Chapter 19

CHAPTER 19

PRESLEY

Once we have our brand-new copies of Veil of the Queen in hand, and my tickets for the gathering with Gideon Thornridge, Sapphira instructs us to return to the bookstore at four p.m. to meet the author. “There’s a meeting room in the back,” she says, pointing to a door.

We don’t have time to leave the area and sightsee in New York City, so we wander around the neighborhood and find some lunch. We have to take our food to a nearby park because Brock is so huge the tiny spaces in the restaurants can’t accommodate him without them taking away tables nearby us. The temperature is in the forties, so not exactly warm. Brock acts like forty-five is shorts and t-shirts weather, and then hands me his jacket.

I hold out a hand. “Despite your claim, this is not t-shirt weather.” I point to his thin t-shirt and then gesture to the park around us, the trees decked out in Christmas lights and wreathes with red bows hanging from lamp posts. “It’s Christmastime .”

Brock takes one of my hands and puts it on his bicep. “Do I feel cold to you?”

I swallow. “No,” I squeak. His muscles are impressive. This isn’t new to me. The fact that his bicep is the size of my thigh is something I’ve noticed before, but having my fingers on his warm skin, feeling the breadth of his arm—yes, Lyra, I see you. I’m feeling a bit swoony.

Brock takes the jacket and drapes it over me, on top of the hoodie and jacket I’m wearing. The smell of his deodorant, something musky with pine in it, envelops me. I will never be the same again.

“So. Tell me how you got the ticket,” I ask him, hoping he won’t notice how disoriented he’s made me by giving me his jacket. (And the bicep. That played a part too.)

He explains about the deal he made with Alexis Sterling, Gideon Thornridge’s agent, and my mouth falls open. “You agreed to do anything on social media or an ad campaign? Brock. That wasn’t smart. Let me give the ticket back.”

“No way,” he says immediately. “This is important to you. You want to see if he remembers signing the book for your aunt.” He holds up a hand when I start to protest. “It’s a win-win for me. Loving some obscure fantasy series and looking like a nerd? It’s great for my rep. The media can’t just see me as the angry guy who can’t keep his mouth shut. If this is all over the internet, the fans, the commentators, everyone has to admit there’s more than the clips that pop up when a team gets rid of me.”

“Okay.” I set down the slice of pizza I’m eating. “But that agent could hold you to anything now…”

He waves his hand. “She looks like a shark, and I have no doubt she gets what she wants when she needs to, but she’s been representing Thornridge for years and just now got him to finish the last book? And why would she be representing a series that barely got off the ground unless it’s because she loves them too. She’s a softie—I’m willing to bet on it.”

I study him for a long moment, guilt that he offered up something so valuable to him—his reputation—all for me. “Lincoln says it’s all over social media that you’re a TOK fan.”

He chuckles. “I know. My social media manager has been texting me all afternoon. She says to warn her next time I pull something like this. But she’s loving it.”

“Lincoln says everyone is loving it.”

Brock finishes off his pizza slice. “Told you,” he says with a shrug.

I let it go. Maybe later I’ll push Brock to examine what he did for me today and what it means, but I still doubt that he has feelings for me. His actions today could be out of loyalty to our friendship. I’m not going to put myself out there again only to be embarrassed again. I need to be sure.

I can’t wait any longer to open Veil of the Queen . I pause for a moment to admire the shiny cover again. I’ve done that a couple times since we left the bookstore with our books in brown gift bags with The Sorcery Shop printed on them. Our tickets are tucked safely in my bag.

Lyra is depicted front and center of the cover, in an elaborate gown of shimmering gray and silver. She has a cloak that is swept out behind her and the hood hides most of her face, only her determined eyes peeking from behind its shadows. Kael is the second most prominent figure, standing behind her, decked out in his armor, hand on the hilt of his sword, and looking sexy with his long hair pulled back from his face.

This book has to be around a thousand pages long. Goosebumps rise up along my skin as I contemplate reading it. A new TOK adventure. I’ll get to read about Lyra and Kael and all the other characters for the first time again. It’s been so many years since I did that, over ten since I read book fifteen for the first time when it came out when I was in high school.

“It’s almost like a reverent moment, starting this one, isn’t it?” Brock says in a soft voice.

“Exactly.” My voice is a whisper. He feels like the only person in the world that gets it. So how can he not be my person?

I carefully lift the cover, studying the title page first. Even the title art is drawn beautifully, and I run my fingers over it. Brock leans toward me, and I turn the book so we can both admire it. If he moves over to my side of the picnic table, we’ll likely tip it over.

The dedication is to Thornridge’s “patient fans,” which Brock and I both chuckle over.

“If you’re going to start reading this right now, you have to read aloud,” Brock says.

