Chapter 27

CHAPTER 27

brOCK

So much for grand gestures.

I have at least ten text messages from the Former Best Friend’s Club asking how my planned serenade to Presley went, and each one is increasingly desperate. Eli is now sending commiserating texts, telling me he gets how it feels to be rejected, since he thought Court had rejected him, and he’s coming up with a plan. I haven’t answered any of them. How do I explain that before I could even start singing, Presley got arrested for stealing a priceless family heirloom that turned out to be worth over three million dollars?

When Presley told me about her plan, warning bells rang in my head but I ignored them. I thought I was being dramatic, and the Christmas party would be the perfect opportunity to tell Presley I have feelings for her in a big way to make up for rejecting her.

I’m driving Presley to her apartment now, where I’m going to tell her the truth about how I feel and kiss her for a while.

That sounds like a perfect grand gesture right about now.

At least I’m holding her hand, and she hasn’t said anything.

“You okay?” I ask. She’s been quiet most of the drive.

She smiles over at me. “Yeah. Seeing Thomas brought up a lot of stuff about when Aunt Shannon died. Just contemplative.” She holds up our hands, which have been enjoined on the console. “Is this us just being friends?”

I chuckle. “No, but let’s get you home and then talk?” I don’t want to make this confession in the car, while I’m driving, when I can’t end it with a kiss. My grand gesture has been ruined, but I’m hoping to salvage at least part of it.

She eyes me. “Good talk?”

How she can wonder that at this point, I don’t know, but I have been purposefully vague about our relationship status. “Good talk,” I assure her.

She leans her head over to rest it on my arm, then she dials her parents on speaker phone. She’s texted them that she’s fine and headed home, and they know the story from Agent Stahl. He told me to call him Thomas, but I can’t bring myself to. He knew before her parents did that Presley had been arrested and told them not to come down to the police station, that he would handle everything. I should have gone and talked to them as soon as the policeman took Presley outside, but I was sprinting out to get the car from the valet to follow the police car since they wouldn’t let me ride with her. Luckily, the valet let me take the Tatums’ vehicle, and someone from the party gave them a ride home, since they just live a few blocks away from the Westcotts.

“My mom will sleep better if she hears my voice,” Presley whispers to me as the phone rings.

Her mom answers before I can say anything. “Why didn’t you tell me she left you the ring?” she says instead of hello.

Presley sighs before she answers. “I knew you’d tell me to turn it in, and I wanted to figure out a way to return it without getting Aunt Shannon in trouble.”

Mrs. Tatum huffs. “Shannon called me that night.” Her voice gets tight. It would have been one of the last times she’d spoken to her sister. From my conversations with Presley, I know that her aunt died the next evening sometime. “She told me Thomas had a ring, that she’d seen it. We argued, because I told her to accept it. She said she was thinking about it.” She pauses, and Presley squeezes my hand. I don’t know if she even realizes it. “She said she was putting it in Thomas’s box to make sure it was safe, and they’d talk about it when he got home.”

“Then how did it get in my box?” Presley asks.

“I don’t know, sweetie. But she was having episodes with her eyesight too, and when I got the boxes from her closet, yours and Thomas’s were next to each other. She probably mixed them up.” I hear a long intake of breath from Mrs. Tatum. Presley’s eyes were red and puffy when she emerged from the interrogation room with Agent Stahl. I think this whole family has been reliving those awful hours after Shannon Cox died suddenly. “If you had just told me…” Mrs. Tatum finally sighs.

“Honestly,” Presley says, “I should have called Thomas to ask for his advice, and then everything would have been fine.”

Mrs. Tatum laughs. “So, you’re okay?”

“I’m fine, Mom. I’m going home to sleep … probably.” Presley tilts her head to look up at me. I shrug, trying not to smile. Her going to sleep isn’t in my plans. Not for a little while, at least.

“You with Brock?” Mrs. Tatum asks.

“Yeah, he’s driving me.”

“Mmmm, okay. I’ll talk to you tomorrow then.”

“Love you, Mom.”

“Love you, sweetie.” Mrs. Tatum’s voice breaks a little, and then the call clicks off.

“Seems that telling my mom I was with you ended that call a lot sooner than I expected…” She sits up to eye me.

“Interesting.”

