Page 2 of His Greatest Muse

“We both know I’m far too agile for that. You’ve lost your edge, Gramps.”

After finally locking up the gym, he swivels around and walks back to me. “Smart-ass. Are you sure you don’t want a ride home? I don’t like you walking alone at night.”

I look around at the dim, early evening streets. There are still crowds of people on the sidewalks and pooled together at the chirping crosswalks. The sun, while just barely, is still up.

“I wouldn’t exactly call it nighttime.”

His eyes tighten at the corners. “Tiny.”

The nickname I’ve had for as long as I can remember doesn’t make me laugh as much as it did when I was younger. Tiny is the last adjective that I would use to describe myself. I’m five ten, and while I might still look small in comparison to my six-three father, I’m far from it to other people.

“Dad.”

He points to his head. “You’re the reason for all of this silver, in case you didn’t know.”

“Me or Easton?” I know for a fact my younger brother is responsible for most of his greys.

He twists his mouth as if he’s actually thinking about his answer before grunting, “You. Definitely you.”

“I love you too, Dad,” I sing.

Sighing, he pulls me in for a tight hug. “Be safe. And text me or your mom when you get home so we don’t worry all night.”

“Will do.”

“Love you. See you tomorrow,” he says, ruffling my hair and then stepping back, heading to his car. I wave as he gets inside and, after a moment of purposeful staring, as if to remind me to be safe again, drives away.

* * *

I hum alongwith the song playing in my earbuds as I jog up the darkened driveway with three heavy grocery bags in my hands. The sun set an hour ago, but the early June air is warm. In need of a good burst of fresh air after spending the day cooped up at my dad’s boxing gym, I opted out of taking a separate trip to the store with my car and hit it on my walk home instead.

The front door of the house I share with my best friend, Noah, and his bass guitarist isn’t locked—surprise—so I twist the knob with my elbow and walk right in.

“It smells like a frat house in here,” I mutter, crinkling my nose.

The green-spotted bong on the coffee table is a centrepiece that I can’t seem to get rid of for long, and the Ziploc baggy beside it is empty, only a thin coating of white left on the plastic. A pair of pink lace panties are hung on the doorknob to the right of the entrance. I speed walk past, deciding to keep my earbuds in so that I don’t have to listen to whatever the hell is going on in there.

The kitchen isn’t in much better shape, with a sink full of dirty dishes and an array of empty glass bottles scattered over the countertop. There’s a pot on the stove that looks like it’s full of Kraft Dinner, and I shudder at how old it must be.

I haven’t been back here in three days. I’ve been staying with my parents while Noah’s been gone doing a few radio shows this week to promote the upcoming tour. There was no way on earth I was going to be left alone to deal with Josh and his groupies while they partied. But after receiving not one or two, butthreeangry calls from our next-door neighbours this morning about the noise over the weekend, I thought I should come home and see what the hell Josh has been doing while I’ve been gone.

Clearly, not much different than what he does when I am here. He doesn’t dare pull this shit when Noah’s here, but when it’s just me and him? It’s a free-for-all.

I flip the lights and set the bags down on the counter before starting to unload the groceries into the fridge and bare cabinets, ignoring the mess as best I can.

Inviting Josh to live with us wasn’t exactly my brightest idea, but when Noah’s sudden rise to fame hit us all and his newly appointed manager found him a band, it sort of just happened. Josh was lonely after a tough breakup and was living out of a suitcase when Sparks found him. I felt bad for the guy, and we had a spare room. How was I supposed to know he would turn out to be not only a terrible bandmate but also the world’s worst roommate?

Balling the empty grocery bags up, I shove them in the overflowing trash can before emptying it and hauling it out the back door. The alley is just as dark as the front of the house, and I make a note to replace the burnt-out porch lights when that nagging discomfort of not knowing if someone might be watching you tingles the back of my mind.

I’ve just shoved the heavy black bag in the dumpster when the song in my ears transforms into a twinkling ringtone. I grin, letting the dumpster lid fall closed with a bang before digging into my pocket for my phone.

“Golden Girl,” my best friend’s gruff voice drawls.

“Hi, Mr. Dark and Twisty.”

“You were supposed to FaceTime me ten minutes ago.”

I head back inside, locking the back door as I grab a granola bar from the cabinet and go to my room. I’m relieved when I push open the door and see nothing out of place. Turns out Josh has a bit of decency left in him.

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