Chapter 36

Chapter Thirty-Six

Ainsley

I dread heading home.

My last student called to cancel. Giving private piano lessons is a hit and miss. The parents could be busy that night or the kid has extra homework, but I'm tied to their schedule. Jacob insists I charge some cancellation fee, but I won't.

The time slots they leave open are the periods I dedicate to practice, composing, and planning while I wait for the next class I have to teach. However, today being my only class, I could head home. But I don't.

Looking for a way to stall, I leave the music school and cross the street. I make my way to the brick building, take the set of stairs, and enter the second studio, as the first had a red light on it. There are plenty of practice rooms here.

For some unknown reason, I have the itch to be in this big room. There're plenty of instruments to choose from. I can fiddle with drums, guitars, a piano, keyboards, violins, a tambourine, and others.

Of course, I begin with the drums. Banging them with a little rhythm and too much rage. Letting the throbs of anger inside me strike the drums, I find a beat, but the music doesn't take me too far. Drums and I don't mesh too well—if at all. That's Matthew's department; not even Jacob can match his expertise.

I move on to the guitar. I strum a nice riff that will sound great with a combo on the keyboards… I sit at the piano after taking a few papers with me to scribble whatever might come out of this. At last, my dry spell, writer's block, and inspiration constipation is gone.

Pushing all of it aside in my mind, I grab the guitar again. It isn't Breezy, but I can connect with it. Automatically, I start playing one of Papa's old songs. One he composed for Dad long ago. I've been inside my small world for a while, and within a few strums, another guitar joins.

Jacob is standing next to me and tilts his head toward the piano. Leaving him to take over, I walk to the piano and the drums join in.

Papa, Matt, and Jacob are playing along. The entire song goes without a glitch, and Papa transitions it to "Under Pressure" with Jacob taking the lead guitar.

My part in the song is minimal instrument-wise, but I'm in charge of the lyrics. Jacob transitions it to Eleanor Rigby, and I have plenty of time to snatch a violin. None of us miss a note, and Papa finally makes the last transition to the first song he ever wrote for Dad. As we finish, I conclude that I have the most amazing family in the world.

No matter how high, fast, strong, or long the waves are that crash against us, as long as the five of us are together, nothing will break us.

"That was wicked," I announce. "Mattie, you're dripping sweat. Nice solo, by the way."

"Better than the noise you played earlier," Matt states, and I cringe, looking at him sternly. "Yeah, we heard you and have been watching you." He points at the thick glass that's a mirror or a regular window depending on the switch. "I have a few ideas for the new song. Jacob and I will finish it for you."

I look at Jacob, and he shrugs. "Sorry, but your music sounded bitchy and somber, and we wanted to know what you were up to. Everything okay?"

I nod.

Still sad Mason didn't give a shit about me. It's been two weeks since his visit. For a second, I believed he'd reach out again. It's been too long. I know I shouldn't hold my breath.

Papa sits next to me on the bench and puts his arm around me. "On the plus side, my husband will love what I'm going to bring home—the recording of an impromptu session with our babies. Oh, the things we'll do tonight."

"When did you guys come back?"

"Earlier today. It seems like we can't stay away from here for too long."

The three of us stick our fingers in our mouths while making gagging sounds. My father has zero filters.

At that moment, Roy, one of the sound techs, enters the studio, handing Chris the USB stick containing the recording of the music we just played. "The four songs are on here and on the master server. Great music. You four should start a band. At least put these songs up on iTunes, and you'll make a fortune."

Jacob nods. "Decker and his amazing children."

"You make us sound like circus freaks," I point out.

"Decker and freaks." Matt taps his drumsticks together as he laughs at his stupid comment.

"Decker's LeFreaks," Jacob ups him.

"Two freaks, Decker, and the genius," I fix it, and both my brothers roll their eyes.

"Pretty lame. Bet you have a better one but won't say it cause the parent is here," Jacob tells me, and he's right.

Papa takes the USB stick and places it in his pocket. "This is for us. It's not often that we can play together and record. This one escapes too often." He points at me.

I smirk and say nothing. My brothers' phones buzz simultaneously, they look at each other and then at us.

"We have to go," Jacob declares. "Isn't your husband waiting for you at home, Pops?"

Pops . That's a new one.

"As a matter of fact, yes." He kisses my forehead. "Call if you want to come over for dinner, baby girl. You two busy tonight?"

"Depends," Matt answers. "We'll let you know, Pop. Tell Dad to enjoy our special gig." They disappear without glancing back.

It surprises me that my own father left without offering to give me a ride. Family, gotta love them. And with that thought, I head home, knowing that if I feel like it, I can walk a few steps and visit my parents. Or ask my brothers to come over, and I can feed them.

Mason who?