Chapter 6

CHAPTER 6

brOCK

Thanksgiving

I wouldn’t have picked up the phone for anyone after that loss, not even my mom or Tim. But something about talking to Presley appealed to me. Knowing she’ll tell me silly jokes and then be serious with her comfort and then tell me another silly joke to lighten the mood makes her the perfect person to talk to right now. So when the phone rings with a Facetime call as I take a LetsRide over to Lincoln’s for Thanksgiving dinner, and it’s Presley’s face on the caller ID, I press the green button.

“Happy Thanksgiving!” she says as soon as I pick up. She’s grinning, but the hesitancy in her eyes proves she didn’t think I was going to answer. I smile at the thought of her taking a chance.

“If you’re here to tell me that you finished book ten this afternoon, our friendship is over,” I tease.

Her shoulders jump with a quick laugh. “Maybe if I hadn’t been at a football game, doing my job.”

I grimace and think about the hit the Rays quarterback took early in the fourth. They were winning by three touchdowns by that point, so he didn’t come back in. Didn’t stop speculation that he was seriously hurt .

She waves her hand, confirming my theory. “He’s totally fine. Just being cautious. He’ll have a nasty bruise on his thigh tomorrow, but no worse for wear.”

“That’s good to hear.”

“Wait,” she says, leaning closer to the phone, her big brown eyes filling up the screen. “What are you wearing?”

Honestly, what I’m wearing is my best effort at cheerfulness today. I brought it to LA knowing we were probably going to lose to the Rays and I’d be eating dinner with a bunch of Rays players. I don’t want their pity; I want to enjoy their company. So I’m showing up in a funny Christmas sweater with a picture of Rudolph in a football helmet, his antlers sticking inexplicably out of holes in the side.

I pull my phone away so she can get a good look, and she beams at me. “That’s so good. Are there lights on his antlers?” she asks, leaning in again. “Like real lights?”

I press a button on the bottom of the shirt and they blink.

“Seriously. That’s so awesome. I don’t think I could top that.”

“Just a second,” I say to her as the LetsRide pulls up in front of Layla and Lincoln’s house. I pay my driver and walk up the sidewalk, hovering midway so I can talk to Presley before going in.

She takes a deep breath. “Hey. How are you?” she asks, her tone softer now that she knows I’m alone. My sweater is forgotten in her concern for me.

I clench my jaw. “Feeling dumb.” I knew she’d ask something like this. I knew I’d want to tell her, that I’d feel safe telling her. I think it’s so easy to confide in her partly because of the distance between us and partly because our friendship revolves around a book series seventy-five percent of the time. Every confidence is safe.

“You were right.”

“I shouldn’t have said it out loud. Especially not in the press room.” I run a hand through my hair and then pace a few steps back down the sidewalk. There’s going to be a call from someone soon. The coach, the GM, my agent. I can feel it. Everything is tight in my chest. I haven’t let my mouth run like that for years. I’ve kept my emotions under a lid, only ranting to people I trust, like Mom, Tim, and now Presley. And I can’t say what it was about this game in particular that made me snap. Maybe it was nothing about this game. Maybe it’s the fact that we’ve only won two games out of eleven so far this season, and no one seems to want to fix what can be fixed. So Thompson’s throwing interceptions? He gets about three seconds, max, on passing plays to make something happen. He’s as desperate as me. I’m doing my best to protect him, but I can’t say the same for the rest of the line. And our receivers? Our all-star, Harris, acts like if Thompson doesn’t throw him a dime on every pass, that if he has to step one toe out of his route, Thompson is the whole problem.

“Nobody’s perfect,” Presley says.

“Especially not me.”

“‘Falling into darkness does not define you. It’s rising back up. Every scar tells a story, not of weakness, but of your strength to rise again.’”

Emotion catches in my throat. I swallow it down and force lightness to my reaction. “Do you have a TOK quote for every situation?”

She laughs, sounding forced. “There are fifteen books. Bound to be something that applies to pretty much everything. And…” She presses her lips together and holds up a small, hardbound notebook with a floral scene on the front. “It turns out my aunt liked TOK more than I realized. I think she read all of them, and she wrote down the quotes she liked in this notebook. I found it a few weeks ago.” She clears her throat. “The box she left me?” she reminds me. We talked about it in our first phone conversation.

“This was in there the whole time. I thought it was going to be motivational quotes or something—well, I mean they are. I didn’t realize they were going to be from TOK. Like they were just for me.” Her voice is watery by the time she finishes. She shrugs, like this isn’t a big deal.

“Or for me.” I wiggle my eyebrows at her, trying to lighten the mood.

“But really, Brock. You expressed frustration that everyone on the team was feeling. Did you see Thompson next to you? He nodded when you said that part about how nothing is going to change in Denver until the all-stars start acting like it.” Her expression is eager, wanting me to believe her that everything will be all right.

