Page 19 of His Greatest Muse
It’s the first time since learning of Noah’s tour that I’ve allowed myself to speak my selfish vulnerabilities. I’m so used to getting his full attention for so long that I feel jealous of those he will begin to share his time with. Will he find someone he gets along with just as well as me? Will he become too busy to spend time with me?
I hate that I’ve thought this way, but at the same time, it feels impossible not to. For over two decades, it’s only been us.
He frowns, looking down at me with a slight glare. “Not my responsibility,” he echoes, the words deep and growly.
“You know what I meant, Noah.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Don’t make me embarrass myself further.”
We’ve stopped walking now, stalled beneath the archway separating the living room from the rest of the house. The hum of voices coming from the dining room tells me everyone must be waiting for us, but it’s just a passing thought.
Noah turns to me and wraps his fingers around my wrist. With a tug, he brings me crashing toward him. In an attempt to steady myself, my hands come up in front of me and push into his chest, probably harder than needed. He rocks back on his heels, not expecting me to lean into him, but keeps his grip on me tight as he steadies himself. It’s not tight enough to hurt. More like a reminder that he’s there, that he’s holding me in place.
“What do you need from me?” he asks. The words are strained yet surprisingly soft.
“I don’t know.”
“Don’t lie to me. Tell me and I’ll do it.”
I swallow, suddenly incredibly unsure about what I’m feeling. WhatdoI need from him? A promise that he won’t forget about me once he becomes a proper rock star? The idea of asking that of him seems pathetic.
Shuffling my feet, I meet his eyes, finding them dark and intense, the subtle rage that’s brewing inside him clear. I drop my hands from his chest and exhale slowly, my wrist still locked in his grasp.
“Just promise me that nothing will change between us. That at the end of the tour, we’ll still be best friends,” I whisper, hating how exposed I feel.
A crease grows between Noah’s brows as he furrows them, his pink lips curling into an even deeper frown. I flick my eyes back and forth between his, trying to decode the new emotion growing in them, but he blinks too soon, and it disappears, gone just as quick as it came.
His thumb presses to the underside of my wrist bone, keeping it over my pulse point, as if reassuring himself it’s still thumping. “I will never let you go, Tinsley.Never.”
His confident words settle something inside of me while also leaving a lingering feeling of something unnerving at the same time.
“Okay,” I breathe.
He releases me then, slipping the fingers that were just wrapped around my wrist through his hair and leaving my skin cold. His black waves aren’t held back by a bandana today, and I find myself liking the lack of one more and more each day. He has nice hair, smooth and shiny, and it feels cruel to hide it behind a bandana.
Lips smoothing into a line, he slides his hands into his pockets and asks, “Better?”
I attempt a smile. “Yeah. Thank you.”
He looks unconvinced. “Are you lying again?”
“Tinsley! For someone who hangry, you’re taking your damn time!” Easton shouts.
I huff a laugh and squeeze Noah’s forearm. “Come on, before they come out here and drag us in.”
I’m relieved when he doesn’t fight me on it, despite not believing me. In all honesty, no words could make me feel better. I won’t believe that we’ll survive this next chapter of our lives until it’s here. Actions have always meant more to me than words, and that’s never been truer than right now.
But I can’t help myself from going back to his previous words and wondering if they were a promise . . . or a threat.
8
NOAH
After dinner,barely restrained anger makes pain bloom between my brows. Anger at myself and my failure to ensure Tinsley never had reason to doubt me. It’s my job to keep her happy. As happy as I can. My chest aches, something rattling from within the deep pit of misery where my soul rests. It’s painful, nauseating. My punishment.
Tingles break out on the back of my neck from where I know she watches me from behind the window with innocent, round eyes. I’ve been outside for a while, no longer able to sit at the table with her and her family while this eats at me. I’m alone with my self-hatred instead. A stupid move, considering my thumbs are nothing more than raw, bloody skin from how long I’ve been picking at them.