Page 15 of Unspoken Rules

“Keep cool, Bryson,” I mutter as I go upstairs, tugging my suitcase after me.

The Harper’s house is big, but not in the sense it has ten bedrooms, twelve bathrooms, and a restaurant-sized kitchen. It’s spacious. There isn’t a room in the house that’ll make you feel like you’re stuck, and that’s what I’ve always loved about it. I always felt like I could breathe here. And with the updates, it’s even more comfortable.

My room is the first at the top of the stairs to the right, but I pass that and move to the one after it. Chris’s room. I’m not surprised by its state. Closet doors wide open, his work clothes hanging on hangers while jeans and t-shirts sit in messy piles on the floor next to a heap of beat-up sneakers. The sheets on his king-sized bed are a crumpled mess, half hanging off the bed. Curtains are wide open, desk is covered in papers, and his walls are decorated with band posters. AC/DC, Aerosmith, Guns N Roses, Metallica, Red Hot Chili Peppers. All the popular shit. Chris will tell you he loves music, and he does, but ask him to name one band who hasn’t had a song on the radio, and he’ll be a stuttering mess for an hour. Our friend Mark, who aims to be a rock god one day, messes with him for it all the time.

The state of his room makes me laugh. Chris is like Cole in the sense he’s carefree, just a little too much at times. And maybe it’s because Chris is still young. I mean, who knows what Cole was doing at this age? Actually, it’s probably about the time he had Chris, so that says a lot, I think. Chris is messy, but he’s always been responsible.

He received his bachelor’s in computer science and has been interning at Nu-Tech—a technology company just outside of Lynncastor. He gets paid shit, but he said the people are cool and he likes what he does. Better than what I have to show for my four years in college. All I got was a broken heart, a crazy ex, and a BFA no one respects. Who the hell requires a bachelor’s degree but only wants to pay minimum wage? And with AI making a big show into the design scene, it’s gotten worse. Companies think they can get away with using it instead of people like me who actually know what they’re doing. Have fun with that, buddy. Don’t come crying to me when you get royally screwed over.

I shake my head, ignoring Cole’s room across the hall and go to mine. My room. The room I’ve always stayed in when I’m here, because this isn’t the first time I’ve stayed here. In high school I was here often. Probably more than my father’s house. At the end of my junior year, my father kicked me out, so I was here my entire senior year until I left for college.

The king-sized bed is against the center of the wall that shares with Chris’s, a TV that’s at least 80 inches is mounted to the wall across from it. The closet is to my right, with windows across from me, and a chaise lounge beneath them. There’s an attached half bathroom beyond the bed. Chris and Cole both have full bathrooms off their rooms. Chris always let me use his shower, but worst case, the bathroom downstairs has one too.

The apartment I shared with my roommate back in Providence wasn’t much bigger than this room. I’m going to feel like I’m living in a mansion while I’m here.

I drop my suitcase by the closet before dropping to the bed and passing out.

Chapter Eight

Bryson

16 years old…

I stare up at the ceiling, taking slow breaths. Hold it in. Let it out. It’s taking everything in me to not destroy this bedroom, and the only thing stopping me is the fact it isn’t mine. Not really.

My father and I had another fight. He’s the only person in the world who can make me as angry as I am right now. I swear I could put my fist through a concrete wall with the amount of rage and adrenaline coursing through me.

The door opening pulls my attention and Cole pops his head in. I sit up on the bed, throwing my legs over the side to sit and face him.

“Sorry, didn’t know you were here,” he says.

A ton of anger disappears, turning into… something I can’t name.

“I can go if you want me to,” I mutter.

“Don’t be silly, Bryson. You know you’re always welcome here.” He pauses a moment, then steps into the room. “Everything okay?”

I shake my head. “Dad is being a dick again.”

He nods. I appreciate that he never tells me not to swear or talk badly about my father. I like that I can come here and be myself. That I can vent and not be judged over what comes out of my mouth. I can speak my mind. It’s a safe space for me.

“You know Chris is with his mom, right?” he asks carefully.

“Yeah, he told me.”

“Well, I’m working all weekend, but you know the drill. Clean up after yourself, and I’ve got no issue with you being here.”

I look up and see him smiling at me.

“Thanks, Mr. Harper.”

He flinches. “It’s Cole, Bryson. Mr. Harper was my grandfather.”

I chuckle. “Thanks, Cole.”

He leaves the room, closing the door gently behind him.

Bryson

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