Page 10 of Forging Chaos

“I’m not really sure I can,” I joke. We get to the bar, and she holds the door open. I’m happy to see this place has a ramp from the curb. I guess the owners want everyone to be able to access their cheap beer and fried food. I make my way to the stool at the end of the bar, and Thora walks behind it, tossing her bag somewhere and tugging on a black apron.

“What’ll it be, Stag?”

I consider this. She’s right about the meds not mixing with liquor. But this place serves all kinds of fried food I’m never allowed to eat while training. And I’ll never have anyone telling me what to eat again. I slap the sticky wood surface of the bar. “Bring me the app platter.”

She frowns. “That’s meant to serve four people.”

“App. Platter.” I enunciate each syllable and pop all the p’s until Thora laughs and shakes her head. I watch as she types in my order and then hurries to serve some preppy kid who thinks he’s cool because winks at the bartender.

She walks off to pour his beer, and I glare at him when he sets a crumpled dollar in a ring of condensation on the bar. He walks off with his beer as Thora heads to the kitchen, presumably for my food, and I reach in my wallet for a five, placing that guy’s shitty tip along with my addition on a drink napkin, nice and smooth and dry.

When Thora sets the food in front of me, she sees the tip,and a smile spreads wide across her face. She folds the bills neatly and adds them to the jar by the register.

I eat all the fried food, knowing it will make my gut churn. It takes me five minutes to type up our sources for our essay, so I take my time and watch her work. I confer with her between customers and add some stuff that we can use for our presentation to a list on my phone.

I was going to pester her into returning to my apartment after her shift, but I'm exhausted between leaving the house and eating all the heavy food. I text my cousins to come get me and leave a twenty folded neatly by my plate.

I force myself to walk away because if she sees me, she will refuse the tip, and I want her to have it.

When I get back to the apartment, there’s an envelope sitting on my pillow. I frown at it because the edge is ripped like one of these buffoons opened my mail. I sit on the edge of my bed and chill my irritation when I see the letter is only addressed to “Mr. Stag,” which could really be anyone here.

My guts churn when I see that it’s a check from the college football video game that made me into a character. I knew this was coming, but it still feels like shit to see it sitting here. What the fuck am I supposed to do with this money? What kid wants me in their damn video game anymore?

I consider ripping up the damn thing, but that feels disrespectful to Thora, who is still working behind the bar and will be for hours. I shove the check and the envelope in my desk drawer and pop a pain pill, hoping for sleep.

CHAPTER 8

THORA

“Thora! Get the door!”My dad bellows from the living room, where I’m sure he’s sprawled on the couch from the night before. Chances are pretty high that he was drinking, but chances are also pretty high that his probation officer won’t stop by today to check.

I brace myself to dash through the cloud of cigarette smoke before it occurs to me that people don’t usually knock on the door at eight in the morning. I poke my head out of my bedroom. “Are you sure it’s not the P.O.?”

Dad snarls, and I sigh, grabbing my backpack. I try to spend as little time as possible at my parents’ house and even less time away from the air purifier and dryer sheet haven I rigged up in my bedroom. I know I can’t do anything about having grown up poor, but I sure can try to keep the cigarette smoke smell away from my clothes, hair, and school supplies.

I shoulder the heavy bag and peek through the smeared glass pane on the door, shocked to see Odin Stag waving up at me from the sidewalk. Yanking open the door and stepping outside, I hiss, “What are you doing here? How did you know where I live?”

Odin waves at a black vehicle idling in the street, and thedriver peels off with a deliberate screech of the tires. Odin shakes his head. “A, I got a ride from my brother so I could go over our bibliography before it’s due today, and B, you shared your dot with me the other day.”

I furrow my brow. “I shared my dot?”

He shrugs, adjusting his giant frame on his knee roller device. “On your phone. The tracking thing.”

I lean against the stoop, still wondering how he managed to knock on the door without climbing the four concrete steps. Maybe his brother knocked for him? “I never shared my location with you.”

Odin grins, one of his earrings twinkling in the morning sun. “It’s possible. I asked Fern where you live.”

“Why would you do that? She would have told me.” I didn’t realize Fern chats with the Stag family, especially since Wyatt moved out of the country.

Odin rolls closer to me. “Like I said, I wanted to talk about the project before class, but you weren’t answering your phone.”

I slide the device in question from my coat pocket, and sure enough, I missed a zillion texts from Odin and Fern, as well as a few calls. “Oh, sorry. I set it to do not disturb when I was at the bar, and I guess I forgot to turn it back on.”

“Seems unlike you, Janssen.” He winces, and I realize he must be uncomfortable. I bite my lip. “I, um, can’t really invite you up.” I gesture vaguely at my parents’ row home. “But we’re just a few blocks from Constellation Coffee if you want to go sit and talk?”

He checks a very fancy watch and shakes his head. “Nah, we better start moving to campus. Don’t tell me you walk the whole way from here?”

I scoff at him. “I take the bus. Do you not know about the bus?”

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