Page 36 of Forging Chaos

“Ung.” He turns his torso, stretching or reaching for something, and I notice a pair of tattoos on his shoulder blades.

I touch them with a soaped-up hand, tracing the outline of a stag leaping over laurel branches. “Tell me about your ink.”

He smiles. “All the Stags have that one.” He points at his shoulder. “It’s tradition.”

“And the other one?” I move to scrub that side of his back, where a blackbird perches on a Viking helmet.

“It’s dumb,” he says and shrugs. “You know, Odin. Viking shit.”

I smile. “Hi. My name is Thora. I don’t think it’s dumb.”

Odin grunts and spreads his legs on the shower chair. I can’t tell if he’s half hard or if his penis is just like that all the time. When I was up close and personal with it, the thing was massive.

“I, um, think you should do your lower half,” I tell him, and he opens his eyes, nodding. I back out of the shower and grab myself a towel from the cupboard where I saw him grab his earlier. “When does Wyatt get into town? I know he’s accompanying Fern to London on Monday…”

“He’s here,” Odin says, leaning forward to wash one of his feet. I had never noticed his feet before, but they look strong. I like the tendons and calluses I can see. He moves to his injured leg and washes a bit more gingerly, blowing outanother breath before explaining that Wyatt flew in late last night, but he’s at his parents’ house since they picked him up at the airport.

“He probably went to get Fern immediately,” I say, patting my hair dry and looking around the room. “I, um, don’t have any clothes but the fucked-up ones from last night.”

Odin snaps off the water in the shower. “We washed those for you,” he says. “Give me a minute, and I’ll grab them.”

And then he grips the chair handles, nostrils flaring as he concentrates on lifting himself using just one leg. I reach out to steady him, but he shakes his head. “I’m up.” He hops a few times toward his bed, dripping water.

I laugh. “Let me at least wrap the towel around you before you soak everything in sight.”

It’s strange to be naked with him like this, blotting him dry before he eases himself back into the cast. There’s nothing sexual about what we’re doing, but it’s intimate. Maybe more intimate than anything I’ve ever done. We’re both aware of it as he tugs on a pair of mesh shorts and wheels himself from the room, returning soon after with my shirt and jeans from last night.

I step into the pants commando as Odin watches, shocked. I shrug. “I can do a test and a meeting with no undies. I’ll change when I get home.”

“Fuck, Thora.” He drags a hand through his hair. “You’re going to give me a stroke.”

“That’s what she said.” We both laugh as I gather my things and leave, promising to touch base before I go to work in the evening.

My legal studies exam is a piece of cake, and I finish early enough that I can walk to my advisor’s office at a leisurely pace. There’s not a pre-law major here at the university, butbetween the political science classes and my work in the student law clinic, I feel good about my prospects after my fellowship year. Everything is so close I can taste it, and I shiver in anticipation as I gently knock on my advisor’s door.

“Come on in, Thora,” Mark says, his voice cheerful.

I wave and take a seat opposite his desk. “Just here for the final checklist for Sunday.”

He chuckles. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. There’s still Saturday to deal with.”

I furrow my brow. “Saturday?”

He looks at me over the folder he’s studying. “Yes, the diploma ceremony. Surely you received the invitation?”

I nod. “I did, but I just thought it was optional. I didn’t take off work Saturday.” The night before commencement is one of the busiest nights of the year at Fuel Up. Not only will it be jammed with graduating students, but their alumni parents will also be in town, craving the nostalgia that comes with cheap, well-drinks. They always tip really well, those alumni parents.

Mark shifts uncomfortably in his seat, tugging at the collar of his shirt. “Thora, I, um, would really like you to consider attending. You’re a Rhodes scholar. We’ll be acknowledging that in the more intimate setting of just students from your major and?—”

I shake my head. “I still don’t have the funds I need to buy my plane ticket to BE a Rhodes scholar. I have to work on Saturday.”

Mark gives his collar another yank and leans forward. “End-of-semester awards are granted at the ceremony, Thora. Let’s say…you have a strong chance of receiving some funding.” His eyes dart between his computer monitor and my face.

I frown. “I can’t miss a guaranteed lucrative shift for a strong chance, sir. I’m really sorry.”

Mark groans and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I’mpleading with you to attend,” he says. “I’d like to offer my personal assurance that you will not regret it.”

I leave his office deeply confused. I applied for every grant I could find, every bit of funding. Fern and I spent spring break last year making lists. If there was a scholarship, I’d be aware of it. Something feels off.

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