Page 22 of His Greatest Muse
I don’t know how both of my parents gave up their homes and families in Vancouver to move here all those years ago. And I certainly don’t know how Noah did it. If I didn’t have him or my parents close by, I don’t think I could handle it. My world-class bravery only gets me so far, it seems.
“Tinsley.” Noah says my name like a chastisement, and the rugged sound of his voice calms me like a homemade dose of Xanax. I grab onto the sound and use it to gather myself.
“Is it bad that I’m going to miss this place?” I ask him.
“Yes. It’s a shithole.”
“True. But it’s also our home.”
He contemplates that. “I guess.”
“We’ll have to hire someone to come check on it. I don’t trust that Josh doesn’t have house keys spread throughout the entire city for anyone to find. The last thing we need is the place burning down while we’re gone.”
“They can set fire to whatever they want, as long as it belongs to Josh,” he grunts.
I suck the inside of my cheek. “Noah!”
He blinks at me, deadpan, those bulky arms folded across his chest. “You’re telling me you weren’t thinking it?”
“I would never think such a thing,” I gasp.
His shoulder shrugs the slightest bit. “Me either.”
I roll my eyes, moving toward him as the wheels of my suitcase roll across the bumpy laminate. While the banter may help distract me momentarily, we can’t stand here forever. It’s now or never. Time to put my big-girl panties on.
He watches me carefully, those dark eyes full of curiosity and intrigue. He won’t voice the thoughts tossing and turning in his mind, no matter how much I wish he would. Even just once. I hold in my huff of frustration and step into him, leaning against his chest.
“I haven’t been on a bus since I was in high school,” I blurt out.
His chest lifts and falls with long, tight breaths. I realize it’s because he’s gone stiff, as if he’s uncomfortable. Embarrassed, I go to pull back, thinking it could be because of me and my needy move toward him, when he suddenly reaches for me. A heavy arm anchors me to his body as he says, “Me either. I hate them.”
“The close proximity, right?” Combined with the lack of personal space and tight confines with those he doesn’t know well. My stomach tightens with concern. Will he be able to do it for the next three months? WillI?
“I told Garrison that I wanted us on our own bus. He’s testing me. Making me sweat.”
I swallow. “Is Sparks with us?”
His calloused fingertips slip past the hem of my shirt sleeve and press into my arm, a small slip of his self-control. The shiver I manage to fight off at the unexpected touch is a true testament of mine.
“Yes. She promised to keep everyone from overwhelming us, but it won’t work. They don’t respect her enough.”
“That’s nothing we can’t fix. She’s the big boss here. Maybe all she needs is a prime opportunity to show her power off to everyone. They’ll see she has their careers by the balls before they even realize she’s grabbed ahold of them. Maybe I could help with that.”
He makes a deep, contemplative noise in his throat. His chest rumbles against my cheek, and I smile.
“By all means, have at it, Golden Girl.”
The nickname has my smile growing into a grin. “You know what, Mr. Dark and Twisty? I think I just might.”
A raspy, rare type of laugh escapes him then. It shakes the ground beneath my feet, the happiness it brings me taking me aback. It’s beautiful, although rough and unused.
It’s my favourite sound in the entire world.
* * *
The tour bustowers over us, blocking out the sun and painting the parking lot in shadows. A full-body shot of Noah onstage at one of his most recent shows in town has been plastered on the side of the bus, and I stifle a laugh, knowing he must be seething over it. The crowds of people rushing around us are nerve-racking, but I focus on not letting my discomfort show. It’s not the time or place to have shaky knees.
Noah’s near the end of the bus, talking to Garrison and Dad. The tension in his body tells me that the conversation isn’t going well. I knew it wouldn’t. Garrison won’t give Noah what he wants, no matter how many times he asks, and I doubt my dad will fare much better.