“I don’t think I want to start if I can’t spend a significant amount of time reading.” I stare at the first page, the words bleeding in even though I try hard not to let them.

Brock’s voice startles me. “‘The winds whispered of change, carrying with them the echoes of long-buried secrets, as the Obsidian Kingdom prepared for its reckoning.’”

I have to swallow back the words, If you don’t want me to fall in love with you, don’t ever do something like that again. I’m stunned into silence by how utterly sexy it is hearing him read to me. It conjures an image of him relaxing on my couch, like the night we watched a Christmas movie together, but with me leaning against his chest. I would have my TV playing one of those fireplace videos, because of course. He’s holding Veil of the Queen , in one hand, which he can do because his hands are so massive, and his other is around me, his fingers playing with the ends of my hair.

My insides ignite.

“Presley?” Brock says, yanking me from the delicious daydream.

“Hmm?” I try my best to look innocent, but I’m pretty sure I was staring at him.

“You were staring at me…” he says. Okay, that confirms it.

“Uh, zoned out while you were reading. Have you ever considered being an audiobook narrator? I think you’d be good.” The words come out in a rush.

“Maybe once the football thing is over.”

“Good plan.” Or maybe I can convince him to read just for me. That’s totally a friends thing, right?

I look down at my watch to avoid eye contact with Brock. I’m afraid of what’s written in my face, and if he sees too much, he might run away from me again. This whole day is dangerous for the state of our friendship, and I should have known that. “Should we head back over early?” I suggest. “Just so we don’t repeat this morning’s fiasco. I mean, we have tickets, but now that word is out that Brock Hunter loves TOK, there could be a riot.”

He scoffs, but his expression is amused. “Good idea.”

We gather up our lunch garbage and head back to the bookstore. I give Brock back his jacket once we’re walking and I warm up. Besides, I have to pretend it was about warmth and not … more. I’m grateful for the brisk air against my face hopefully chasing away any heat that lingered after my silly daydream. I need it to clear away my thoughts. They aren’t helping anything.

Unless I’m right about him not recognizing his feelings.

I mentally bat that away too. Not helpful right now.

There is a crowd at the bookstore but mostly outside. A man stands at the door, and he would probably look beefier if I wasn’t standing next to a pro-football lineman. This man is a few inches taller than me, almost six-foot maybe, but stocky and muscled.

“Are you here to buy books?” he asks. “Or to stalk Brock Hunter?”

Brock covers laughter with a cough, but not quickly enough. The guy looks up at him and raises an eyebrow. And yet … no recognition.

So I say it. “Well, this is Brock Hunter, and we’re here for the meet and greet with Mr. Thornridge.” I show him the tickets from my bag.

The man’s face breaks into a grin. “Come on in. Sorry, Mr. Hunter. I’m a soccer fan, to be honest. Never watch football. Sapphira is my sister and called me because you all had a little trouble this morning. You looked like a football fan.” He shrugs, clearly unbothered by not recognizing Brock .

“Good call,” Brock says, holding out his knuckles for a fist bump. “I am a pretty big football fan.” They both laugh, and the man motions for us to enter the shop.

Unlike this morning, only a few customers mill around, and they’re actually browsing books. A woman looks up when we enter and glares at us. I’d bet money she’s one of the actual TOK fans that didn’t end up with a ticket this morning. Brock nods at her, and I force a smile, but her glare only deepens, and she goes back to reading Veil of the Queen as she leans against a bookcase.

Sapphira makes a show of checking our tickets at the door, which is obviously unnecessary except for Cranky Lady hovering nearby. By my quick headcount, the other twenty-five ticket recipients are already here. Folding chairs are set up in the small room and there’s a folding table at the front stacked with copies of the other books in the TOK series.

Brock and I take seats in the back. There are only three left in the corner, but it wouldn’t have mattered. Brock couldn’t have crammed himself into one of the rows closer to the front even if I wanted him to. Everyone else is seated, chatting amongst themselves. There are still thirty minutes before Thornridge is scheduled to come. Brock scoots along the back wall, and I follow him to the remaining open seats. He pulls one away from the row, setting it closer to the wall before sitting carefully in it. We share a relieved glance when it doesn’t buckle out from underneath him, and then we grin at each other.

“Let’s make it a point to bring our own, reinforced chairs next time we come to one of these,” I say.

“Agreed.”

I pull out Veil of the Queen again.

“Are you going to read that out loud to me?” Brock asks pointedly.

“You have a copy.” I gesture to the brown gift bag at his feet.

He puts his hand on my book, preventing me from opening it. “This is the last time we’ll get to read a TOK book for the first time. We should … we should read it together. ”

I tilt my head at him. I love that he wants to share this with me. “We will.” I wink at him. “I’m just going to beat you, obviously.”

