In the corner by the front windows at an angle, another big couch, slouchy, in a dark brown, one red armchair to one side, a bright blue one to the other side, matching ottomans, but switched, blue in front of the red chair, red in front of the blue. Large square coffee table. More tables between chairs and couches. Standing lamps around so nothing got in the way of setting down a bottle of beer, a glass of bourbon or a finished plate of food.
She had another seventy-inch TV fixed on a kickass mount that pulled out, angled up, down and sideways. That was Deke’s suggestion, giving her the opportunity to push the TV flush to the wall so it could be seen from the seating at the fireplace, or angled where it was closer to the corner space and watched from there, or again angled so it could be seen from the kitchen.
The doors to her music room were open, that room painted black and he could see her guitar on the stand in there, the curvy couch covered in some hide that was dark-chocolate-colored and had a sheen. She also had curved chairs in there with cream backing, zebra print on the front. There was a big rug in a muted red design. Plus there were dark wood cases of different sizes holding a top-of-the-line stereo and speakers she’d set up as well as her CD collection, which her stepmom had mailed, something that was expansive. And last, a feminine, almost delicate desk with a leopard print chair where she’d put her laptop.
He moved to the kitchen and looked into the opened doors of her dining room. One side of that room was curved and she’d gone with a massive, round table surrounded by twelve chairs. Some had arms, oval backs, and were covered in tiger print. Others had high backs, inwardly sloping at the top, covered in wine red velvet. The last, again with high backs, these curled back, the deep purple velvet upholstery buttoned.
The chandeliers, light fixtures and other lighting she chose were made of branches or iron, large statement pieces that, along with all the rest, drew the eye so you didn’t know where to look, but it all was such the shit, you wanted to take everything in at once. Including the four dangling pendants over the island that ended in large, flawed, oblong globes that looked almost like drops, the glass blown so bubbles were trapped inside.
The island was also flanked by six stools running the edge, low backs, seriously deep seats, comfortable and covered in a paisley that brought all the colors into play. Rich colors. Warm colors. Rock ‘n’ roll colors. Jussy’s colors. Red, blue, brown, purple, black.
There were rugs on the floor (and finally one in her bedroom, even if it took him, Ty, Tate, Bubba and Chace to lift up her huge-ass bed while Jussy and Lauren rolled it out underneath). There were throws tossed around she told him were mohair. Sheepskins draped here and there. Soft, fluffy toss pillows in every shape imaginable all over the fucking place.
Not to mention, each room upstairs was furnished all the way down to bed linens and towels in the bathrooms. Up there, though, there were wall hangings.
Downstairs, Jussy had things of hers, her father’s and her grandfather’s that for the first, she was waiting on her mom or stepmom to send, the last, she was waiting for the nuisance shit that her half-brother was pulling to be over to get them so she could mount them where she wanted them when that happened.
She’d told him what they were. Framed concert posters. Gold and platinum records. Original album cover art. One-of-a-kind photos of her dad, grandad, aunt and uncle onstage or candid on tour and at home, with family.
This thought brought his eye to the only empty space left, the room she wanted her father’s collection in. The broken window had been replaced and Deke had adjusted the doorframe, this being the only thing left to finish since Max had had to custom order folding doors that worked with the space, Jussy’s vision of the place (which meant they were dead cool) and they wouldn’t be in for another two weeks.
He’d also had the boys build a double platform in there, that platform running along the entire back of the space. And he’d ordered illuminated bookshelves fitted wall to wall, floor to ceiling on either side, putting in the ceiling lighting himself of small spots that would highlight the guitars when they were where they were supposed to be. All of this so she could display those guitars and her grandfather and father’s awards that she and Dana had divvied up that were in her father’s possession.
Deke stopped at her brushed stainless steel fridge and gave the entire space a sweep.
It was Jussy, end to end, top to bottom.
It was huge.
It screamed money.
And outside his trailer, he’d never felt more relaxed in a space in his entire life.
It didn’t feel like it was hers. Since his hands touched nearly every inch of it, each sweep of paint, every nail and floorboard—with the addition of the fact that not a stick of furniture, even a goddamned toss pillow, was chosen without his approval—it felt like it was theirs.
His mother had never owned a home. Not even when his father was alive. They’d rented, saving meagerly to buy when they had the chance, this savings the only reason she was able to keep a roof over his head for the months it took her to grieve at the same time find a job.
Now he felt like he was home.
He hadn’t sunk a penny into Jussy’s place, but his energy and sweat put it together.