. It’s been shared from the official TOK page on Facebook, and the admin’s only comment is a line of exclamation points.

FOR GOOD REASON.

The headline of the post teases something about the sixteenth book. I click frantically on the original post so I can read more than the first couple lines.

Shadow Quill Publishing announces the release of Veil of the Queen , the sixteenth and final book in the Obsidian Kingdom series. It will be released on December 1 st .

What?! It’s happening. There’s going to be a book. This is official, from the official page, which only ever publishes true TOK news, never any of the theories or speculation. The article goes on to talk about a special release event at a bookstore in New York City, and the first twenty-five people in line to buy the book will be able to attend a small gathering with Gideon Thornridge.

I click on the link and purchase two tickets for the event without even thinking about it. Brock and I will still have to get there early to make sure we’re one of the first twenty-five—that shouldn’t be too hard with so few die-hard fans anyway.

I check the calendar next, squealing with delight to see that the event is on a Tuesday, Brock’s day off. It will be a brutal day for us, and he’ll pay for it in practice the next day since we’ll be in late, but worth it. I’ll have to rearrange a few things because I typically work with the guys on their days off?—

I’ve made most of the plans in my head before I remember Brock and I are … I don’t even know what we are right now. In a really awkward place?

But this is TOK! This is exactly why we have to stay friends, and I need to fix this right now. I don’t hesitate this time to snatch up my phone to text him.

Presley: brOCK.

Presley: Grandma is all out today. YOU HAVE TO SEE THIS.

I add a link to the announcement on Facebook so he knows right away what I’m talking about and doesn’t think this is some desperate attempt on my part to get him to like me romantically. It is a desperate attempt to get him to stay my friend, but clearly our friendship is meant to be even if something more never works out. This announcement the day after our big, awkward moment? The book release falling on his day off so we can attend? It’s fate making sure we stay together.

Well, not together together. Just friends together.

I stare at the screen and wait for his response, and pretty soon the bubbles pop up and bounce. Then they disappear. Then they bounce again. Then they disappear.

How is this a hard thing to respond to? Even with the awkwardness. I decide to nip all of it in the bud so we can enjoy this moment.

Presley: Listen, I’m sorry about last night. I was crazy and I don’t want our friendship to crash and burn over this. Can we forget it happened?

The bubbles bounce some more, and I growl again. I shake my phone like I want to be shaking Brock by the shoulders. It wouldn’t be very effective at shaking sense into him since I would barely move him, and I’d look ridiculous with how far up I’d have to reach, but the intent would be clear.

Finally, a text pops up.

Brock: The last thing I want to do is hurt you. I don’t want to risk leading you on when I know how you feel.

I have to convince him it’s going to be fine. My feelings don’t matter. I’m sure I can move on and make them go away anyway. I send him a GIF of someone looking innocent.

Presley: Not sure what you’re talking about? How I feel? Like the fact that I think you’re insane to believe that Thornridge is going to unveil Lyra as the Obsidian Queen?

Brock: Presley…

Presley: Let’s not make this a thing. I was drunk on eggnog and said some silly things. It’s behind us both. Please please please forget it and go to New York with me so we can wait in line and SEE GIDEON THORNRIDGE.

Brock: We weren’t drinking eggnog.

Presley: That’s not how I remember it. Truth be told, the whole night is a blur. Really fuzzy.

Brock:

Presley: I already bought the tickets. Are you going to waste yours on my dad, who only *pretends* to like TOK, because you had some weird eggnog-induced dream?

Brock: Are you gaslighting me?

Presley: Is it working?

…

…

Brock: Court’s aunt has connections. Eli can get us a private jet. I’ll take care of it.

I cry out in triumph and jump up on my bed. “Yes!” I pump my fist in the air. I have Brock back, and it’s not everything I want but it’s enough if I get to keep him for now.

I notice the private tab for the ring search I was doing earlier and scowl at the screen. Then I shut my laptop. This can definitely wait another day.