Page 95 of Resilience

As soon as her hands were free, Athena asked, “Your mom doesn’t know about tonight?”

Sam shook his head. “No. Dad doesn’t tell her much unless she asks directly, and I’m not going to tell her anything he doesn’t. Whatever they worked out about how much Mom should know, it’s obviously different from your parents.”

“Yeah, I think my mom knows everything, except whatever’s officially under chapel seal.”

“It’s weird,” he observed. “Until I got into the chapel, I never really thought about what kind of secrets the club keeps.”

“But you do now?”

“I don’t know if I think about it much, but I see it now, and I’m starting to see the differences in the ways the patches talk about shit with their old ladies.”

“Is that what I am?” Athena asked. “Your old lady?”

The question pulled Sam up a little. He wasn’t afraid of it, but he was surprised. It was one of those occasional strange moments that lit up the change in their relationship in flashing neon. Athena was still his best friend, but now she was also ... “Yeah, you are,” he answered.

Whatever he’d expected her reaction to be, he had not expected the sad little laugh, or the way she stood and walked to the window to look out over the dark farm.

He followed her, stood behind her and watched her reflection. When he saw her eyes lift to his image in the glass, he asked, “Are you okay?”

As soon as he asked, he regretted it; she’d told him repeatedly that she was fine and tired of answering the question, and each time she was a little more irritated. But he knew she was not okay. He didn’t know how to ask so she’d give him a real answer.

They were in uncharted territory. Nothing about what Hunter had done or the consequences—for him and for Athena—was within their realm of experience.

Athena turned and shouldered him out of her way as she stomped to the middle of his room. Then she spun on her heel to face him again. “Why do you keep asking me that? I’ve answered it a dozen times, just tonight! I am fine. Do you want me to be fucked up? Is that it? Do you need to be all manly and take care of me? I’m sorry I’m not falling apart over this, but I am fine. Why do you need me to be weak?”

Her hands flew so quickly he could barely keep up. But when she finally stopped, he answered, “I don’t need you to be weak. I know you’re fierce as fuck. But what happened—”

“He raped me, and he paid for it. That’s what happened.”

“Yes. He did something seriously fucked up to you. And we killed him for it tonight. It would hardly mean you’re weak if you’re fucked up over this.”

“We didn’t kill him tonight. You only watched,” she said and then crossed her arms.

Sam’s breath caught in his throat. Was she angry that he hadn’t participated more? She’d wanted to control things. He hadn’t stood back because he didn’t want to hurt that fucker, he’d stood back because he hadn’t wanted to get in her way.

“Are you mad that I didn’t hurt him?”

She stood there, two feet away from him, her arms crossed and her expression tight, and didn’t answer for a long time. Long enough for Sam to start to really worry that this would do them damage.

When they’d been best friends only, they’d had plenty of arguments and a few real fights, but he’d never worried too much; they always worked it out within a day or two at the very most. Now, though, his whole future, his whole happiness, was bound to Athena, and every bump seemed to shake the earth beneath his feet.

Maybe his future had always been bound to Athena, but he realized it now, and that made it seem all the more fragile. Like when they’d found out that the big, weird old bottle Dad had tossed his spare change into most of his life was from the eighteenth century and worth thousands of dollars.

“I’m not mad at you for standing back,” Athena finally told him. “I’m not mad at you at all. I’m just ... mad. Period. I’m mad all the time.”

And that was why he kept asking if she was okay, even knowing how much she hated it. Her mood had been boiling for weeks now. She was running hot, and she was going to burn out. Tonight, after everything, and with her seeming so distracted, Sam thought maybe the burnout was at hand.

She took a step closer. “I’m taking my mad out on you. I’m sorry. But please stop asking me if I’m okay. I am.”

Despite his worry, it was time to give her what she was telling him she needed—but he meant to keep his focus sharp in case what she needed changed. “I’ll stop asking. But you tell me if you’re ever not okay. I’m here, and I want to be what you need. You’re my Frosie.”

The silly nickname made her smile. He’d first used it as a joke, but now it had real meaning. She lifted her hand and set it on his cheek. Bending into the touch, he turned his head to kiss her palm.

“You are what I need,” she signed. “I love you. And I love that your beard is back.”

“I love you so much.” He caught her hand and set it back on his cheek. “And I’ll never shave again.”

“Or let anybody else shave you.”

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