He keeps his hand covering the book and stares at me earnestly. “No. I mean together. Reading it aloud to each other. Really experiencing it together .”

I draw in a quick breath. I couldn’t tell him no even if I wanted to. “That might take a long time,” I say cautiously. What I don’t say is that I could ruin our friendship again by then. How will I keep things friendly between us when he’s reading a book to me in the sweet, sexy voice of his? How will I not jump in his lap and kiss him when Thornridge reunites Lyra and Kael after they’ve been apart for almost two years? (He better reunite them.)

“I’ve never had someone like you in my life, Pres. Someone to really share this with. I want to make it memorable because this is it.”

I’m nodding before he even finishes talking. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

I keep the book in my lap, but I don’t open it while we wait. Instead we talk about football, and Brock jokes about how tired he’s going to be tomorrow. I beam at him when he promises me that it’s totally worth it. I tell him about how I got the job as a physical therapist with the Rays thanks to my dad and then we talk about my dad for a while since Brock knows about him. He seems to enjoy it when I relay how he and his friend Jeff reassured me that Brock would definitely get signed somewhere.

Before we know it, Sapphira calls for everyone’s attention and announces Gideon Thornridge. He appears through a side door at the front of the room, waving cheerfully to everyone as he comes to take a seat at the table amid wild clapping for so small a crowd. Alexis follows him inside, taking her place at his side. She gives a nervous glance around the room and then her shoulders relax, probably when she confirms that it’s only true TOK fans here, not rowdy Brock Hunter fans. She smiles when her gaze turns to our corner of the room, and Brock returns the expression.

Gideon Thornidge looks just like his picture in the backs of the books, though obviously older. His wavy hair, which is tousled and stands straight up—and not in a fashionable way—is threaded through with gray. His thick-rimmed glasses hide some of the lines around his eyes. His smile is wide. He’s tall and lanky, something I couldn’t have gotten from a picture, but it doesn’t surprise me.

“Hello, everyone,” he says, and various greetings echo back to him.

“We’re going to do a fifteen-minute question-and-answer session,” Alexis says officially, “and then you can line up to have Mr. Thornridge sign your books.”

“No mister, here, Alexis,” Mr. Thornridge says, waving a hand at his agent. “Just Gideon. Everyone here is a good friend.” He beams. I like him so much.

I can barely focus during the question-and-answer portion. I keep thinking about what I’m going to say and pulling up the picture of Aunt Shannon that I put in my phone’s photo’s favorites folder to make sure it was easily accessible.

Someone asks if Lyra is the Obsidian Queen, and Gideon chuckles and says, “Next,” making everyone else laugh. Someone else asks what took so long for this book. The answer is surprising enough that I pay attention while he’s talking.

“It’s been written for about ten years, to be honest. I was waiting until the time felt right.” He leaves it at that, even though everyone murmurs, and the next question is, “Why is now the right time?” He waves it off and says in that same calm tone, “Next.”

I bounce my foot through questions about who the characters are based off of and if there are going to be more. (“Definitely not,” he says to that.) Questions about if he’s going to write more books, and he shrugs at that too.

Brock puts his hand on my leg to still it, and everything else fades as I look over at him. He doesn’t meet my gaze, just rests his hand on my thigh. He gives it one small squeeze and leaves his hand there.

I know it’s about comfort and calming, but my leg is on fire. My entire body is on fire. I don’t calm down like Brock intended because my thoughts are racing around him. Aching for him. Wanting to scoot my chair closer and snuggle up against his side while we listen to Gideon.

The question-and-answer session goes past fifteen minutes, and Alexis finally ends it and invites people to come forward to have their books signed.

“Calmly,” she says firmly, eyeing the crowd. Brock presses his lips together, his expression amused. “Mr. Thornridge is only signing Veil of the Queen and one additional book for time’s sake. You are welcome to chat with him for a few minutes, but I will be limiting the time so that everyone has an opportunity. Thank you so much for coming.”

Brock stands first and takes my hand in his, pulling me forward quickly. There’s murmuring in our wake, but no one’s going to challenge him. There’s one guy in here who’s almost as tall as him, maybe six-four, but he’s still at least half Brock’s size. We end up fifth in line to talk to Gideon.

My hand is shaking, and I don’t know if it’s because I’m nervous or because Brock is still holding my other one. It’s not romantic. His hand engulfs mine. It must feel like a child’s hand to him the way he’s wrapped it around mine—no fingers tangled together. That’s probably why he hasn’t noticed that it doesn’t feel like we’re just friends right now.

I remind myself that for Brock, this is all about getting me my moment to talk to Gideon, to ask him about my aunt. It’s about friendship and taking advantage of who he is to get favors called in. This is all stuff he’d do for Lincoln or Layla.

