Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Ainsley

"Morning, Ainsley."

My eyes flutter open at the sound of the male voice that awakens me from another unattainable dream. In exchange for the granite eyes that abruptly disappeared, I encounter a set of baby blues covered with strands of dark-blond, shaggy hair swooped to the side and a big smile.

It's Matt. "You still look like shit."

"Look, feel, and can act like the living dead." My voice still comes all nasally.

I sit up straight on the couch. He helps me fix the pillow that supports my back. Then, he hands me a tray with a bowl and a cup.

"If Dad were making a zombie movie, I bet I'd get a part and they wouldn't need to apply any makeup."

We both laugh, but my laughter rapidly transforms into a severe cough. "Did you make me soup, Mattie?"

He nods. I stir the contents inside the bowl and find carrots, chicken, and celery chunks. Mmm, chicken soup. I try to suck in the aroma, but my clogged nostrils don't allow it.

This nasty flu or cold is hitting me hard. I should start rethinking my career choice. Being a teacher is as dangerous as working at a lab that handles high-risk viruses.

Though, at least the workers in those places wear special gear to prevent them from contracting a disease. I wear normal, civilian clothing that leaves me unprotected and at the mercy of any virus or germs those little monsters carry around. My bottle of anti-bacterial gel can only do so much to prevent the spreading of those gross germs.

"Yeah, Coco gave me instructions on how to prepare it over the phone," Matthew mentions the cook my parents have had since we were babies.

He picks up and throws the disgusting tissues that linger on top of my blanket inside the trash can he holds. "If our parents didn't pay her a fortune, I'd beg her to leave them and work for us."

"I think she barely works for them, Mattie." I sip my warm and tasteless soup. "When we were in Santa Barbara, she only cooked for us a few times."

I did most of the cooking.

"Stop calling me Mattie, Ainsley," he complains. "I'm not four anymore. Matt, Matthew, Matt, Decker Two, or Thug Two are the only acceptable names."

I control the laugh to avoid another coughing episode.

"You sound like the movie The Cat in the Hat , Matthew ‘Matt' Decker."

While traveling around Europe, I found two red T-shirts with a white circle in the middle that read Thug One and Thug Two . They looked exactly like the Dr. Seuss Thing One and Thing Two outfits. I even called the place where my brothers have the T-shirts designed for their concerts and made one for Chris that reads The Father of All Thugs . They loved them.

"Jacob and I have been talking." Not a surprise. They always talk and try to decide what I should do with my life. Decisions that I ignore ninety-nine percent of the time. "You should quit that job."

I roll my eyes. Not again.

After my parents and I solved a few issues that lingered among the three of us, such as their marriage being hidden from the entire world and my own secret relationship with my ex-boyfriend, as well as others, I realized living away from them and acting as if I didn't need help was stupid.

It didn't take long to decide a few things. The first change had been moving to Seattle, close to my family, and quitting my job as a kindergarten teacher in Austin. Before making any life-changing decisions, my parents and I traveled the world following my brothers through their farewell tour. It was a great time for bonding.

The entire family grew as a unit.

Once in Seattle, I set up a plan for my future: I'd continue the gratifying job of teaching young minds while running a music school during the afternoons and evenings. During the planning process, I forgot the detail that when I arrived in Seattle, the school year would be almost finished and I'd have nothing to do for the three months, plus the summer.

To solve that issue, I applied as a substitute teacher at a private Catholic school only a few blocks from my house. Being a substitute is great because I don't have to create a daily curriculum or grade any papers. Although, I don't care for the older kids. Another downside, I have to work with older kids.

Beggars can't be choosers, though. My favorites are kindergarten and first grade, where children love to learn, and if you do it right, they'll keep loving it forever.

"Money isn't a problem," Matt repeats for the third time. "How ridiculous is it that the sub had to hire a sub due to a nasty cold. Not worth it, and you don't need it. We can take care of you until the school opens."

For my brothers, money isn't a problem.

They've been working for our parents since college. They scout new talent for the recording studio, produce music for the artists, and do administrative work. They have a band too. Plus, Matt is starting to soak his feet in the film industry. He doesn't know yet what he wants to do, but he might go back to college to get a master's degree.

Both get paid the big bucks while I live on a teacher's salary. I have no complaints, but the possibilities of me hitting a six-figure salary are the same as riding a unicorn. Currently, my savings are equal to two hundred dollars after the expenses I incurred. According to Jacob, my portfolio advisor, I'm doing fine.

However, I can't cash in any of my investments, and the quarter royalties for the music I composed won't be paid until next month—stupid quarterly contract.

"Money isn ' t a problem," my ass.

"Hello, children." Jacob arrives and tilts his head. He has the same blue eyes and dark-blond hair as Matt and our father Gabriel, but he wears it longer and sports a five-day stubble. He keeps trying to find his best facial-hair look. My brothers could be twins, except we're triplets. "Baby sister, you look like shit."

"The two of you keep my humbleness in check," I grumble. "With those beautiful words, you make a girl swoon."

"Nothing but the best for my favorite girl." He winks at me. "How are you, Sis?"

"Sick." I blow my nose, squirt hand sanitizer, and sneeze. Then, I repeat the process all over again.

"So, we're not going out tonight," he concludes, and with a nodding affirmation, he plops himself down next to me. "This isn't good for that social life of yours. How can I introduce you to Seattle if you're staying here with the snot-and-red-nose look?"

Since I moved in with them—temporarily—they've dragged me around the city. We've gone to the movies, theater, opera, concerts, and hiking. They've introduced me to some of their friends. It's fun and different to belong in a place. My brothers have made it possible by incorporating me into their nightly activities.

"We can play video games," I suggest. "The Fatal Worlds game is awesome—if not, then Destiny." One is only a prototype they own, while the other has become my favorite game.

"It's like having Mason Bradley at home but the annoying version." Matt heads to the console complaining. "Fatal Worlds is her favorite game, and she drinks the Sam Adams shit—beer we have to replace before Bradley goes berserk on us."

The mention of Mason reminds me of the dream I was having about him. Those big hands caressing my body while his mouth enslaved my lips. The mere thought has me quivering.

"That's Mase's beer?"

"Yeah, he comes to visit often," Matt tells me. "Stays in the guest room if it's late."

I can't believe they see Mason more often than I do. Jealousy pinches my ass, but I don't let that irritate me.

"He would never go ballistic. Mase is a peaceful guy."

Matt and Jacob explode into loud laughter as if I'm crazy and have no idea who I'm talking about.

"Mase, as you call him, is fucking scary," Jacob hugs himself and shivers. "That's a guy I want to keep in my corner forever."

"I'll go to the liquor store and buy him some when I'm better," I offer, and both look at me as if I had lost a marble. "I'll even stock your fridge with Corona." That's the beer they love, and the one Chris worships even though he won't drink it. My father swears he's Mexican—he's of Irish descent.

"There goes the fun," Jacob announces, ignoring the remark that I called them little brothers. Hmm, they don't want to banter today, weird. "She's going to fall asleep again."

Instead of saying anything, I fix the pillow behind my back and get cozy before I fall back asleep. All in hopes of going back to that dream with Mase.

Mason Bradley, what have you done to me?