Chapter 23

Chapter Twenty-Three

Ainsley

I step out of Eleanor, press the alarm key, and take a glance at the neighborhood. The row house architecture emulates the brownstone structures found in almost every city on the East Coast, but with a Texan twist. It's a warm combination of stucco and stone on the exterior with heavy timber balconies and iron accents.

I climb the steps, getting sidetracked by the mums on each side of the door. Bending down, I smell them and sigh. I miss living in a house where I can plant flowers. My studio is comfortable. I even have a couple of plants. Still, this reminds me of… don't go there, Ainsley, stay in the present.

Right, the present. Stupid nostalgia. I'm not sure what it is. Perhaps it's a combination of everything. James's birthday was a few weeks ago. I haven't seen my parents since that day… and I have no idea how to reach out or if I want to do it. My chest tightens. I hate to remember any of it. One memory brings all the others back. The oxygen suddenly disappears. The emotions are asphyxiating me.

Stop, I order myself. Never again.

Emotionless, that's the Ainsley I am and will remain for the rest of my life.

I ring the bell, and Donna opens right away. "You're early for your cut."

"Do you want me to come later?"

She shakes her head. "No, you can sit in the living room while I finish with my other client. How are you?"

I smile. "Busy, as usual."

"You need to take a break," she says, organizing the magazines on the table. My eyes dart to the one on top.

Dad's picture is on the front page. Blond hair, blue eyes, and radiant white smile. The never-aging Gabe Colt. He was captured walking beside a woman about twenty-four, twenty-five, maybe? Her pronounced belly stares at the viewer.

A baby?

One of the most wanted bachelors, actor Gabe Colt, finally found his match.

My blood boils as I reread the fucking magazine. I stare at his picture and the words ‘and he's finally going to be a father.'

Finally?

The belly hits me right in the face, the words punch me in the gut, and I can't breathe.

"Are you okay, Ainsley?"

It's getting hard to breathe or speak.

"Can you believe that?" she asks. "He's in his mid-fifties and knocked up a child."

I'm not going to break down. Not again. But fuck if it's not hard. The swirling memories in my head prevent me from thinking straight. Pushing and tugging each one of them back to where they belong isn't easy.

Searching for my wallet, I hand Donna a hundred-dollar bill. "I have to go."

"What happened?"

A family emergency? "I'm not sure. I'll… we'll talk soon."

Once I'm back in my car, I call Jacob. "Whatup, princess?" I hate when he calls me that.

"Hello, Prince Charming. Have you read any tabloids lately?"

"Nope, I don't read that shit." Of course, he doesn't. Like our parents, he's always on the first page, sucking someone's face or partying. "Hey, I just went to bed. I worked last night, your highness. It's four in the fucking morning for me."

I don't even ask where he's at. "Yeah, yeah, you poor baby. Is Mattie around?"

He laughs. "Uh-huh. If I'm barely awake, do you think he's around?"

No, he's not. He's a night owl. "Can you call me when he wakes up, please?"

"Are you trying to organize a sibling meeting?"

"Jacob, Dad is engaged," I exhale harshly after saying those words. The man went from making up casual flings to a fake engagement—or is it real? "Gabriel's having a baby. He. Is. Engaged. There's a picture of him next to a pregnant woman."

"Oh, Ainse." His voice softens. "I'm sure there's a perfectly good explanation. Showbiz is a game of he said, she said. In his thirty years of being an actor, Gabriel hasn't revealed anything about himself. I doubt this is true."

That should be enough. My parents are the epitome of the perfect couple. They have the perfect marriage. The perfect love. Except, not one soul outside our immediate family and close friends are aware that they're together or have three grown triplets.

Now, my father is announcing to the world that he's engaged.

"Are our parents okay?" I dare to ask.

"No one has been okay since you left."

"It wasn't my fault," I argue.

"We know, sweetheart. Things are complicated."

"Why didn't you mention it before?"

"You forbade us to talk about them, and there's no point in discussing their lives, is there? We're all moving forward.

"Never mind, Ainsley. You know better than to believe the tabloids. I'd love to stay and chat, but I need to recover. Give me a few hours, and we'll get this shit figured out. Love you, Sis."

The line goes dead.

You don't know better, I wanted to say but he cut me off. He didn't give me the time to respond to him.

Jacob is going to avoid me until… who knows when. I need to know now. I call Molly, Gabriel's assistant, and find out where to find him. He's in Santa Barbara. The address isn't familiar. I can't understand what he's doing there when he always complained about California.

I spend my parents' money and rent a jet. The trip from Austin to Santa Barbara doesn't take long, and the plane lands only a few minutes after nine o'clock in the morning.

"There's a car waiting for you," the pilot says as I step out of the plane. "Do you need help with your belongings?"

I look at my guitar case and backpack and shake my head. I don't let anyone touch Breezy, even when she's in her case. My backpack isn't heavy. Now, the stupid baggage I carry from my childhood weighs a lot, but no one has ever offered to help me carry it.