It’s nothing special, and I tell myself that for the twenty minutes we wait for it to be our turn.

Gideon looks at Brock when we reach the front, a grin splitting his face, but Brock nudges me forward gently with a hand on my back. Gideon gives Brock one more glance then turns his attention to me, still smiling.

I set down my new copy of Veil of the Queen on the table. “Hi, my name is Presley Tatum. It’s really cool to meet you.” I want to slap my forehead for sounding like a fourteen-year-old at a One Direction concert, but I just keep my smile plastered on.

“Ah, Miss Tatum,” he says like he knows me. Does he frequent the forums? He’d see my name there often enough. My hopes that he’ll remember Aunt Shannon raise. “Are you ready for this?” he asks, handing the book back when he’s signed it.

I draw in a breath. Given that I just said I’d read it out loud with Brock, probably not. “I’ve been waiting a long time,” I say instead. A year ago, if I’d had this chance to meet Gideon Thornridge like this, conversation with him would have been easy, even the small talk. But the only thing I can think of is Aunt Shannon and that mysterious signature. I reach inside my bag and pull out the collector’s edition of Rebirth of Darkness .

His eyes light up as he takes it in his hands. “Yes, a true fan indeed to have this edition. Do you have all fifteen?”

“Of course.”

He moves to open it, and I hurry to speak. “It’s actually already signed,” I say in a rush. He arches a brow, and words tumble around in my head but none come out. I swallow. How will I talk about Aunt Shannon without falling apart? Then Brock’s hand moves lightly across my back, and he slips it around my waist, cupping it there in a comforting way. Everything inside me settles. Whatever this is between us, Brock is my person.

“My aunt left that for me when she … uh, passed away a year ago. But I don’t know how she got it signed. She never told me, and I didn’t know she’d done it until it was too late to ask. I was hoping you’d remember.” Praying he’d remember. Banking on the fact that he signs so few books that something would stick with him about this book .

He opens the book in a reverent way, looking down at the writing there. After a moment he smiles sadly. “She passed?” he asks, looking up at me, his expression full of compassion, not curiosity.

I nod, unable to say anything else. Brock squeezes my side, and I take a deep breath, letting his touch settle me again. Maybe tomorrow we’ll go back to dancing awkwardly around our relationship, but for now, this helps.

Gideon signals to Alexis, and she asks the people standing behind us in line to please take a few steps back. I lean in on instinct when he lowers his voice. “I also write romantic comedies, under a pen name,” he says. I was not expecting to hear that. Beside me, Brock sucks in a startled gasp. “They are … quite a bit more lucrative than TOK,” Gideon goes on. “TOK is my passion, but those books pay the bills.” I can’t help it; I let out a small breathy laugh. Aunt Shannon would have loved knowing that. “In one of my romcoms, there is a passing reference to Lyra and Kael. Your aunt found it, probably one of only a few people who would have even noticed it. That author persona is much more present online, and your aunt hunted me down and figured me out. In exchange for keeping my secret, I sent her this. That was about”—he looks at his watch—“just over a year ago.”

I clamp my lips together to keep a hiccupping breath from escaping. It would have been weeks, maybe even days, before her accident. She probably planned on telling me all about it.

Gideon looks down at the signature again and then closes the book as reverently as he opened it. His eyes are shining when he hands it back to me. “Her personality showed through those emails. I’m more sorry than I can say to learn that you lost her.” He gives a quiet chuckle. “She was very complimentary about my other books.”

I have to read them. If Aunt Shannon loved them—if she found that small piece of TOK in them—I want to love them too. “Mr. Thornridge?— ”

“Gideon,” he corrects.

“May I know your pen name?”

He looks around, and I hide my amused reaction to how secretive he is about the TOK faithful finding out about his other books. He reaches for a sticky note from a pile of things beside him—sharpies, bookmarks, even a few paperclips—and scribbles something on it and then hands it to me.

I read it and then look up at him, eyes wide. “You? Seriously?” At least three of his books are movies, one in theaters and two others on streaming platforms. I’ve heard two more are in the works. Everyone on Booktok has read these books. Bella the Booktoker would die if she knew.

He grins.

I tuck the sticky note into Rebirth of Darkness and close it, putting it in my bag and then giving him a solemn nod.

“A pleasure to meet you, Miss Tatum.” He holds out his hand and I take it, shaking it. He holds on, patting my hand softly with his other before letting go.

“Thank you.” I step aside since Alexis is getting shifty. She obviously picked up on the importance of our conversation and didn’t interrupt, but we’ve gone over the few minutes of time she has allotted to each ticketholder.

Also, no wonder he has a shark for an agent. I pat Rebirth of Darkness again, thinking about the name he gave me. Impressive.