Chapter 4 #2
As Trystan continues on, I stop and peek in Brock’s office.
It’s huge with tall ceilings and windows along the back wall.
There’s a long desk that backs up to the windows and a couch off to the side.
Framed posters of the TV shows Brock’s been on hang on the walls, and there’s a bookcase with pictures and award statues on it.
“What the hell did I just say?” Trystan asks, looking back at me.
“What? I didn’t go inside.”
“Hurry up,” he says, walking fast to the end of the hall. He opens a door. “This is the gym.”
I go past him into the big open room. It’s full of equipment like you’d see in a real gym.
“When do you use this?” I ask.
“I don’t. Braden and I go to the gym in town. We each have a trainer.”
“Why? You have a gym right here with all the latest equipment.”
“It’s lame to work out at home. And the gym in town is better. It’s where everyone goes.”
“So this just sits here, not getting used?”
“Sometimes my dad uses it.” He walks over to one of the weight machines and sits down. He pushes up on the weight, making his arm muscles flex. He has a good body. I’m sure under his shirt is a set of ripped abs.
“You work out?” he asks.
I laugh. “Me? Work out? Never. Unless you count walking the streets of New York.”
He gets up from the weight machine, his eyes moving over me. “You don’t look like you’re in bad shape.”
“Didn’t say I was. I just don’t work out.”
He leaves the gym, and I follow him upstairs to another hallway. We pass a closed door. “That’s my dad’s room. Another place you should never go.”
“Why?”
He turns back. “Why do you think?”
“Well, yeah, I know not to go in there when he’s here but what about when he’s not?”
“Why would you go in his room when he’s not here?” he asks suspiciously.
“I wouldn’t. I just think it’s strange how insistent you are I don’t go in his room. I bet you go in there.”
“Why do you say that?”
“You seem like someone who doesn’t follow rules.”
He smiles. “Is it that obvious?”
“So prove it.” I point to the closed door. “Go in his room. I dare you.”
Trystan opens the door, exposing the expansive room with floor-to-ceiling windows that look out at the ocean.
There’s a king-sized bed that seems tiny in such a massive room.
The floors are dark wood, like the rest of the house.
A large dresser, the same color wood as the floor, sits off to one side.
On the other is a rectangular fireplace that looks through to the master bath.
Just in front of it is a furry white rug.
I walk into the room. “What’s the big deal? It’s just a boring bedroom.”
He smirks. “Follow me.”
“Why? Where are we going?”
He takes me through the bathroom, which is all white marble and gorgeous, with a deep soaking tub and a shower big enough for four people. There’s a hallway just past it that has a walk-in closet on each side, but only one of the closet doors is open. Trystan stands in front of the other one.
“You sure you want to see this?”
“See what?”
Next to the door is a panel with numbers on it. Trystan punches in a code, then opens the door to a room with black walls and red leather chairs surrounding a four-poster bed. He turns on the lights, but the only light is a dimly lit chandelier.
“A sex room?” I ask, sounding unimpressed. I’m not surprised Brock has a sex room. He seems like the type. Creative. Free spirt. An actor who likes to pretend.
“You ever seen one before?” Trystan asks.
“No, but I know they exist. A lot of people in New York have them, or so I’ve been told. How’d you get the code to open it?”
“Heard him telling the maid. She has to clean it when he’s done.”
“Gross. Hope he pays her extra.” I look around the room. “Why so many chairs?”
“He has parties in here.”
I nod, not wanting to know any more. I’m not naive. I know this stuff goes on. I’d just rather not think about it with my uncle.
“You ever use it?” I ask, noticing the row of whips hanging on the wall.
“Not yet,” he says with a smile.
I leave the room.
Trystan comes out and resets the lock. “He also keeps his guns in there.”
“Guns? Like handguns?”
“He’s got all kinds. You want to see them?”
“No. I don’t like guns.”
“You afraid?” he says with a laugh.
“If someone’s shooting at me, then yeah.”
“He has them in case some psycho fan tries to break into the house.”
We walk through the bedroom and back to the hall.
“My room’s down here.”
I follow Trystan to another room that faces the ocean.
It’s big, but much smaller than his dad’s room.