And something in my chest does loosen at the fact that she watched the press conference, that she noted how Thompson reacted so she could report some solidarity from the team for me. Pretty soon everyone will have seen the clip—another blow up from Brock Hunter? Guaranteed social media clicks. Especially since it’s been a while.

“Thanks, Pres.”

She holds up a paperback. “Also, I’m within fifty pages of finishing ten, sucker. Gonna happen tonight before my pie coma takes over.”

I snort, and my shoulders fall down, tension draining. It’s not a surprise that Presley can do this. Her quirky cheerfulness, the way she teases me without shame—she’s been what I need during another tough season. “Enjoy this victory. It won’t last.”

She raises her eyebrows. “I can keep my book with me at the facility, reading between patients. Until I see a picture of you at practice with a book to read in between plays, I’m not worried.”

I point a finger at her. “Careful what you wish for, Tatum.”

She lets out an amused scoff about the same time Lincoln opens his front door, steps out onto his porch, and calls, “Are you coming in?”

“Just a minute.” I wave him away. He notes that I’m on the phone and then goes back into his house, scooping up his daughter on the way in since she followed him out. Bells on a green Christmas wreath jingle as the door closes.

Presley’s cheeks have turned red when I look back at her. “I forgot. You’re doing dinner with Lincoln and Layla and their families. I’ll let you go.”

I don’t want our conversation to be over, but she’s right that I need to get inside. Especially because Lincoln’s going to read into this more than there is. He, Eli, and his cousin-in-law, Landon, think that every good relationship starts off with a friendship and so, naturally, my relationship with Presley must be something more.

“Enjoy your turkey and pie,” I say as a goodbye.

“You too.” She waves and hangs up quickly.

Sighing, I shove my phone in my pocket and climb up the steps to the front door. Since Lincoln was just out here and they’re expecting me, I tap on it and let myself in. The house smells like turkey and pie, and my stomach rumbles with anticipation. A big band version of “White Christmas” plays in the background. According to Lincoln, Layla starts with Christmas as soon as Halloween is over and Thanksgiving is just part of the Christmas season.

“Hey, Brock!” Layla greets me first as I walk into the decorated living room. As expected, the Christmas tree is up, sparking with blue and yellow lights, and all the ornaments football themed, which makes me grin. Layla sets down a bowl full of mashed potatoes on the long table in the dining area and then comes toward me, taking me by the shoulders to pull me down and kiss my cheek. “I’m so glad you could come,” she says when she steps away. “Great sweater,” she adds with a soft laugh.

“Thanks for having me.”

Lincoln invited me before he knew that my mom’s boyfriend, Kurtis, was taking her away for the weekend. Having the invitation helped Mom feel less guilty for going. She was so excited when she told me about Kurtis’s surprise. She’s texted twice since the game, offering to meet me in Denver with dinner tonight, and I’ve assured her Lincoln will take good care of me.

Lincoln comes in with Margot still on his hip and pulls me into a one-armed hug. “Nice,” he says with a smirk at my sweater, and then adds, “Great game.”

I scoff.

“No, seriously.” He keeps a grip on me “ You had a good game. You did everything you could.” He pats my shoulder reassuringly before dropping his hand.

“Except keep my mouth shut.”

Lincoln rolls his eyes. “Everyone’s thinking it. So you said it out loud.”

“That’s what Presley said.” Basically.

I can tell Lincoln likes the subject change by the way his smile spreads. “Oh, was that Presley on the phone?” He sounds so innocent, but he’s just waiting to share his opinions.

I reach for Margot to see if the one-year-old will come to me. I don’t see her often, and Lincoln says she’s going through a phase where she only wants Layla and Lincoln and sometimes her grandparents.

Like I expected, she snuggles into Lincoln’s side, and he kisses the top of her head. She does reach out to touch the still blinking lights of my sweater, small fingers brushing over them in curiosity before she pulls them back with a cautious look at me.

“No hard feelings,” I assure her, holding out a fist toward her with one hand and using my other to gently lift her fist to bump it. At least I get a smile out of her.

“What did Presley have to say about it?” Lincoln asks too casually, heading into the kitchen and picking up some plates with his free hand. I follow as well and grab the silverware that’s set out.

“We’re just friends, Linc,” I remind him.

He pauses at the table, eyeing me. “You found someone who’s as obsessed with those books as you, is beautiful and successful, and who you like spending time with, and you’re not interested in pursuing it romantically?” His voice holds a stadium full of skepticism.

I think I would know if Presley was The One, the way Lincoln knew pretty much right away with Layla. The way my mom is all starry-eyed over Kurtis. How Tim and Meg still orbit around each other even after all these years. Their feelings are so obvious.

“It’s not like that. We’re friends,” I say. Lincoln puts down the plates and stares at me. “What?” I ask defensively. “Yeah, I like talking to her and spending time with her, but that’s it.”

