Chapter 27

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Ainsley

As we pulled up next to the house, I spot a silhouette leaning against the door.

"Porter?" Jacob and Matt ask at the same time.

I narrow my eyes and nod. What is he doing here?

The three of us climb out of the car and head to the house. I focus on my mission, to find a room and figure out when and how we'll get Dad out of the hospital.

"Porter." Jacob tilts his head as if greeting him.

"How's Gabriel?" Porter asks.

"In the hospital, he's doing fine," Jacob answers and opens the door.

We all follow behind.

"Ainsley?" Porter addresses me.

I ignore him. Blondie, whose name escapes me, sits in the living room and glares at all of us.

"Where is Gabriel?" she questions. "Is that a publicity stunt to get out of our deal?"

My brothers and I stare at each other and remain silent.

"I don't know who the three of you are…" She trails off and stares at Porter. "Well, I know who you are, but it doesn't matter. None of you have the right to be here."

I scratch my head and shake it. If Dad didn't tell her who we are, I'm not going to spell it out for her.

"Your problem," I tell Jacob and walk away.

I head to the library for Breezy, and then I climb to the second story of the house looking for shelter. The first room to the right has the same custom-made big bed that my parents have in all their homes.

The bed is covered with a sage-green duvet, and the walls are a light brown. There are a few pictures of my parents and some of us too. It looks like the best place to crash. No one would bother me in here.

But I'm not that lucky as Porter opens the door. Damn, I should've locked it behind me.

"Leave me alone, Porter," I order.

"Answer me this one question," his eyes focus on me, "and I'll know if you lie. Do you really want to be alone tonight? After your dad crumbled in front of you. I can see it, the sadness and the grief. Let me hold you, baby."

"You don't know me," I lash back, holding Breezy's case tightly to keep myself steady. "And now you want to hold me?" I hear the rising shrillness in my voice, and I can't contain it. "A few years too late. I needed you then. Do me a favor, Porter, stay the fuck away from me. That night, you killed what we had—all of it. You killed me."

I march to the door, open it wide, and point to the hallway. "Leave."

"I didn't kill him ," he screams in a desperate tone.

Jacob appears immediately. "Stay away from Ainsley. If I see you close to her, I swear I'll kill you. I'll let you stay because, for some stupid reason, my parents care about you." He pulls Porter away, and I slam the door.

I pace a few times around the room. "Deep breaths, Ainsley. You're safe. He can't hurt you."

Once my pulse goes back to normal, I park myself on the bench beside the enormous bay window facing the ocean. I watch the waves come and go and pray they take all my struggles with them. But deep down, I know it won't happen. They stay with me like a second skin cemented to my body.

My body demands a break before it goes on strike. This is a prime example of one of those moments I should call a therapist. As usual, I talk myself out of it. What's the point?

There's no future. Not for me. I don't dare to dream anymore.

I died with him.

There it is. This is the part I often play over and over again in my mind. The day I lost him. The milestones I've missed. The laughter, his voice, his love. All I can hear in this room is silence and my tired, beat-up heart. A yawn overtakes my thoughts. I have nothing to wear. I open drawers in search of something to sleep in tonight and find a gray washed-out T-shirt.

"Dreadful Tour" reads the back along with a list of cities. The front has their logo—a skull with a guitar and a drum on top.

Their last tour.

I can't imagine Gabriel Colthurst trapped inside a tour bus with a bunch of rock stars. Picturing Chris as a rock god is hard enough. His biographies confirm he was wild. The man is now a homebody who doesn't like to party.

Weird.

I definitely don't want to imagine what happened during those couple of months.

Tours.

I didn't know much about tours until Matt mentioned the roadie code. Tours are like Vegas. What happens there stays there. The roadies don't breathe a word of what they see and hear. I don't know why that reminds me of Mason. I grab my phone and shoot him a text.

Nine: When we arrived at my father's, we found Porter.

Mason: He better stay away from you.

Nine: I can only hope. Don't worry about me, I just… feel better now that you know. You get it. ((smile emoji))

Mason: You need to rest. I don't want you to end up in the hospital too.

Rest would be nice, but instead, I pick up Breezy and play a few old covers. "Eleanor Rigby," "Here Comes the Sun," and "Let It Be." Those are Dad's favorites. He loves The Beatles.

Out of impulse, I search for the paper where I wrote the phone number to his room, grab the home phone, and call him.

"Hello?" Dad answers after the third ring.

"Did I wake you up, Dad?"

"No, sweetheart, is everything all right?"

"Yes, I just… Porter is here, Dad."

"What's the problem with him, Ainsley?"

Should I tell him?

I slam my face against one of the soft decorative pillows and let out a muffled scream. Once I let out the rage, I sit back up, grasping the little courage I have inside me, and start the story.

"I'm going to tell you something," I say. "All I ask is that you don't interrupt me, please."

Dad's grunting on the other end of the line signals the green light for me to speak.

"Things became too complicated between us—Porter and I," I stutter, grasping the phone tightly. "We dated Dad, for years. Lived together. Things between us turned ugly and painful. There was a moment in our relationship when he made me believe I was going crazy."

I rise from the bench, walk to the bed, and lie on it.

"He made me believe I was an insanely insecure, jealous woman."

He tried hard to convince me that I was wrong, even when the proof was so evident. Yet, I succumbed several times to his hollow words.

"Dated?" Dad's startled voice makes me cover my head with the blankets and nod even though I'm aware he can't see me. "Can you tell me more? When?"