The Muse's Undoing

“I need coffee,” he says pathetically.

“Go sit. I’ll bring you some.”

“And my leg hurts.”

“Okay, princess. Do I need to carry you?”

He laughs, and I feel it against my neck. Chills shoot down my spine. He runs his hands down my arms as he backs away. I give one of his hands a squeeze before passing him his cane and sending him to the couch.

“How late were you up?” I ask, pushing the button to start his cup brewing.

“Late. I had a fucking panic attack. First time in a long time. I almost called an ambulance.”

I scowl. “Why didn’t you call me?”

“You told me you can’t leave the lobby.”

“If you’re having a heart attack, I’ll leave the lobby.”

“Sorry. I wasn’t thinking clearly. I knew it was all in my head, it was just…a lot.”

“What triggered it?” I probe.

“Ugh. You don’t wanna know. I’m an idiot. Enough said.”

I give him a side-eye once he’s on the couch. “Might as well tell me.”

“I went to break things off with Raven, and it didn’t end up going well.”

The ways I am so relieved right now… “Was she pissed?”

“When I say it didn’t go well, what I mean is I think I agreed to an ongoing arrangement.”

And there goes my heart. I’m surprised he doesn’t hear it splatter on the floor.

I close my eyes briefly. I need to get a grip. Whether it’s with Ravenna Gallo or someone else, eventually Fischer’s going to be in a relationship, and I’m going to have to be okay with it. But this morning, she’s not here, and we can be us. No moms or dads. No college roommates. No pretty assistants. Just Fischer and me. Until Vaughn shows up.

I bring him his coffee and his anti-inflammatory pill, then take a seat on the coffee table in front of him. I pat my lap. He groans as he lifts his left leg, and I start the massage over his pants.

“Fuck. Thank you.” He sinks as deep as he can into the unforgiving cushions and curls his toes against my abs.

Over the last couple of months, I’ve learned the places to avoid, where the metal plates and pins are, and I know what pressure points help ease the aches he gets. I figured it out mostly through trial and error, but I also watched a YouTube series about rehabilitative massage. I start with his calf, then I’ll do his foot, and then, I’ll sit next to him and stretch out his thigh. It’s a whole routine, not unlike his PT exercises. It feels dangerous today, but I’m hoping whatever he has to say will turn me off. Because touching him certainly isn’t. Still, I feel bad that it’s been so long since I did this for him.

His toes poke me in the stomach on purpose. “First you dodge me, now you’re not gonna talk to me?”

Sighing, I take his foot in my hands and rub my thumbs up the sole. “I’m here,” I remind him. “Not dodging.”

“You’re grumpy” he says.

“I was up all night.”

“So, I’m guessing I can’t talk you into going to the park with Vaughn and me?”

“Fuck no.”

“But you’ll crash here and have dinner with us?” he asks.

“Sure.”