Page 108 of His Greatest Muse

“You and your brother are different, Maddox. You can try to deny it, but you like the spotlight that comes with doing what you love—hockey. Noah doesn’t like the spotlight that would come from a career in music. He’s turning down those opportunities for a reason.”

“He’s not just turning them down. He’s wasting them.”

I scratch at my jaw, tugging on my beard. “Noah has always been like that.” He fears what he doesn’t know. Putting himself out there means he’d feel insecure.

“So you agree that it’s a waste of talent.”

I pause. It’s not that easy of an explanation, but . . . “Yes.”

“God, I want to shake some sense into him. He could have the beginnings of a music career already if he just fucking tried. Anyone else would have taken advantage of the chances he’s gotten.”

The front door slams shut, interrupting us. Heavy footsteps thump through the house, toward the basement. Maddox shoves a hand through his hair and stares at me, his expression tight.

“Guess he’s home now.”

* * *

Rock music blaresbeneath the floorboards in the kitchen later that night. Even through my thick socks, I can feel the vibrations of it crawl from my toes to my fingertips. Noah invited people to the house tonight, but by the number of voices at war with the music, it sounds as though he invited every single student from his high school instead of the small number he had initially told his mother at dinner.

The clock on the microwave reads just over 1:00 a.m. An hour past his curfew. I take a long sip from the glass of orange juice in my hand and contemplate whether or not I’m going to be the bad guy that storms downstairs and tells a bunch of teenagers to get out of my house. Noah would hate me for embarrassing him like that, and we’re already on the rocks too much lately. A throb grows between my eyes at the reminder of our fighting.

Every day, there’s something we’re at each other’s throats about. His grades and my nosiness. His staying out all the time and my lack of patience. We never meet eye to eye on anything, and I’ve begun to realize we may never again. That doesn’t stop me from wanting to try, though. Even if I get bitten each time I attempt to dig into his life and emotions.

“What are you doing down here?” Ava asks, sliding her arms around me from behind. She kisses my spine and runs her hands up and down my chest.

I cover her hands and follow her movements. “Contemplating party crashing.”

“Come watch a movie with me instead. Let them be.”

I set my glass down on the counter. “It’s late, Ava. And it sounds more like a rager than a friendly get-together.”

She laughs against my back. “I’d rather them be here than out somewhere else. They’re safe here. We know where Noah is.”

“We gave the same rules to Maddox and Adalyn. 12:00 a.m. curfew. No exceptions. They never broke that rule, so why should we let Noah?”

I’m struggling to understand how to parent Noah. I want to be fair and understanding, but it goes against my instincts to only allow certain things for one kid and not for the others. Maddox and Adalyn have always been understanding when it came to their brother, but how many times can they watch him get away with things that they would have been punished for before they get fed up?

I won’t let rifts grow between our children. I’d rather have Noah punish me than have his siblings grow annoyed with him over our decisions.

“Noah is at home, my love. He’s listening to music with his friends, not out at a seedy bar partying with strangers and doing LSD,” Ava murmurs.

“LSD is oddly specific.”

“Mm, well, since you’re already thinking worst-case scenario, I figured I’d add my piece.”

“You think we should let it go on? For how much longer?”

“Adalyn is asleep upstairs, and Maddox hasn’t lived at home for years. The basement door is locked from up here, so everyone can only come and go from the outside entrance. Noah has a key to get upstairs and promised there wouldn’t be any alcohol around. Let him have some fun. If it will make you feel better, we can go check things out.”

I nod firmly, liking that idea a whole lot. “Please.”

“Come on, then, overprotective Papa Bear.”

She steps back from me, and I spin to face her, taking in the coy smile that parts her lips. Her hair is wet from a shower, leaving damp spots on the shoulders of my T-shirt she has on. The sight of her bare legs beneath a pair of loose-fitting shorts has me contemplating telling her I’ll go to the basement by myself, but it’s a safer choice to have her come with me. Just in case.

“You’re beautiful,” I tell her.

Even after two decades together, my words paint her cheeks pink. “You’re not bad yourself. Even if you are a suck up.”

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