“Teenagers,” Mark says with a huff. Funny he seems adamant about staying on top of Talon’s workout schedule yet he doesn’t give a damn about his daughter’s disrespect.
“Where’s Kelsey?” Camilla asks. “I should go find her. Lucille should be bringing dinner out any minute. Would you all excuse me for a moment?”
With that, Camilla disappears into the house, her overflowing wine glass in hand, and Mark pushes himself to a standing, heading to the outdoor bar to refill his crystal tumbler with cognac he pours from a leather-wrapped bottle.
“I want to see your room,” I say. “I want to see where teenage Talon got his start.”
“It’s boring.”
“I doubt that.”
“And it looks nothing like it did when I was younger. I think it’s on Mom’s fifth iteration …”
“Come on …”
He flashes an amused smirk and heads in. I follow. It seems like we’re walking forever when we finally reach a curved staircase in the back of the house. We make our way to the top, hand in hand, before he leads me down a dark hallway, stopping at the last door on the right.
“All right. This is it,” he says. “This is my childhood bedroom.”
He swings the door open, and we’re met with a small gush of air that smells like a mix between organic cleaning spray and the salty spray of the Pacific ocean.
The walls are covered in navy wallpaper with the tiniest hint of a pattern, and the furniture is polished white oak. It’s equal parts coastal and castle—a difficult blend if I do say so myself—but somehow it works.
A king-sized bed is centered against one wall, anchored with oversized nightstands and gold-toned lamps, and a row of windows along the far wall showcases the stunning ocean view.
“Can’t imagine what it must have been like growing up with views like this,” I say, heading to the windows. “Falling asleep at night to the sound of real ocean waves.”
“I was never really home all that much,” he says. “Between school and training and games, I was only really here to sleep and by then, I’d be so exhausted I’d fall asleep with my cleats on half the time.”
“Well that’s a shame,” I say. He’s standing beside me now, his body heat subtle but his presence heavy.
“Yeah,” he says.
“Your stepdad,” I begin to say.
“What about him?”
“Is he always so … gruff? If I didn’t know any better, I’d think he’s annoyed that I’m here.”
Talon squints. “He probably is.”
“Really? Why?”
“Don’t take it personally,” he says. “It’s not about you. It’s about football. It’s always about football with him. I’m sure he thinks you’re going to be a distraction to my workout schedule or some bullshit like that.”
From the corner of my eye, I spot an oversized glass case filled to the brim with trophies, awards, medals, and framed photos. I’m not sure how I missed this when we walked in because now that I see it, I can’t take my eyes off it. The presentation is quite … ostentatious.
He follows my attention and exhales. “That is all my mother’s doing. For the record, I would never enshrine my accomplishments.”
“I think it’s cute,” I say, making my way over. “A little over the top, but it paints a pretty vivid picture of who you are.”
He clears his throat. “Let me know when you want to head back down.”
I turn to him, almost laughing. “Does this make you uncomfortable?”
I can’t imagine Mr. Big Ego wanting to shy away from the limelight when all he’s ever done is shine, but now that I look at him, I realize his hands are on his hips and his jaw is set and nothing about him looks like he wants to be in here, re-living his glory days.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
“What? Yeah,” he says, frowning. “Just hungry.”
“Liar.” I study him closer. “What’s going on?”
Talon’s rounded shoulders lift. “I just don’t like looking at any of this shit.”
“This shit?” I repeat. “Talon, this is your life’s work. These are your accomplishments. You should be proud to show these off.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not, so—”
I’m beyond confused. “Guess I never took you for a humble guy.”
“You and everyone else.” His words are chilled, his delivery distant.
“Is this a sensitive subject for you?” I ask, pointing to the overflowing case.
His brows lift and he stares through me for a sec, his hands still firm on his hips. It almost seems like he has something to say, something to get off his chest, but the words are stuck inside him.
“You’re acting weird …”
“I just … this case represents everything I hate,” he says.
“Wait. What?”
Talon pinches the bridge of his nose before striding to his bed and taking a seat on the edge. His body is folded over, elbows on his knees, and he releases a heavy breath.
“I’ve never said that before,” he says.