The black sedan is easy to spot. It's the only car parked close by. My lips stretch into a smile, and my entire body lights up when I spot the guy leaning against it.

Tall, dark hair, and broad shoulders.

Mason Bradley.

His toned arms are crossed over his muscular torso that's covered by a tight black T-shirt. His bright green-gray eyes concentrate on me. His soft black hair is asking for a trim. It's down to the base of his neck with some strands over his left eye. My hand itches to brush those out of his handsome face.

I drop the case and my backpack, running toward him. He catches me midair and hugs me tightly. "Hey, handsome, did you run out of video games to play?" I lean forward, kiss his cheek, and ruffle his hair. "I missed you."

He smirks. "I missed you too."

This guy is one of my favorite people in the world. I love him most because when I need him, he appears from behind the shadows and saves the day. At least that's how Mason, the comic geek, likes to tell the story.

"This is a surprise."

"I heard that someone needed a superhero." He sets me on the ground. He lifts his chin and left arm toward the sky like a superhero would do.

See what I mean. He's a dork and a geek.

Then, his strong arms embrace me tightly again. His sandalwood scent envelops me. The hug, the feel of him, is like a welcome home party after a long trip to some unknown land.

He takes Breezy's case away from me and tilts his head toward the car. "How are you, Nine?"

"The name is Ainsley Janine, not Nine. J-a-n-i-n-e." I use my tender yet firm teacher voice.

"You'll always be Nine," he says with a smirk.

Nine began when we traveled to the house down in Baja, and the customs officials had to see my passport. Ainsley Janine was printed on the document .

"Your middle name is like the letter J and the number nine?"

I glare at him. "Ainsley."

"Right, Jay-nine." He slams the palm of his hand on his forehead and shakes his head. "How could I forget?"

"You haven't been around to remind you about my name. I'll buy a name tag. That might make it easier."

"I should visit you more often." Mason tilts his face from left to right. "I forgot what you look like in person. It's been what, decades?"

"Something like that," I say with a heavy tone.

"Not that I mind, but why are you here, Mase?"

"I was in the neighborhood. I heard you're visiting and decided to swing by to pick you up and drive you to your final destination."

"Sounds pretty ominous. The final stop."

He rolls his eyes and opens the passenger door. "I'd never let anything happen to you, my lady."

I take the opportunity to text my brothers. They might ignore me, but I want to be transparent with them.

Ainse: I decided to confront Gabriel.

Mattie: I imagined you would when Jacob told me. We're on our way.

"Breezy doesn't like to be in the trunk, Mase," I remind him as he settles in the driver's seat.

"She didn't complain. I made sure she was comfortable before closing the trunk. Even set up some music," he says in a mocking voice. Then adds, "You could've left it at home."

Instead of falling into his taunting, I ignore him, pull out my iPad, and listen to what Breezy and I created during the flight.

Music has always been important to me. Since I lost James, it's as much a part of me as air or the blood that runs through my veins. As I strum a guitar, bring to life a flute with my own wind, stroke the keys of a piano, or simply use my voice to produce a song, my soul releases the emotions I harbor.

Today, I summoned Alanis Morissette, penning an angry message to the liars around the world. A statement accompanied by a sweet, sticky rhythm to captivate the audience.

During the entire drive, I focus on my current masterpiece. I scribble some notes for my brothers so they can finish it. That's how we work. I write down my music. Sometimes I add lyrics to it. They use the songs for their group or give them to another musician.

They pay me well. Thanks to that income, I didn't have to ask for a loan when I cut ties with my parents.

When the car comes to a stop, I press pause and lift my gaze. We're in front of a black iron gate. Mason lowers the window and punches some numbers on the keypad. The gates part and he pulls through. I admire the compound. We drive at least another mile from the gate to the hacienda-style house. Oaks, pines, and flowers adorn the landscape, and I spot a big pool.

"Wait for me," Mason commands as he parks the car right in front of the main entrance and turns off the engine.

He walks around the car and opens the door for me. Such a gentleman.

"The heroine has arrived safely," he announces, taking Breezy out of her confinement.

"Heroines shouldn't have to be rescued, but thank you for the ride, my personal superhero."

Then, I have to ask, "How did you know?"

"That's what sentinels do at night or very early in the morning. They keep a watchful eye to rescue beautiful women." He pokes my nose. "I wish I could stick around, but I have things to do."

I chuckle. Of course.

"What is it?" I ask. "A new video game to play? Your couch is lonely and cold?" I tilt my head to the side and raise an eyebrow waiting for his response.

"Something like that, Nine." He kisses my cheek, and a grin tugs at his full lips. "Stay out of trouble and call if you need me."

I spin around and take a few steps, finding myself in front of a majestic hand-carved wood door that is fit for a palace. Before I can knock, a beautiful woman—correction, the blonde in the picture with that swollen belly—opens the door.

As I suspected, she's in her early twenties, slim frame, and her baby bump points boldly at me. "May I help you?"

Suddenly my bravado dissipates, and my voice runs away. Quickly, I look over my shoulder, searching for the getaway vehicle, but Mason has pulled away.

Damn, what now?