by Nikki Chase
But I found my answer in my brother. Who knew Ollie’s idea could turn all five of us into wealthy men?
Honestly, when Ollie first mentioned “medical tourism,” I had no idea what it was.
But now, I could probably teach a Medical Tourism 101 course, just using the information stored in my brain. No need for textbooks or anything. Those broke college students would love having me teach them.
I’m not going to do that, though.
Firstly, as hot as a professor-student tryst sounds, I don’t need to be on any campus to impress college chicks. My brothers and I are starting to gain some recognition in the media, and let’s just say we’ve been getting offers from women of all ages.
And secondly, we have the secret to success now. We’ve found the pot of gold. The way business is going right now, I wouldn’t trade my knowledge for anything. This shit is better than alchemy . . . or winning the lottery.
So why would I share our secrets, especially when college professors get paid peanuts compared to what we’re making?
Besides, it’s not like just anyone can replicate our success. My brothers and I make the best team. Each of us has his own area of expertise, and we happen to complement one another.
We’ve been working at this for five years since Ollie graduated college and could finally devote himself to our business full time. He believed in it so much he decided not to apply for a hospital internship after he graduated medical school.
Even though Ollie’s our youngest brother, his faith in this business gave the rest of us the kick in the pants we needed to quit our jobs, too.
Liam was a young lawyer at a prestigious firm at the time. I was a portfolio manager in a hedge fund company. The twins were consistently the top sales representatives at one of the biggest insurance companies in the country.
It wasn’t easy to give up those jobs, but we knew we had to do it.
We’d been talking about our own family business for years, as we were growing up. We’d gotten the idea from some movie that I can’t remember anymore now.
Then, the idea had just taken a life of its own from there. We’d talked about it often—at the dining table, in the school bus, late at night when the lights had been turned off and it was time to sleep . . . And later, as one by one we’d gone to college, we’d continued to discuss the idea over the phone.
Since we founded Hunter Meditour, we’ve gone through a lot of ups and downs.
I’m not going to lie; there were days when I deeply regretted starting this business. There were nights when I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling as anxiety gripped my heart like a vice. More than once, we suffered so many setbacks we almost lost our collective shirt.
But we kept on working at it, and that’s how we got here.
It feels like we’ve made the best decision ever, especially now that we’re home in Ashbourne.
After the way these people treated my parents, after the way they questioned my parents’ fitness to raise children, there’s nothing I want more than to rub our success in their faces.
All five of us are here to spend time with our parents as a complete family. But I may have an ulterior motive: I also want these people to admit, even if only to themselves, that they were wrong about us.
Look at us. We’re the fucking one percent now. What was it that you said—something about how our parents were going to ruin our lives?
Liam
“Would you please stop grinning like that? You look like an idiot,” I say as we stroll down the main street of Ashbourne, which is lined with small retail shops on both sides.
“That’s what you think. The ladies seem to disagree. They love me,” Mason says, ever the flashy womanizer.
I hate to admit it, but Mason’s right. The handful of women, teetering on their high heels along the main street in Ashbourne, practically creamed their panties at the sight of his Porsche.
“They probably just want a ride in your car.” I stop and let myself fall behind as Ollie and Mason continue walking toward the door of the liquor store.
Admiring the architecture of the old building façade, I hold my Leica M9 with both hands, frame the picture just so, adjust the focus, and take a snap.
Unlike other DSLRs, this camera requires a lot of manual adjusting to produce non-blurry pictures. But when everything comes together just right, every once in a while, I get a beautiful picture that I blow up to hang on the wall of my apartment in San Francisco.
“Check out that hot piece of ass at two o’clock,” Mason says to Ollie in a low voice when I catch up with them.
Nothing important was missed, apparently.
“Yeah, she’s okay,” Ollie says.
“Something wrong? You don’t usually sound so disinterested,” I say with a grin. “If you’re not careful, you’re going to end up like me. You guys are always teasing me about my so-called ‘dry streak.’”
Ollie shrugs without providing any explanation.
“That’s cool. More for me.” Mason’s still staring at the girl.
I take a quick look at her. Shiny blonde hair with long legs—usually, both Mason and Ollie would be all over her.
Luckily, even though they have a similar type, they’ve never fought over a woman. Like true Hunter men, they’ve come up with an out-of-the-box solution: just share the woman.
Okay, it’s not just them. I’ve joined them, too, a few times.
It’s a nice arrangement for the five of us because we’re always working, and we don’t have time for relationships. Red-blooded men like us have needs, and sometimes even I get sick of my own right hand.
I see Mason wandering further and further away from us and I know he’s about to bolt, so I grab his arm and drag him into the liquor store.
“We’re supposed to be back for dinner soon, remember?” I ask.
“It would’ve taken me no time to get her number.” Despite his protest, Mason ambles into the store with me.
“We’re here for two months. It’s only our first day. Pace yourself, for god’s sake.”
Ollie’s already ahead of us, checking out the Australian wines on one of the shelves.
“Fine.” Mason sighs.
“Should I be worried about Ollie?”
“Because he didn’t look at that chick?”
“Yeah.”
