Chapter 28

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Ainsley

Who can sleep when the entire world might come to an end?

I tossed and turned all night. There's too much going on inside my head and my life. My father's health. My parents' marriage. And Porter Kendrick sleeping under the same roof.

When insomnia wins, I call the hospital to check on Dad. He had a good night, according to the nurse.

"Your uncle is fine, don't worry about him."

Uncle.

That's what we said yesterday when the EMTs picked him up and when we arrived at the hospital.

How long will this farce continue? Until he dies?

Shut up. I recall yesterday's fright. My exhausted heart can't survive another loss. Maybe it's time for me to come to terms and accept how they need to live. As long as we have them, they can pretend to be whoever they want.

As the sound of taunting waves startles me from my thoughts, I decide to take a walk along the beach. But not before I stop off at the kitchen for a snack.

Entering the kitchen, I spot them. Mr. Bradley and son. The first doesn't surprise me. Arthur Bradley is a family friend who makes himself at home when he visits. I have no doubt he does the same here.

As I look at them, I realize that Mason and his father don't look much alike. They share the same eye color of green-gray, the height—six-five, but that's where the similarities stop. Mr. Bradley has rough facial features, a wide nose, and big lips, unlike Mason, who has a straight-line nose.

Mase looks a lot like his mom. I met her twice, a beautiful woman with dark eyes, black hair like Mason's, and fair skin. She's of Japanese descent, lovely, outgoing. Unless she's upset with Mr. Bradley and then… well, let's say they're not nice to each other.

"Good morning, Bradley boys," I greet them. "A little early to be out of bed, isn't it?"

Mason smirks. "Agreed, Nine. Why are you awake?" Not wanting to answer, I give him a nonchalant shrug and search for some food. "Dad wanted to check on your dad. I just came from…"

"Your video game tournament?" I finish the phrase for him. "Can I offer you guys something to eat?"

"No, thank you, Ainse. How are you?" Arthur lifts his cup of coffee and takes a couple of sips as he watches me serve myself some juice, waiting for me to answer.

"Sleepy but happy. Dad is leaving the hospital today. How about yourself, Mr. Bradley?"

"I'm fine." He's a man of few words.

"If you'll excuse me, I'm going for a walk." I leave through the back door, which leads me, as expected, to the beach.

"What's with you, Ainsley?" I turn around to find Mason towering over me. "Your eyes are red. You have dark circles under them. And you don't sound like yourself."

Mason and I have this peculiar friendship. Even though we don't see each other often, we keep in touch. We have always been in each other's lives in some way or another.

We use memes and GIFs and jokes to maintain contact. Our own way of making sure the other is alive.

Even though it's been years since we've spent any time together, I know he's in my corner.

"I didn't sleep well." I take off my shoes as we step in the sand. "Can you blame me? Things are… different. Did you know my parents separated?"

I glance at him. He's staring at the sea.

"No, I'm sorry." Mason scrubs his face with both hands. "That sucks. Mine are having issues—after all these years. This time, it's Thanksgiving dinner. I should spend it with both."

I touch his arm and squeeze it.

"I told him," I say to distract him from his situation.

Mason stops and gently tugs my arm for me to follow suit. "What do you mean?"

"Dad. I told Dad about Porter."

"Everything?" His left eyebrow lifts, the gray eyes narrowing as if he can't believe I actually did it after all these years.

"Almost…" I trail my gaze toward the house, searching for that big room where Dad and I talked yesterday. "Almost, Mase. There are things I can't share yet. Who would care about him ?"

"I do," he says, giving me a side hug. "I care about and remember James often."

"Tell me something happy, Mase, please," I beg, wiping my eyes. "It's starting to hurt again."

"You need closure," he whispers the last word. "You won't have it until you talk to a professional and fix things with your parents."

I don't know if I want a future, a life. I only want to go through the motions without having to feel ever again.

"So, where do you live?" I ask Mason. "You live here or in Seattle? Maybe Mexico?"

"If I tell you…"

"I'll finally know," I finish his sentence.

"Let's make a deal," he says firmly. "I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours."

Mase winks at me.

I can't contain my laughter. It reminds me of the time when he was eight and I was almost five. At that age, I showed him mine, and he showed me his.

Mine was the small collection of postcards I started with the help of my family. His was a collection of dead bugs.

Our fathers weren't happy when I came rushing into the room and yelled, "I showed Mason mine, and he showed me his and even let me touch it."

The commotion, the stares at the two of us, and the explanation.

"We don't touch anyone, Ainsley Janine." Papa's voice felt like a slap across the face and all for touching a dead ladybug. "Most importantly, we don't show our special things to anyone."

