Page 126 of His Greatest Muse

“You’ll always be my little girl.” She rests her elbow on the table and drops her chin to her palm. When I make no move to eat the Jell-O right away, she sighs. “Just let me baby you for a bit right now. Eat it.”

I dig the spoon into the jiggly red mass and slice through a section before bringing it to my mouth. Once I’ve swallowed it, I poke my tongue out at her.

“Happy?”

Her grin is blinding. “Yes.”

“How did you have time to make this, anyway? I only told you I was coming a few minutes ago.” As I was driving home from a workout at the gym with Noah tailing me in his car.

His worry has grown to a near suffocating level, and it led me home in need of a breather. I love that he’s so protective of me, but I won’t allow myself to continue to feel helpless because of some freak. I knew Noah wouldn’t follow me inside my parents’ house if he didn’t absolutely need to, so here I am.

After learning about Cole and his past with my parents, I’ve been wanting to see Mom. To talk to her about this. But she can’t be involved, and that puts a massive boulder in my path. I’m trying to work around it right now, but I don’t know how. How am I supposed to pretend a man who once terrorized her hasn’t now moved on to do the same to me? At a far larger scale.

“It’s the premade stuff,” she admits, waving away her pinkening cheeks.

I smile softly before eating another spoonful. “Thank you. It still beats the Jell-O they had at the hospital.”

“How is Noah doing?”

“For only being back home for one day, I’d say he’s doing really well. Hasn’t popped his stitches yet, so that’s a small win.”

She laughs while tucking her hair behind her ears. It’s the same brown colour as mine but much thicker. We’ve always looked similar. Silvery-grey eyes, brown hair, the same swoop of our noses and dip in our chins. She used to call me her mini-me, and I loved the nickname because it meant she liked our similarities as much as I did. I’m sure she only stopped calling me that because I grew into my own person. Sometimes, I miss it.

My mother is a woman I’ve looked up to my entire life. She’s strong, fearless, outgoing. A successful businesswoman, kick-ass mother, loving wife. She wears so many hats that I used to wonder how her neck didn’t hurt from the weight of all of them.

I never knew much about her struggles in life before I was born. Easton and I were both told about the broken relationship between her and our grandparents when we were young, but that was it. I guess it makes sense for her not to tell us about a creep from her past who everyone thought had been dealt with. It may be unfair, but I can’t help but wish that she had.

“I thought your father was going to collapse when Noah called him,” she says.

“Collapse from fear or happiness?”

She frowns. “That’s not funny.”

“I’m not trying to be funny. You know how Dad feels about him.”

“He loves Noah. He’s as close to family as anyone can be outside of blood. That cold front your father places in front of himself when Noah’s around is simply because he’s protective of you. He worries you’ll get your heart broken because of how deeply you love that boy. For decades, it’s been that way. Your father doesn’t understand when to let go when it comes to you.”

How long has she known that I love him? Before I did?

“Dad doesn’t need to let go. He just needs to drop thatcold front, as you call it. It comes off as mean, and it hurts my feelings when I see the way it affects Noah, even if you all can’t notice that it does the way I can,” I argue, stabbing my spoon into the Jell-O. It bounces in the bowl, and I exhale a heavy breath.

She rubs my back in small, soft circles. “I know, my love. You’re right. And there’s still time for that. It will all work itself out.”

“Do you really believe that, or are you just trying to make me feel better?”

Her laugh sounds like home. “I truly believe that, Tinsley.”

“Then I’ll try to believe it too.”

“How areyoudoing?”

“I’m okay,” I lie.

She sees right through me. “Tinsley.”

“How should I be doing? I haven’t stopped feeling guilty for five minutes about what happened to Noah. We all know he was only attacked because of me. What if he had—” I cut myself off, unable to say it as I stare at the table.

Mom leans forward and touches my chin, urging me to look at her when I refuse. When I do, I wish I hadn’t. I don’t want anyone’s sympathy. I want revenge. Blood spilt. I’ve never felt such anger. It threatens to choke me.

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