Page 20 of Forging Chaos

“Don’t talk that way.” I let my voice get stern and realize that’s probably not the best way to talk to someone who is obviously upset. “I told you,” I say with much more intentional calm. “I was supposed to get new tires, but I kept putting them off, and then I got hurt. This is on me. And no offense, but you’d have to have driven over a long stretch of razor wire to blow performance tires, baby.”

“Hey.” She snaps her eyes to me as she turns over the engine. “Do not call me baby. I know I’m small, but I am not diminutive.”

No, you’re fucking not, I think, but what I say is, “Don’t pout like one, and I won’t call it as I see it, Janssen.” She seems to be sliding back into her usual self.

She snorts and turns off the four-ways, easing back ontothe bridge toward Oakland. “Oh,” she looks at me. “Where should we go? I guess we have to find a tire place?”

“The Mercedes place is on Baum. Weren’t you going to some store on Liberty Ave? We can just do your errand first and drop the car after. I assume you won’t go over—what’s the speed limit for the spare tire?”

Thora pats my leg. “Now, who’s a baby? We’ll drive the speed limit and be just fine. But are you sure you don’t want to go right to the dealer? I don’t want you?—”

“We are running your errand, and that’s final,” I bark. She nods and heads toward the Bloomfield Bridge. If I squint, I can probably find her house from up here, and I consider rolling up there with my brothers and cousins to scream in her father’s face and see how he likes it. Between her mentioning prison and her obvious fear that I was going to berate her for a normal flat tire, he seems like he’s probably a real piece of shit.

But my time is better spent building Thora up than worrying about someone who is not worth that kind of effort, especially since I can’t physically intimidate anyone at the moment.

“I’m buying you an outfit,” I say again, impressed as Thora parallel parks along Liberty near a row of shops. I point to a fancy clothing store I’ve heard my mom mention. “Let’s go find you something in there.”

She huffs at me, and I ignore her, rolling up to the boutique…where I discover I can’t even get in the fucking store because it’s got stairs outside.

“Hey,” Thora places a warm hand on my arm. “You don’t have to buy me anything, Odin. And I’m pretty sure the thrift store has an accessible ramp.”

I flip the bird at the bullshit shop and scowl when a store worker sees me, eyes wide through the window. Whatever.

“I better fit inside the dressing room with you,” I mutter toThora, who laughs and shakes her head. We walk a block to the thrift store that does indeed have a ramp to enter.

“You wish, Stag.” But her cheeks flush as she pushes open the door to the crowded shop, waiting for me to wheel inside with her.

CHAPTER 15

THORA

Odin does not,in fact, fit into the dressing room of the thrift store. It’s more of a shower stall, honestly, but Odin barely fits in the store at all. He’s just such a huge human being, made bigger with his cast and scooter.

I walk up and down the aisles, searching for “professional research fellow vibe” pieces, and Odin creaks behind me, grumbling that there’s no room for him. A dress catches my eye, and I lean past my companion. Spotting the original price tag on the shiny material, I gasp, startling Odin, who furrows his brow. “What?”

“It’s new with tags. Oh! And it’s my size. I have to try it on immediately.” I shoulder past him toward the dressing room, and I hear him following. I wouldn’t even know what it meant to find an Alice + Olivia dress in a Pittsburgh second-hand store except for Fern, and I have been daydreaming over an issue ofVoguesomeone left at the bar.

The polo sweater dress has white trim and fancy houndstooth buttons with a really fun spread collar. I’m not even sure what the black fabric is, but the whole thing slides on like it was made with me in mind. I am almost totally flat-chested with no hips to speak of, but as I tug the dress overmy head and smooth it along my body, I want to cry because I look amazing. Somehow, this form-fitting dress makes my form look more feminine. I purr as I run my hands along my hips, staring into the tiny mirror in the dim light.

The sound must trigger Odin’s impatience because he snaps the curtain open and then freezes when he sees me in the dress. I watch him taking me in, enjoying the obvious lust in his eyes as he stares at me in the $500 dress I’m about to buy for $6.99. His throat works as he swallows before saying, “You’re getting that, right?” I nod, smiling. I start to imagine wearing it for him, which is stupid because he’s my research partner, whom I fooled around with briefly. There will be no wearing thingsforor with him. Odin grunts. “I have to get out of here. I’ll meet you outside in what? Half an hour?”

“Do you need me to go? I can take the car to the dealership as soon as I pay for this?—”

He shakes his head. “I told you I’m buying you that outfit. I just need to…” He rubs at the back of his neck and gestures with the fingers gripping his scooter handle. “I don’t fit in here.” Odin reaches into his pocket, pulls out a wallet, and presses a twenty into my hand. “Half an hour?”

I nod as I watch him go and then work quickly to find a few more new-to-me outfits for my new life abroad. When I’m wearing these things, I don’t look like someone whose father orders her to get him a shitty beer.

These are the clothes of a person with regulated emotions and enough of a cushion to approach an emergency with calm. I can’t afford these clothes brand new, but I can sneak into them second-hand. I can reuse someone’s discard, giving it a second life. I should have given Odin the money back, but something tells me he’d be weird about it, so I splurge a little on a pair of flats that go perfectly with the dressandslacks and a boat-neck top I imagine I’ll wear while I walk along the Isis river in Oxford.

CHAPTER 16

ODIN

I wasseconds away from coming in my pants after seeing Thora in that dress. It’s not even a slutty dress. In fact, it’s super professional, which is what she said she wanted. But it clung to her body in ways that set off deeply unprofessional thoughts in my caveman brain.

If she weren’t excited about how fancy it is, I would probably take her somewhere and rip it off her. Except I can’t do the things I want to do to her because I only have one functional foot. That awareness calms my dick right down, and I wheel down the block toward the bookstore, remembering that I never did get to confess that I ruined Thora’s book.

Thankfully, the bookstore has an accessible entranceandwide aisles, so I wheel myself inside in search of the romance section. This is where I find my mother…laughing and fiddling with boxes of books along with my Aunt Emma and one of her friends.

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