"But you let me show my postcards to everyone, Daddy," I explained. "He liked the ones from Disney the best. He said he'd buy some the next time he goes to Canada. He told me it'd be okay to touch the ladybug. I didn't know."

Papa stopped pacing and stared at us both.

"Cards, bugs… what are we talking about?"

"I showed her my collection of dead bugs," Mason responded. "Fair trade since she showed me her collection of postcards. I didn't know it was special."

"I thought my father was going to kill me," Mason says. "And your father… he wanted to beat my eight-year-old ass."

We both laughed. "Once my parents explained to me what the big deal was, I wanted to explain it to you, but Mom said you weren't old enough."

"How is your mom?"

"Mina is on husband number seven," Mason responds. "That woman can't be alone for more than a month. She moved to Toronto."

"You moved to Canada?"

He lets out a chuckle. When is he going to tell me?

"I stopped living with her long ago ," emphasizing the last two words. "How's school, are those young minds learning something from Miss Nine? No wait, aren't you supposed to be at school? Playing hooky isn't the best example, Missy."

"School is fine." I plunk myself on the sand, and my toes start fidgeting with it. "I think I want to move out of Texas. Perhaps closer to my brothers… I don't know. Maybe Portland or Seattle like them. I want to figure out how to use all those degrees that are piling up with dust."

I have a Bachelor of Music with an emphasis in instrumental. A Bachelor of Science in applied learning where I majored in early childhood to sixth-grade education along with a Master's in Special Education for mild/moderate disabilities. I speak three languages, and instead of using my full potential, I teach kindergarten from eight to noon, Monday through Friday.

"My life is boring," I say out loud. "I'm as lame as Gabriel was at my age. I should be drinking and partying."

Letting myself go, but I don't say that part out loud.

"Instead, I have no idea what to do." I point at the house. "They—my parents—let me out of the cage, and what did I do? I willingly entered another one right away."

Mason joins me on the sand and stares at me instead of the sea.

"I don't have a home," he says.

My head automatically springs out of its haze and pays full attention to what he has to say.

"Sometimes I stay at the office where I have a small bedroom with a bed and a closet."

"Office?" He must own the company. I doubt an employer would allow that. "What do you do?"

"Ah, it's going to be boring not having you guess my job."

I lean against his shoulder as he tells me that his office is in Seattle. As he reminds me about his kick-ass computer skills, I trace the tattoo on his bicep. A Japanese symbol for strength, he explained to me once. An H-like character and another character next to it. It looks like a square hangman.

"Dad never approved of me being smart and not wanting to do any physical activity."

He looks down at my playful fingers, and then our eyes lock. The mystery in those stony-gray eyes beckons to me. For a moment, his clean musky scent and those eyes make me want to jump out of the bunker I hide in and steal a taste of him.

Savor him.

Try a new flavor, let him in, and…

No, impossible. He's Mason.

"Of course, you don't want to do physical activity," I tell him, breaking the connection that scared the crap out of me. "You're a couch potato, video gamer extraordinaire."

Mason's stare is set on the horizon. I want him to look back at me with that flame. A flame I've never seen before. It's not the burning kind that kills you, but the one that consumes you slowly and melts your heart, keeping it alive, warm, and safe.

Look at me, Mase.

"By the age of sixteen, I knew how to shoot most firearms, handle knives… even use the bow and arrow." His boyish grin pulls me closer. "Yes, like Green Arrow."

He's such an adorable geek.

"Combining my computer skills with the skills Dad drilled into me, I formed a security company. We develop and install personalized security systems for important organizations and other kinds of consulting all over the world, among other things."

"Like Tony Stark. You're Iron Man," I conclude.

"Yes, but not a billionaire yet," he amends and finally looks at me with those warm, soft eyes I like.

"I stay wherever I'm needed or want to stay. No one has to tell me where to be. The headquarters are in Seattle. My whereabouts are a personal choice, not a security issue."

Seattle looks more promising now.

I'll move closer to my family and friends. Find my passion again. Yes, I make music and teach. Once upon a time, I wanted to combine them and thrive… now, I survive.

"There, I hope you're happy now." He pushes himself up and offers a hand to help me. "Let's go grab some food. What's today's plan?"

"Pick up Dad?"

"I'll take you," he offers. "There has to be a big crowd of reporters waiting outside. We'll set up more security around the area."

"Are you sticking around, Mase?"

He takes my hand and doesn't respond. I never noticed that our fingers fit perfectly.

No, Ainsley, don't do this to yourself.

Remember Porter.

Mason knows you're broken. He wouldn't want to be with someone like you. Would he?