Page 20 of His Greatest Muse
The burn doesn’t register any longer. I’m too numb to anything besides this anger and frustration. It’s been like this for as long as I can remember. The aftermath of disappointing Tinsley has always been so crippling I can hardly breathe. I brought it up to the first of my therapists, back when I was a child. He had stared at me with a curious glint in his eyes, like I was a puzzle he needed to solve. His two-hundred-dollar-an-hour advice was“And why do you think you feel like that?”
It was the last time I brought anything up significant to a shrink. The last time I bothered going to him at all.
Talking about my feelings has never solved anything. It’s a waste of time. A way to alleviate the worries of those around you, not help yourself. I don’t want help. Never have.
Commotion from inside draws my attention. Alarmed, I turn my body, peering through the back window at the family as they gather in the front room. Braden is speaking, though I can’t hear the words nor who they’re spoken to.
There’s movement from the direction they’re staring, and a thick wrist with a smartwatch appears, reaching out toward Braden. They shake hands, and Braden smiles at the unknown guest with a welcoming expression that has never been directed at me. It fills me with unease, not jealousy.
I’m at the back door in a blink, slipping back inside. Greeted with the lingering smell of baked ham, I tuck my hands into my pockets again, ensuring Tinsley won’t see the mess they’ve become, and then head to the living room.
Blood rushes in my ears when I enter the room. An immediate blast of envy—ofrage—threatens to strike me down. I straighten my back, cocking my head at the man with his hands on her. Onmygolden girl.
He’s young. Our age, probably. With sandy-blond hair and blue eyes that are watching her too closely, his interest blatantly obvious as he touches her hand in greeting. Something lingers in my mind, telling me that I recognize him from somewhere. He isn’t a stranger to me, or her, from the way he touches her.
With my insides twisted painfully tight, I close the distance between us, pressing close to her,tooclose, her shoulder brushing my chest. My nostrils flare as I breathe her in, a bite of pleasure mixing with that constant thrum of anger.
I carefully touch her back, my fingers spreading over the dip at the base of her spine, needing the contact more than my next fucking breath. She exhales then, leaning against my palm as if she approves of my actions while pulling her hand away from the intruder. I clench my teeth, fighting a shudder as her acceptance threatens to unravel me completely.
“Who are you?” I grit out.
It pisses me off that I don’t know his name, just his face. If he’s here, in this house, then it needs to be my priority to learn everything about him. A realization sparks when I tear my eyes from him and slowly look at Braden. Something dark and savage curls in my gut when I find him watching me curiously, calmly. It’s then that I know for certain he called this intruder to his home. That this was a test. A pity attempt at seeing if I’ll be able to keep myself under control, just days before I take his daughter away from him.
Well then.I trap a war cry in my chest, flashing him a savage grin. If he wants to play . . . we’ll fucking play.
“You don’t know Lucas? He’s been working at the gym for a few weeks now,” Braden says, slapping a hand on the dead man’s back.
“I’ve told you to call me Luke. Only my grandma calls me Lucas.” He corrects Braden with ease, as if he’s done it before. Like they’ve spoken a million times.
Tinsley stiffens beneath my fingers, and my eyes narrow on her father. He must feel the venom in my stare because he doesn’t look my way. The heat from Tiny’s body seeps into mine, melting the ice in my chest as it builds. Over and over again. The cold is a comfort. The heat makes me wary.
“He’s a martial arts instructor. Since we work on opposite sides of the gym, we’ve only spoken a handful of times,” Tinsley clarifies. But for whose benefit? “What are you doing here, anyway?”
When I glance down to find her nose crinkled slightly—another one of her tells—I know she’s glaring at Braden. When we were younger, she told me about the boys in school who used to tease her about that crinkle, making her attempt to hide it. They stopped speaking to her when I flew over there that summer and began finding each one and hanging them from the flagpole in the schoolyard by their underwear.
“Don’t sound so excited to see me, Tin,”Luketeases, the sound of his voice utterly repulsive.
Suddenly, Easton barks out a laugh from where he sits on the couch. His dark eyes tighten in a scrutinizing stare. “Tin? Does she look like she’s full of your grandmother’s cookies, Lucas?”
Blondie pulls at the collar of his orange polo, his ears tipped with red. I make a mental note to buy Easton the gaming console he’s been talking about once I’m done here.
“I’m just dropping a few things off for the boss here. I didn’t mean to interrupt,” he says, eyes fluttering around the room, never settling on one person.
“And have you?” I ask, my tone deceptively calm. The effort not to snarl the words at him takes far too much strength. I need to get Tinsley out and away from here before I rip his head from his body and let Braden win this little game.
“What?” It’s the first time he’s acknowledged me.
My fingers curl in the material of Tinsley’s shirt as I work to keep my jaw from cracking from the pressure of my constant clenching. “Have you dropped off whatever it was youneededto bringtonight?”
“Uh, yeah. Braden was just introducing me to everyone—”
“Not everyone, it seems,” I purr, my blood running hot. It feels like my insides are boiling.
“I think Noah and I should head home. You know how early I have to be up, Dad,” Tinsley announces, cutting through the tension in the room. My temperature cools.
Braden frowns. “Already?”
“You’ll have plenty of company to keep yourself busy for the rest of the night,” she mutters pointedly. “We’ll talk tomorrow. Mom, would you walk us out?”