“He’s been off his game lately. He tells me it’s getting too easy,” Mason says, dropping his voice to a whisper.
“That’s it?”
“Yeah.”
We shut up as we enter Ollie’s aisle where he’s holding up two bottles and inspecting the labels. “I know you were talking about me,” he says.
“Whaaat . . . ?” Mason acts surprised, but it’s unconvincing. I’m glad he’s practically a different person when he’s doing a presentation or negotiating with our partners and suppliers. Otherwise, we’d never get anything done.
“We were just worried about you,” I say, ignoring Mason’s nudge in my rib cage.
“Just because I didn’t ogle some girl?” Ollie puts one bottle back on the shelf and holds up the other one. “I think this is the one Mom likes, right?”
Mason stares at the label blankly. “I have no idea.”
“Yes, it is,” I say impatiently. “And yes, we were worried because you didn’t ogle some girl.”
“I just don’t feel like banging some random girl right now. If I feel like it, it won’t take long for me to find someone anyway, so why look now?” Ollie asks, taking the bottle and walking toward the cashier.
Mason and I share a look. This is unusual.
“Besides,” Ollie continues, “shouldn’t you—Mason—worry more about the business expansion? And shouldn’t you—Liam—worry more about preparing the contracts for the expansion?”
“I’ve got that under control,” Mason and I say, almost at the same time.
“Is Sally still coming here?” Ollie asks.
“Yeah.” I check my phone. “She’ll be here tomorrow with Noah and Nathan.”
Even though we’re in Ashbourne, that doesn’t mean business stops.
It’s almost the holiday season. We have clients clamoring to get their medical treatments done before their big family gatherings. They want their teeth straightened and whitened; they want to get their surgeries over and done with; they want their waistlines reduced—and they want it all done now.
That’s why we’re still working and why our assistant is coming into town to help coordinate things with our main office in San Francisco.
“Cool.” Ollie places the bottle on the check-out counter and pulls out his black Tom Ford wallet.
The girl behind the counter had a bad case of the resting bitch face the whole time she was serving the previous customer. Now, she practically beams at Ollie, giving him a flirty smile as she greets him.
But Ollie doesn’t seem to notice. He just pulls out his platinum credit card and makes the payment, flashing her his ID when requested.
“Thanks,” Ollie says nonchalantly to the girl—who, by the way, is pretty attractive.
I catch a glimpse of her face falling as we step out of the liquor store.
“Seriously, guys, it’s nothing. Stop being weird,” Ollie says.
I actually don’t think it’s a huge deal. I mean, Ollie’s not exactly acting like normal, but maybe he’s just growing up. At twenty-six, he’s the baby of the family, after all.
But before I can say anything, Ollie stops in his tracks.
“Who’s that?” Ollie asks as Mason and I almost walk right into him.
Ava
“Have you heard about the Hunter boys being back in town?” my mom asks, obviously scandalized by their mere presence in Ashbourne.
She's wearing a black sheath dress tonight. She's in her forties but she looks about ten years younger, thanks to the sunscreen and face creams she wears religiously.
“The Hunters . . . Are they the ones who used to live next door?” I ask as I take the wine glass a waiter has just placed on our table. I need this to get through dinner.
“Yes.” Mom scrunches up her face, making lines appear on her nose and cheeks.
In reality, of course, I know who they are. The whole town knows who they are.
Liam, Mason, and Ollie. And, of course, the twins: Noah and Nathan.
I used to surreptitiously peek out of my window, hoping I’d catch a glimpse of my hot neighbors.
Even now, I know how long they’ve been gone.
Ollie, the youngest, left Ashbourne for college like his brothers had, and that was . . . let’s see . . . about eight years ago.
Wow, I can’t believe it’s been that long. That means I was just thirteen, at the most, when I started to notice them.
I wonder how they’re doing.
I mean, not that we were ever friends or anything. I was way too young to hang out with them, and my parents weren’t going to allow that anyway. They were suspicious of everyone, especially our next-door neighbors.
Now that they’re home from the big city, my parents probably dislike them even more. It’s as if they think the smog in San Francisco could stick to people’s skin and seep into their flesh, thoroughly polluting them.
“Apparently, they’re home for Thanksgiving. But that doesn’t make sense,” Mom says in a hushed voice.
“It’s only early October,” Dad adds. His blue eyes, which match the color of his tie, flash with alarm.
“Exactly.” Mom nods her head up and down in agreement as she literally clutches the pearls around her neck. “Why are they here so early? Are they unemployed? All five of them?”
“Mom, it's probably best not to speculate. Like, can't you just ask Mrs. Hunter, instead of . . .” I want to say “spreading gossip,” but I zip my lips when I see the way my parents are staring at me like I’ve just sprouted a second head. “I mean, it's probably best to go straight to the source.”
I take a big gulp of the wine. It's probably best if I keep my mouth shut.
“I just have questions. That's natural.” Mom’s neatly-shaped eyebrows furrow defensively.
“Yes. We need to know what kind of people live next door,” Dad says.
“That's very true. Otherwise we could end up like those people on the news, who get interviewed about their serial-killer neighbor. They never know what's going on right under their noses.”
