Page 4 of Presley's Christmas Catch
My arms tingle, but I try to ignore that my crush is snowballing. He’s a TOK fan—honestly, what more do I need in a man?—and that smileissomething to write home about. The broody side of him is a mystery I want to solve, and if Layla Knight, the wife of the sweetest guy I know, says Brock is a keeper, I can’t help but trust her.
The truth is I think Brock might be my real-life version of Kael.
Aunt Shannon would have approved.
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 wastraded 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 dadthing 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.
