Page 24 of Presley's Christmas Catch
Brock chuckles, another reason for celebration. “I know I’m going to be fine,” he says quietly.
“But?” There’s something in his voice that tugs at my heart, a vulnerability he doesn’t let out very often. I know a lot of Brock’s story, how his dad left when he was young and how much he struggled because of it. How hard his mom worked to give him the best she could, to afford the equipment and the fees to play on competitive travel teams to get him where he is now. It’s important he’s told me these things, but they’re also a part of Brock’s story that a lot of people know.
“I’m tired of having to prove myself over and over again.”
“I’m sorry.” What else do I say? It’s not fair. He’s a great football player, but he had to work hard for his scholarship to USC, send out a lot of tapes, have his coach make a lot of calls just to get colleges to look at him. He wasn’t drafted, and he had to try out to even make it on a pro team—the Pumas. “It sucks, Brock. It really does. It’s not fair.”
“That time I thought for sure you’d have some perseverance quote for me.”
I head into my bedroom where my aunt’s TOK quote book is sitting on my nightstand. I flip it open. “‘You’re surprisingly bad at not walking straight into traps.’” I read the first one I come across and then laugh. “Why did she write that one down?”
“It’s one of the best things Brynna ever says.” Brock’s own laughter paints his words. “I think I have that highlighted in my copy.”
“Well. Words to live by, I guess.”
“You can always count on TOK,” Brock says. “Even when you can’t count on anything else.”
His words hold more seriousness than they should, and my heart twists at how true that must be in his life. “Amen,” I say.
I haven’t heardanything from Brock by the end of the next day, and Lincoln didn’t know anything either when he came in for his treatment with one of the other trainers this morning. There’re a lot of details to work out to get Brock signed with another team, and I force myself to believe there have already been offers.
But I can’t keep texting him like I’m his girlfriend, with a right to know all the details of his life.
Gah! Why am I not his girlfriend with the right to know?
I have a huge crush, and I have no idea how Brock feels about me. We talk all the time, and our conversations feel like more than just friendship to me. Doesn’t his coming over to my house late on Thanksgiving mean something? He could have stayed at Lincoln’s, but he didn’t. Because the Devils lost to the Rays?
I’m a mess.
Thankfully, Mom calls me less than an hour after I get home from work so I don’t have too long to spiral. I answer the FaceTime call as I hang up the last of my Christmas tree decorations. “Hey, Mom. What’s up?”
She’s laughing, and it takes her a few seconds to calm down enough to answer. “You will not believe…” She has to interrupt herself to laugh again. “What Alexandra Westcott is doingright now.”
The last time my mom was this amused by Mrs. Westcott’s antics was the time she went around the neighborhoodmeasuring everyone’s lawn with the ruler and then getting into an argument with the president of the HOA after a bunch of people, including my dad, called to complain about her.
I don’t have to guess before Mom turns the phone around and shows me the view of the neighborhood from her front window. I can see Mrs. Westcott standing on the porch of the house across the street from Mom’s, wearing a black pantsuit, the blazer trimmed in white, and her hair pulled into a sensible chignon. She’s wearing white heels in contrast, and this whole picture is funny enough in and of itself that I wouldn’t need Mom to tell me why she’s waving her arms emphatically at the man at the front door to get a good laugh.
“She has been going house. To. House,” Mom says, little bursts of laughter interrupting the last few words. “Insisting she has the right to search their property for the missing ring.”
“What?” I burst out, the word shaking with laughter. “How? How does she have the right?”
“I’m not sure!” My laughter has fed Mom’s, and her words are turning high pitched with her amusement. “I was laughing so hard when she came here, I had to go upstairs, and your dad is so mad I ditched him that he won’t tell me. But something about the whole neighborhood being suspects since we were all at her party last year.”
“It will be a miracle if anyone shows up this year,” I point out.
“Sweetie, most of the neighborhood, including us, are going just to see what she does! Did you see her rant on Facebook yesterday about the police doing nothing to solve this crime? She was trying to rally people to defund LAPD over it. It’s ludicrous.”
I have to admit, finding out how the self-styled detective is going to use her party to root out the thief is a good reason to still go to her party. Also the food is usually top notch.
Mom flips me back around, and we talk about work for a few minutes before she says she has to go and ask her next-doorneighbor what Mrs. Westcott said to her. She hangs up before I can beg her to stay on the phone to distract me.
I huff and grab the box of Aunt Shannon’s things I never finished going through.Thatwill distract me. I pull out all the stuff I’ve already looked at—the letters, the jewelry, and the trinkets. They’re all sitting on top, so I set them carefully on my bed and start pulling out other things to examine.
I pick up a book-sized brown paper bag and carefully slide the book out of it. It’s a collector’s edition copy of TOK book fifteen,Rebirth of Darkness. I already have this one. It’s one of the collection that has the cover art redone by a fan artist who’s now become famous for her fantasy book covers. Story is that Thornridge saw something she’d posted online and insisted on doing all fifteen books with her art. Only fifty sets were printed, which makes them kind of rare. Are they rare when there aren’t that many fans to begin with? Brock has this collector’s edition too.
So much for distraction.
I open the front cover and gasp. This one is signed by Gideon Thornridge.Miss Tatum, You have the most charming aunt. She tells me you’re something of a fan. Thank you from the bottom of my heart, Gideon Thornridge.