“My parents were in on whatever was going on tonight, weren’t they?”

I laugh but don’t say anything else.

“You’re going to tell me, right? What you were about to do when the police hauled me off? ”

We’re stopped at a traffic light, so I lean over and kiss the top of her head. “I promise.”

When we get to Presley’s house, I tell her to stay in her dress and then sit her on one of her kitchen island stools in the middle of her living room. Thanks to Landon, I have “For the First Time,” the karaoke version, cued up on my phone. The texts have quieted from the group for now, but there are several unread messages that I scrolled past. The guys are begging for information on the night. When I asked for the link to the song, that quieted them. I’ll have to fill them in but they’ve obviously deduced that all is not lost yet.

I take a few steps back from Presley. I don’t sing often in front of people, not since I was younger for church or school, but my voice is good enough for this. That’s why we settled on this particular grand gesture. I start the song. She squints in concentration as the notes play, probably trying to place where she knows it from.

I come in, singing softly, the words about seeing someone in a way you didn’t before. By the time I’m to the chorus, I’ve come to stand next to her, taking her hand, and pulling her up from the stool to dance with her.

“Brock,” she says breathily. “Your voice…!”

I smile at her and continue singing. She stares up at me, awe and amusement playing across her face. When I get to the second verse, she rests her head against my chest, and we sway as I sing the rest of the song to her.

When it ends, we keep swaying, and since I’m not by my phone to pause the music, it keeps playing. Another instrumental pop song comes up, but it doesn’t matter. I’m holding Presley in my arms and it’s perfect. Maybe better than if I’d been able to sing to her in front of everyone at the Christmas party .

I’m the one who leans back and tilts her chin up toward me. “I was dumb, Presley.”

She smiles. It’s mischievous and triumphant. She’s obviously known all along—not just her feelings for me, but my feelings for her. “You like me?” she teases.

“I like you,” I confirm, lowering my face toward hers.

We stop swaying. Presley’s hands cup my cheeks, and she tilts her head the perfect angle for our lips to meet. As they melt together, I wonder what I missed that first time, how I didn’t understand that this warmth and familiarity were mixed with the fire that roars to life. It was smoldering under the surface all along. My hands slide down to her hips, and I pull her closer to me the same time she wraps her arms around my neck. When her fingers slide into my hair, my knees go weak.

I remember the reunion kiss between Lyra and Kael that we read a few nights ago, the way Kael lifted Lyra up to him and then spun her around in his joy at seeing her again, safe and whole. Presley would definitely appreciate that move.

I wrap my arms around her back and lift her, spinning her slowly around, and grinning against her lips. Our kiss breaks as she laughs and tilts her head back.

“A perfect reenactment,” she says, leaning toward me again. I don’t set her down as we kiss again. After a few moments, she giggles.

“Are you trying to show off how strong you are?” she asks, placing her hands on my upper arms.

“Is it working?”

She runs her hands down my arms then back up and along my shoulders until she’s cupping my face again. “Brock Hunter, you are massive. Showing off your muscles isn’t necessary.” She leans over me to kiss me again.

Finally I set her down. “Want to change into something comfy and we’ll read?”

She shakes her head, still leaning into me. “I mean, I do want to get comfy, but let’s drink some hot cocoa, eat some Christmas cookies, and watch Diehard. ”

“It’s going to take us forever to finish the book at this rate.” I don’t let go of her waist.

“Says the guy who suggested we read it together. Besides, I don’t mind how long it takes.” She grins at me.

“You’re just afraid of finding out that Lyra is, in fact, the Obsidian Queen.”

She shoves against my chest. “She is not.”

I nudge her toward her bedroom. As breathtaking as she is in that dress, it can’t be comfortable. Besides, she’s as hot to me in a pair of leggings and a hoodie. She leans up and kisses me quickly on the lips, smiling as she pulls away, and then heads for her room.

“Are you going to go back to the hotel and change?” she asks, pausing in the doorway of her bedroom. I can’t help but take one last look at her toned muscles and gorgeous curves shown off in that shimmery dress. I shrug out of my suit coat. My dress shirt is stretchy and not uncomfortable, so I pull my tie loose and unbutton the top button. Her cheeks flood with pink, and it’s my turn to smirk at her.

“I’m not going anywhere.”