I suppress the urge to point out that those neighbors on TV always say the killer’s a nice, polite, perfectly average man. My parents will likely just say that's precisely why we need to be cautious because anyone could be the killer.
In my opinion, though, a real killer wouldn't want to draw attention to himself, so he’d make more effort to blend in, which means the “weirdos” like the Hunters are probably good, upstanding citizens.
But there's no convincing my parents when they're in this strange Tweedledee-and-Tweedledum mode, where they keep agreeing with each other and egging each other on, so I just nod along to their chatter while I eat my steak and drink my wine.
This is a nice dinner. I should try to enjoy it.
My parents work for the government, my mom at the DMV and my dad at the city planning department. All their lives, they've played by the rules, and it's worked out well for them. They managed to pay my tuition and still have a cushy nest to retire on.
They may be boring and judgmental, but what they've been doing obviously pays off.
Later, outside the restaurant, we say our goodbyes. But just as I hug my dad, I hear a deep, baritone voice greet my mom.
“Mrs. G, how have you been? Remember us?” the masculine voice asks.
“Of course I do,” comes my mom’s saccharine reply. “I’m doing great, thank you for asking. How are you?”
She tends to act extra polite to people she's gossiped about, probably so those same people won't suspect her of being the source of drama. Sometimes, I think if my mom and I were the same age and not related, she’d be one of the catty girls in school who’d be mean to me.
So because of the way she’s talking, before I even turn around to see who she's talking to, my heart races with possibilities.
I mean, the voice sounds vaguely familiar. And the only reason why someone would ask my mom if she remembered him is if they haven’t seen each other in a long time.
This guy could be one of the Hunter brothers.
As I let go of my dad, I quickly take stock of my appearance.
Luckily, my parents always insist on formal wear for our weekly dinners out, so I’m wearing a black lace dress that fits my curves snugly, while hiding the extra few pounds I’ve put on around my mid-section.
I had some time after school and before dinner, so I washed and curled my hair, too. It’s lustrous and voluminous with loose waves tumbling down my back.
I slide my bag over my front to cover whatever bulge may be showing.
I should’ve worn my Spanx. It’s tight and uncomfortable, especially when I have to sit through a filling dinner, but now I’m potentially meeting a Hunter for the first time after eight years, and I’m feeling fat.
Not good.
But a girl’s got to work with what she has.
I twist around and find not one, but three of the Hunter boys—well, they’re not boys now, actually, but that’s what I used to call them in my head.
The Hunter boys have dark hair and green eyes—apparently, Mrs. Hunter’s genes are more dominant than Mr. Hunter’s, because none of their kids have his red hair and freckled skin.
Liam, the oldest, has neat, trimmed stubble all over his chiseled jawline. Judging from his serious facial expression, he hasn’t changed much although he must be pushing thirty now, and the last time I saw him was when he was eighteen. There’s an air of quiet dignity around him that makes him seem far away and untouchable.
Mason stands between his brothers. He’s about an inch shorter than his brothers—in other words, still really tall by normal standards—but he has the biggest presence. Mason’s loud, outgoing, and assertiv
e. He’s the life of the party, always grinning and taking things lightly. He’s flashing his straight rows of white teeth now.
Ollie, the youngest Hunter, was the one who greeted my mom. He’s always been the sweet, respectful one, who’d smile and make small talk with the neighbors. People our parents’ age love him—or, at least they did before Mr. and Mrs. Hunter got divorced. Ollie’s dark hair is curly and unruly, which matches his laid-back persona perfectly.
“Hi, Mr. G,” Ollie says to my dad, who just nods back at him. When he turns to me, his smile seems to stretch a little wider—although that’s probably just my imagination. With his dazzling green eyes fixated on me, he says, “You must be Ava.”
Ollie Hunter remembers me?
Oh my god, Ollie Hunter remembers me!
Heat floods my cheeks, making me grateful the Ashbourne City Council is filled with slowpokes who haven’t fixed the street light right above us, even though it’s been broken for weeks.
It’s dark in our corner of the main street, except for the warm glow that escapes from the restaurant where my parents and I just had dinner.
I hope he doesn’t notice me blushing.
“Ye—” My voice comes out small and squeaky, giving away my nerves. I clear my throat and try again. “Yes. You’re the Hunters, right? You used to live next door.”
“That’s right,” Ollie says, shooting me a smile that makes my heart go pitter-patter. “You’ve grown up. Last time I saw you, you were this tall.” Ollie holds his hand out flat, palm down, at his chest.
I can feel all three pairs of green eyes on me, and they make me want to hide myself behind a curtain. I don’t feel ready at all to have these tall, dark, gorgeous Adonises see me. They wouldn’t look out of place on the cover of a glossy magazine, and I’m just another ordinary, small-town girl with a boring life.
I smile nervously. “Yeah. It’s been a while. I hear you live in the city now.”
“Yeah. San Francisco,” Mason speaks up for the first time. He smirks. “Get in touch if you ever visit. We’ll show you around.”
The Hunters are offering to give me a tour of the city? Oh god, that would be a dream come true.