“Take the one closest to the house. I don’t like the idea of your bedroom windows facing the river.”
“Fine,” he said and started up the stairs. Asking if he needed help would’ve been the polite thing to do, but if he insisted on being surly, he could carry his own shit.
I went into the kitchen and checked to see if it was stocked or if we needed to make a grocery run. All I found were snack type foods and things designed to be quickly prepared, which I suppose made sense for a pool house, but I would need real food and coffee creamer. Both my brothers liked to tease me about my refusal to drink black coffee, but I was a firm believer that drinking something that tasted like shit didn’t make you any more manly. Personally, I preferred to enjoy my hot creamy morning beverage.
It didn’t take long for him to come back downstairs, which kind of surprised me. I expected to have to go up after him. He was carrying a laptop and a computer bag. He set both down on the coffee table in front of the sofa. Then he came into the kitchen. “Is there anything to drink in here?” he asked.
“Nothing much. Bottled water, that’s about it.”
He pulled open the fridge and looked inside. “Wow, Rebecca and her friends really cleared it out last weekend. Is it okay for me to go to the store, or do I need to call for grocery delivery?”
“We should be fine to go to the store. Without knowing how seriously to take the letters, I’m going to say we should continue your normal routine except with me present.”
“That sounds good to me. I can’t decide if they’re actual threats or if they’re just someone using threatening verses to emphasize their point.”
“And you have no idea what the letter writer thinks you’ve done to deserve their admonishment?”
“I told you I don’t. Do you really think with the news media scrutinizing every move our family makes that I’ve done something scandalous only this letter writer knows about?”
“If you will notice, I said thinks you have done,” I said. “I didn’t say you did anything. It could be something you said or did in passing. Something that set him off. Is there anyone you’ve had trouble with in the past, like from school, for example?”
He let out a sigh and sat down at the kitchen bar. “You said, set him off. So you’re assuming it’s a guy then?”
“Statistically, it most likely is, but I wouldn’t rule out a woman either. Is there anyone you dated who felt scorned, maybe?”
“No, no one. I don’t date.”
“At all?” I asked.
“At all,” he said firmly.
“Okay, anyone who wanted to date you?” There had to be someone. Look at him. He was gorgeous, smart, and seemed like a nice guy.
“Not that I’m aware of, no.”
“No one, male or female?”
“I said no.” He stood up. “If me staying here in the pool house means I’m going to be interrogated, I can go somewhere else.”
I put up my hands in surrender. “No, it’s fine. I get it. Not only do you not date, but you can’t think of anyone who wants to date you. Or anyone who might feel you’ve done something wrong.”
“Correct,” he said over his shoulder as he stalked into the living area, plopped down on the couch, and opened his laptop.
Chapter 5
Trey
Since we had to go to a rally today, we decided to go to the store on our way home instead of making a separate trip. I had a routine that I followed on days I had to make public appearances, and this whole bodyguard thing was throwing me off. I spent most of my time at the house, in my room or out on my balcony. I tried to keep to myself as much as possible, but that was much harder in the smaller pool house.
Roman had requested that I leave my door open so he would be able to hear me call out if I needed him. So basically, that meant the bathroom was the only place I had any privacy at all. I woke up early and went for a swim. Exercise always helped me manage my stress levels, but the problem with this was that even while I swam, I was aware of him. He walked to the door wearing nothing but a pair of shorts and leaned against the doorjamb watching me. I pretended not to notice and just kept swimming. He wandered across the deck and looked out over the river, not in that lazy way that most people do when looking out over the water. It was like he assessed each boat that was tied up at the piers across the way.
I stopped swimming and watched him. What was he looking for? Did he think the letter writer was out there somewhere? He must have realized I stopped because he asked, “Do you know who owns all those boats?”
“I don’t,” I said, lifting myself out of the pool and sitting on the side. “My father may. I know some of the homeowners who don’t have boats will let friends or family moor their boats to their piers. Why?”
“Just wondering.” He walked behind me, grabbed my towel off the lounge chair, and tossed it to me. “Better hurry if we’re going to have time for food before we leave.”
“I’m not hungry this morning, so if you want to go on over to the main house and eat, I’ll meet you there after I shower.”
“There are some protein bars here, I can make do with those for one day, but I can’t believe you aren’t going to eat after that swim. You were like a machine for a while there.”
“I’m not much of a breakfast eater,” I lied. I loved breakfast. It was my favorite meal of the day. Just not the mornings when there was a rally.
“Okay, I’ll take an extra with me in my pocket just in case. The schedule your father gave me says the rally starts at ten AM but to be there early. What does he mean by earlier?”
I looked at the clock. It was already eight. I rolled my eyes. “Probably about now,” I said. “We better hustle, it wouldn’t be proper to be late.”
We both hurried to dress and left for the park where the rally would be held. This one would be smaller than the event the other day, and outdoors which would be better. I always felt like less of a bug pinned to a board when we were outside. I wore the suit that had been selected for me for that day. I never got to pick my own clothes for these events. Instead, everything was coordinated through my father’s campaign staff. I waited to put the tie on until we arrived in the parking lot and then quickly tied it, checking in the SUV’s mirror to make sure it was straight.
“I, umm, I need a minute here in the car if you don’t mind,” I said, hoping I didn’t sound like a nut.
“No problem,” he said, sitting there. I waited for him to move, to get out, but he didn’t.
“Alone, I need a few minutes alone,” I clarified.
“Okay,” he said, looking at me like I was as weird as I felt. “I’ll wait for you right here by the vehicle.”
He got out and closed the door. He probably thought I planned to pray or something. That was what my father would do, but not me. I hadn’t prayed to my father’s God since the day I realized Charley Porter was cute, and I knew that meant I was going to hell.
I took a deep breath. Only three more months until the election. Three more months and I would be free. It would be four more years before my father would be up for reelection again. That would give me time to find a job and establish myself without worrying about why someone hired me. I took another deep breath in and slowly exhaled. Three more months, I could do this. But at what cost my conscious asked. How much more damage could my father do to LGBTQIA+ rights in the next four years. How much heartbreak could he cause with his immigration policies or his war on the poor?