There’s nothing special about it. It has a king-sized bed, dresser, and nightstand, and sports trophies lined up on a shelf.
There’s a desk with a laptop and big speakers on the floor in the corner.
“Not much to see,” he says. “Braden’s is next to mine. It’s basically the same.” He leaves his room and goes back down the hall to the stairs.
“Wait — what about my room?”
“Downstairs. The other rooms up here are just guest rooms. They’re small and have a shitty view. My dad gave you the room by the pool. We use it for parties. Or, we did until my dad turned it into your room.”
We go down the stairs and through the living room. He heads to the right and stops in front of a closed door.
“This is it,” he says, opening the door.
I go inside the room. It’s big and open, with a king-sized bed topped with a crisp white comforter and gray and pink accent pillows.
On the floor next to the bed is a round, fluffy white rug.
There are two dressers, a long, short one and a tall narrow one — both white.
Directly behind the bed is a wall of windows that look out at the pool. Beyond that is the ocean.
“Still thinking foster care’s the better option?” Trystan asks, joining me in the room.
“Versus living with three guys with guns and a sex room?”
He laughs. “Sound like every girl’s dream.”
I sit down on the bed and look out at the ocean. “I guess it’ll work. It’s only for a year.”
I’m starting to feel a little better about being here. I still don’t like it, but I like my room, and I like looking out at the ocean. Trystan’s rude and obnoxious, but I get the feeling he can be nice too. Or it could all be an act. I haven’t figured him out yet.
“Then what?” he asks. “What happens after a year?”
“I turn eighteen and go back to New York.”
“To college?”
“Probably not. I can’t pay for it.”
“So what are you going to do?”
“Move in with Axl. Find a job. Then later maybe get married and have a kid or two.”
“Left the boyfriend behind?”
“Unfortunately,” I say with a sigh.
“You really think you two will stay together?”
I look at Trystan. “Why wouldn’t we?”
“Living on different coasts? For a year? It’ll never work.”
Furious at his comment, I jump up from the bed and face him. “Axl loves me. He wants to marry me. We’ve already talked about it. Being apart won’t change that. If anything, it’ll make us closer.”
“Whatever you say.” He smirks.
“He’s not going to cheat on me,” I say, my heart beating faster. “He’d never do that. He loves me.”
“Guys have needs.”
“So do girls.”
“But girls can ignore them. Guys can’t.”
“That’s bullshit. And sexist.”
“I give it three weeks. A month, max.”
I point to the door. “Get out.”
“You guys were doing it, right? Before you left?”
“We’ve dated for two years, so yeah, obviously.”
He shakes his head. “The guy’s not gonna go without it after getting it for two years straight.”
“We weren’t doing it until—” I stop and take a breath. “Why am I talking to you about this? Just get out.”
“And leave you all alone on your first day here?” He smiles as he lies down on my bed, his long, lean body stretching from the top to the bottom. “What kind of cousin would I be if I left you all alone?”
“I’ll be fine,” I say, staring down at him on my bed. “Would you get out of here?”
He doesn’t answer, his eyes closing.
He’s so annoying, and I’m really pissed at him for saying that stuff about Axl. Still, I kind of like having Trystan around. I feel out of place here and lonely. It’s nice to have company, even if it’s Trystan.
I go into the walk-in closet and see the clothes I shipped out here, along with some new ones. There are a few dresses and skirts, some button-up shirts, and lightweight sweaters.
Going back to the room, I walk up to the bed. “Who bought me clothes?”
“Dad’s stylist,” Trystan says, his eyes still closed.
“Why’d she buy me clothes?”
“Because yours suck.” His eyes pop open, and he sits up. “All that black New Yorker shit. Don’t you guys ever get tired of that?”
“His stylist bought clothes for someone she doesn’t even know?”
“Dad gave her a photo of you. And he probably told her whatever he knows about you.”
“What did he tell you and your brother about me?”
“Not much.” He gets up and goes over to the mirror to mess with his hair. “We didn’t even know you existed until a few weeks ago.”
“Wait — what?” I rush over to him. “You didn’t know about me?”
“I always knew we had family secrets.” He turns to face me. “I just didn’t think you’d be one of them.”