Page 62 of Opening Strain

“Yeah, wow.”

King and Angie show us the public spaces, including a massive family room complete with a fireplace. The kitchen is Gordon Ramsey-worthy. Several other rooms complete the first floor, including a guest bedroom with anen suite.

“This room, tucked into the back of the house, could be converted into a music room without too much effort.” King leads us to a large room in the center of the house, without any windows. “My father said he prefers to practice without access to the outside to distract him. I thought you might like the same.”

I walk around the room, picturing the band in here with their instruments. Me? As the lead singer, I only need a music stand. If I were to host UC, which I’ve never done, this room would be perfect. I give King a nod and we move outside.

“Out here,” King continues, “there’s a pool, outdoor kitchen, fire pit and, of course, the ocean.”

“Of course,” Jenna murmurs.

“This is great,” I admit. “Does the boat come with the property?”

“It doesn’t mention it on the listing, but I can check for you,” Angie replies. As if this is a done deal.

Jenna makes a beeline toward the gardens, bending down to examine the plants. “She’s something special,” Angie notes, her gaze following Jenna throughout the yard. “I can see her blossoming, with the right partner.”

“I can too,” King adds.

Too bad that partner won’t be me. Not because my emotions aren’t involved, though. I simply can’t imagine she’d be interested in another UC band member.

“I’m not him.” I walk and, unseeing, end up in the outdoor kitchen. My rental in LA has one of these, but this one is even more tricked out. A wine fridge, built into rocks, pushes it over the edge.

Angie gathers us together and takes the tour upstairs—I manage them, although slowly—pointing out the five bedrooms, each with their own fullen suites. All of the rooms are painted different yet coordinating colors, evoking a spa-like environment.

We walk down a long hallway. Before we come up to the primary suite, King stops, grins, and points.

“Holy moly! Is that an elevator?” Jenna’s exclamation is adorable.

I’ve been to many a house with an elevator, and this one here does increase the appeal of this mansion, despite it being way too big a house for only me.

King answers, “Sure is. For times when the stairs are simply too much. Or,” he focuses on my thigh, “if you have an injury.”

“Seems like the owners thought of everything,” I remark.

“Sure did.” Angie leads us farther down the hall and opens the doors to the primary suite. The view is stunning. It overlooks the backyard and the ocean beyond.

“This is amazing,” I say. My feet take me to the French doors, which lead to a sizeable balcony.

“Told you Aroostook would grow on you, dude,” King says.

A crash comes from the bathroom, which causes me to spin inthat direction. Which, of course, causes my muscle to spasm. My head flies up to the sky. “Fuck!”

Jenna rushes to my side. “Oh no. I’m so sorry. I was checking out the shower and dropped the standing towel rack.”

I take in her explanation, but it doesn’t soothe my fucking thigh.

“I’ll go get an ice pack.” Jenna’s out of the room in a flash.

Angie takes over. “Let’s get you into this chair.”

King helps me limp to a club chair beside the bed. I sit and raise the leg rest, which relieves some of the pressure.

Two alarms go off. Both King and Angie check their phones, dismissing the notifications. Because I want attention off my injury, I rasp, “What’s up?”

Angie replies, “We have a meeting in our office with the studio in a half-hour.”

“We can skip it,” King interjects.

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