He blinks at me and I shrug, a non-verbal repetition of What?

“So what exactly are you looking for in a romantic partner, B?” He resumes placing the plates around the table, and I follow him, setting out forks, spoons, and knives. “Someone who’s hard to talk to and is kind of a pain to be around?”

I huff. “I don’t know how else to say it. It’s not like that with us.”

Lincoln looks at Layla, who’s putting turkey-printed napkins down on top of the plates. I like the laid-back vibe of this dinner. The settings are nice, but neither Lincoln nor Layla seem overly concerned about the setup. I’ll be happy to relax, eat good food, and hang out with his family.

Once he stops grilling me about Presley.

He pauses, holding the last plate in his hand and scowling at me. “Natasha.”

My cheeks immediately burn. “That was different.”

Lincoln arches an eyebrow. “Because…?”

It’s not fair that he’s bringing up the one serious girlfriend I had in college. We were kids then, both full of ourselves to be starting at USC. “I was distracted. We had a lot going on, Linc. And I was young. It’s not the same.”

“Who’s Natasha?” Layla asks.

“The girl Brock dated our junior and senior year. Well, once he finally opened his eyes. She spent four months bringing dinner over to our house and offering to help B with math and painting his number on her face for every game before he got it.” He eyes me pointedly.

“Presley has never painted my number on her face.” She’s never been flirty with me, not even when she’s being funny. It’s always friendly teasing and ribbing, like with Lincoln or Jett. Friendly . Natasha was years ago.

Lincoln lays the last plate down, and then takes a step back. “Okay, bro. I’ll take your word for it, but I guess just be careful.”

I lay down the last set of silverware and scowl up at him. “Careful about what?”

“Other … people might be seeing what I’m seeing too. That’s all.” He turns and heads back into the kitchen. Margot wiggles in his arms, and he sets her down. She eyes me, then backs away, into the living room. I try not to appear too threatening, smiling and even taking a step away. But I’m not in denial about my large size. Bigger than her dad, for sure. Once she’s safely parked in front of her basket of toys, I head into the kitchen.

“Other people meaning Presley?” I ask Lincoln. “You think I’ve led her on.”

“No. Not that I know of. I’m just saying, it’s easy to blur the lines, and you don’t want anyone?—”

“Presley,” I say dryly.

“—getting the wrong idea.”

“She doesn’t have the wrong idea, because we’ve never flirted or anything. We mostly talk about books and some other life stuff, like friends do.” I watch as Lincoln slices the turkey, and then I move to do the same to the beef brisket. “And in case you were wondering, I don’t have feelings for you either. Just to clear the air.”

Lincoln snorts. “Good to know. I’m taken, by the way.” Layla laughs as she comes into the kitchen with us, wrapping her arms around him from behind.

I set the brisket I’ve finished slicing next to the turkey. “What else can I do to help?” I ask her .

She shakes her head. “We’re done setting up. You can relax in the living room until everyone shows up. Maybe Margot will even come sit on your lap for a second.”

“You don’t have to ask me twice.” I leave them to have a minute of alone time and head for the living room to coax Margot into playing with me. Maybe the lights on my shirt will win her over.

Within ten minutes, the house fills with people. Both Layla and Lincoln’s parents show up, as well as Layla’s cousin Landon and his wife, Mila, and Mila’s brother, Eli Dash, and his wife Court. Her aunt comes as well. I met everyone at Lincoln’s wedding, but I knew Eli before the wedding through football. It’s a small world. We’ve never played on a team together, but there’s still a camaraderie between players for the most part.

Besides some good-natured ribbing from Eli about the game, dinner is good and what I needed after a day like today. As usual, the combined Knight-Delaford-Dash clan treats me like I’m one of them. I’m as comfortable here as I would be at my mom’s house or with Tim and his family.

I’m one of the last to leave, around eleven p.m. I order a LetsRide to come pick me up, but I don’t want to go back to the hotel. Lincoln would let me stay here if I asked, but I’ve already overstayed my welcome. He probably wants some quiet time with his wife. It’s been a full day.

Going back to my hotel means maybe running into teammates, some of whom aren’t too happy with me. A lot of guys flew home right after the game to be back in Denver with their families, but more than a few stuck around too. Plus the hotel will be lonely. I’m not falling asleep any time soon. Not after what happened today at the press conference.

I could see if Presley wants to hang out. I haven’t seen her in person since the wedding and a glimpse of her on the sidelines at the game today. I pull out my phone, and only hesitate because of what Lincoln said about not blurring the lines. I would never want to hurt Presley, but she doesn’t see us like that either. Neither of us do.

I shake off Lincoln’s evaluation of the situation. He has it all wrong.

Brock: You up?

Presley: Am I up whooping your butt getting through this book? Yes, yes, I am.

Brock: Wanna hang out?