Page 36 of Resilience

Something loomed on the horizon, low and dark like a thunderstorm. Something that felt like it could sweep Sam away from her.

Despite her Funko Pop size, Athena could withstand a lot of shit. She’d been surviving unsurvivable shit since the moment of her birth. She was currently holding up pretty well, she thought, after being raped by a man who’d professed to love her. Her primary emotion about that was rage, and rage was extremely motivating.

But if she lost Sam?

No, she wouldn’t survive that.

CHAPTER NINE

Sam was sitting at the table in his Sinclair uniform, halfway through his bowl of Honey-Nut Cheerios, when the screen door squealed open and his brother entered the kitchen. Mason ignored Sam as he went to the fridge to drink orange juice straight from the pitcher.

Mason was more than three years younger than Sam. He’d turned eighteen last December and had graduated high school this spring. As brothers went, they were pretty close. They bickered plenty and had their share of knock-down, drag-out fights, of course, but they always got over it. (Sam didn’t count the times he’d punched Mason in anger in his total of angry punches because aggravating little brothers didn’t count.) Mason had attached himself to Sam’s hip when they were both still little kids doing little-kid chores around the farm. For the most part, Sam hadn’t minded it. It had been pretty cool to be someone’s hero, and he’d liked teaching Mason how to do shit.

It was cool until, of course, it wasn’t cool at all. When Sam hit his teens and started wanting to hang out with school friends, he’d pushed Mason away a little. Just a little; just enough to make some room for himself. Mason had reacted to that badly, and since then, he’d developed a tendency for ratting Sam out. They’d gotten over what Sam thought of as The Big Pout as soon as Mason had also entered high school and begun wanting to hang out with other people too, but Mason still ratted Sam out when he thought he could get something out of it.

Thus, Sam had not wanted his kid brother at the cabin.

Now they were in The Big Pout Returns.

What a stupid thing to pout about. It was just a fucking party, and the whole thing had gone ass-up anyway. Sam didn’t get why Mason was throwing such a bitch fit over it when they’d had pretty smooth sailing over the much bigger thing Sam had done to fuck Mason over: deciding to prospect.

He hadn’t done it to fuck Mason over, obviously, but changing his mind about wanting a patch had certainly thwarted Mason’s plans. Sam’s brother had wanted a patch for as long as he’d understood what it was. He’d intended to apply to prospect the moment he was eligible: when he graduated high school.

It was unusual for the Bulls to accept a prospect so young. But Mason was a legacy, just like Sam, so he’d had a good shot, and Dad had never indicated any intention to get in his way. Not until Sam had decided he, too, wanted a patch. Now Dad said he wouldn’t allow both his boys to prospect at the same time, so Mason had to wait.

Sam had expected Mason to go all the way off over that, but he hadn’t. He’d simply grinned and told Sam to hurry his ass up.

But he was throwing a now two-week-long bitch fit over not being invited to a stupid fucking party.

Frankly, Sam had enough shit making a mess of his head right now. He had nothing left for Mason being a diva.

“You gonna pretend I’m not here?” he asked.

Still guzzling orange juice, Mason held up a middle finger.

“Fuck you, headass,” Sam snapped.

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