Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

brOCK

I head to my hometown of Little River, Wyoming after the wedding to spend time with my mom until I have to go back to Denver for one of the mini training camps the Devils will do before full training starts in July.

Presley Tatum and I text regularly after the wedding, almost entirely about TOK. I’ve been around the forums, and there are a lot of people that know the ins and outs of the book—like me—but it’s weird to discuss them with someone in person. Someone I can put a name and a face to.

Someone other than Tim, my old coach and the family friend who did the parent-kid reading thing with me back in middle school.

I’m sitting out on my mom’s spacious deck, enjoying the view of the sunrise over the mountains because I’m an early riser, and sipping on a protein shake. I’ll have a more substantial breakfast later, but this is my morning pick-me up. The temperature is perfect, not hot like it will be later in the day, but a nice sixty-five-degree mountain morning.

Little River, Wyoming is close to Denver, relatively speaking, only about six hours by car. My mom was thrilled when I was traded from the Pumas four and a half years ago—definitely more thrilled than me, since I’d be so close to her.

I clench my fists as I think about how much I wish I was still playing for the Pumas. It was nothing personal for me. They were trading for a player they needed to fit in their system, and I guess I hadn’t proven myself yet. What I wouldn’t give to be back on a team that valued creating a cohesive atmosphere like that.

I sigh and massage my temples. I need to push football and all the troubles on the Devils out of my mind for at least the time I’m here with Mom. If I don’t give myself some “off” time, I’m going to explode this year for sure. I’ve come too far and worked too hard to do that.

I stare out at the green around me—farmers’ fields and the trees that climb up into the mountains. It’s quiet here. Every once in a while there’s a rumble from a car on the distant highway, but it’s mostly just birds chirping this morning. It’s peaceful, and I focus on the birdsong and the whisper of the breeze.

My phone buzzes with a text, drawing me out of my thoughts. Mom is already at work, taking an early shift at the local hospital, and she’s the only person I text regularly that’s up this early. Even though I bought her this house, and I’m more than happy to support her since she worked her tail off supporting me after my dad left, she can’t stay still.

Presley: We should reread all the books. Like a Presley and Brock book club.

We’ve both read them so many times, but it would be fun to read again with a friend. Like when Tim read the first one with me back then but better because it would be all of them. I’m not embarrassed about loving TOK the way I do, maybe because it’s tied into one of the few good things from my childhood. That’s why I didn’t have any issue with walking up to Presley and asking her about her necklace when I recognized the crest from TOK. But I don’t go around broadcasting my love for those books either .

Maybe I should. It might be a better headline than all the stupid posts and memes about my temper that are all played up for an image. Besides, it’s not as bad as it always comes off in the press. I say something stupid about a play in the heat of the moment and then regret it because we’re all trying our best. Then everyone twists it like I blamed someone for the bad play, and they frame it like I’m pro-football’s villain.

It’s fine. I’ve made my peace with being that guy.

Mostly.

I send an answer to Presley.

Brock: It would be perfect timing for the new one to come out this summer.

She sends a GIF of a skeleton waiting.

Presley: We could only be so lucky, Brock.

I suck up the last of the protein shake and stare out at the mountains for a couple minutes longer before getting up to make breakfast. A few more texts come in while I’m cooking but I focus on the meal. Offensive linemen like me don’t stay this size by accident, and it’s not all about gorging myself, either. It’s about healthy calories with a lot of protein. When I sit down with my eggs, protein waffles, and bacon, I enjoy the view of the valley where Little River is nestled out of Mom’s floor-to-ceiling windows on one wall of the dining room. She doesn’t get to be outside a lot with her busy nursing schedule, and big windows to let in the beautiful scenery around her country home was one of her only requests when we built the house.

I finally check my phone in case it’s something important. Could be a text from the team or my agent that I need to address. One is from Tim, my first football coach. The guy my mom says was exactly what I needed to get my head on straight after my dad left. Tim was a lot more than that too. Did the surrogate dad thing the best he could. I basically grew up with his boys, Chase and Derek, which is why he’s the one who volunteered to do the reading thing with me when Mom didn’t have ten minutes of free time together between her shifts as a nurse and trying to raise me.

Tim: Football camp starts for the boys this week. Want to come work out? Six p.m. at the high school.

Tim graduated from my little league football coach to a state-championship winning high school coach by the time his boys and I had reached high school. We won two state championships when I was a junior and a senior, and he’s won five more since. I’ll work out on my own first, but helping Tim and working out with the boys sounds fun. I send a thumbs-up confirming I’ll be there and then open the other text, which is from Lincoln.

Lincoln: Trying not to hover, but you never told me how things are going with Presley.

I scowl at the text. How things are going? What’s that supposed to mean? I told him that I enjoyed hanging out with her, and Lincoln knows about how much I love TOK. You don’t spend three years on a football team with someone and not learn a few secrets. Plus, like I said, I’m not embarrassed. My special collector’s edition set, a gift from Tim when I graduated from high school with a full ride to USC, was on proud display on a shelf above my bed in my dorm room, and then in my bedroom at the house I lived in with Lincoln and a few other guys.

I palm my face.

Lincoln’s now a proud member of Eli Dash’s Former Best Friends Club, and he probably thinks that because I spent a couple hours laughing with Presley at his wedding it means I like her. Ugh. Matchmaking is about to commence. I feel it, even from over a thousand miles away .

Brock: DO NOT get your club involved in this. I’m just friends with Presley. For real. We talked about books that whole time.

That’s not entirely a lie. We did talk mostly about the books, but our conversation touched on other topics, like her aunt and the Devils. But Lincoln will definitely read into me confiding in her about my frustrations. It was easy to talk to Presley, and the fact that we live so far apart made telling her stuff about my poor relationship with my teammates feel like not that big of a deal.

Lincoln: Club?

Brock: Don’t act innocent. I know what this is. You and Dash meddling. It’s not like that.

Lincoln: Bro. Friends is the best way to start.

Brock: Linc. I’m serious. I don’t feel that way about her and I don’t want you leading her on or whatever by making it seem like this is something it’s not.

Presley is sweet, and I enjoyed our conversation. I don’t want Lincoln messing that up, even if he has good intentions. Sure, Presley is beautiful, but things are totally platonic between us. It sounds cliché, but she’s not my type. She’s cheerful and fun, the opposite of my intensity. Even when she talked briefly about her aunt and how she passed away suddenly last year, her voice was light as she told me about her. That’s definitely not me. While the angry, brooding image the media’s painted of me is exaggerated, it’s not wrong. Besides, in all the texts between us, she’s never given me any indication that she’s into me either. No flirting. No comments that have double meaning. None of that.

Lincoln: Okay, okay. Guess I misread the situation.

He sends a gif of a guy holding his hands up in surrender, and I breathe a sigh of relief .

Brock: Thanks.

I clean up after myself in the kitchen, changing the water in a vase of daisies my mom’s boyfriend sent a couple days ago. Guys who are in love do stuff like that, the way my mom’s boyfriends have over the years.

I’ve had no desire to send Presley flowers, fyi. I consider texting Lincoln that, but he’s already surrendered, and I don’t want to bring it up again. He’ll make it a thing.

I head to the basement and the home gym. Mom uses it sometimes, but it was mostly me adding it in to the plans to make visiting her for stretches of time like this easier. She’s a runner and prefers running the trails around here when the weather permits.

An hour later, after my shower, I send Presley another text with a picture of me and my old, highlighted, creased, and dog-eared copy of The Obsidian Kingdom , the first book in the series.

Brock: Starting now. Go!

Presley: Not fair! You don’t have to work.

Brock: Your schedule is light too. Don’t try and hustle me.

Presley:

She sends a picture of her own very worn version of the book. Somehow I know this is the copy her aunt bought her all those years ago, and I like thinking that, without even saying anything to each other, we both chose to start this with our OG books. I grin. I’ve never gotten to share TOK with someone like this in real life, only in online conversations with people I’ve never met. It’s cool.

Presley: Already to chapter ten, sucker!

I laugh out loud. Oh, it’s on.