Page 5 of Forging Chaos

I roll my eyes, but I can feel a small smile tugging at my lips. "Yes, Mom. I promise to practice positive self-talk and all that jazz."

She grins, pulling me into a quick hug. "That's it. Now go home and get some rest. And maybe think about texting that current obsession of yours."

"He's not my anything," I call after her, but she's already out the door, leaving me alone with my thoughts again.

As I walk toward the bus home, the cool night air clearing my head a bit, I allow myself to really think about Odin—not just as a project partner or an inconvenience to my plans, but as a person. What must he be going through right now? His whole future, everything he's worked for, is suddenly up in the air. And yet, when I saw him, he still managed to be kind, even in the face of my spectacular social ineptitude.

He must have been on some intense pain meds, based on how his pupils looked in the hospital. Not that I was looking at his pupils at all.

I think about his family, too. The way they rally around him, their love and concern palpable even to an outsider like me. It makes me ache a little for reasons I don't want to examine too closely. Fern’s always talking about that family, how tight they are, and how they support each other. It helpswhen you always have your basic needs met and don’t have to panic about money constantly.

And I’m going to become a person who works to change that! We can become a country where everyone has that sort of chance, dang it. I just need to finish this last month of college and step into my true purpose: Thora Janssen—International Policy Researcher. Rhodes Fellow. All around policy changemaker.

And then, unbidden, my mind drifts to less...academic thoughts. Like how Odin looked unfairly attractive even in a hospital gown. Or how his hand felt when our fingers brushed as I offered him a cookie. I shake my head, trying to dislodge these unhelpful thoughts. This is ridiculous. I do not have time for a crush.

As I reach my parents’ house, I make a decision. I'll find a way to make this right. To balance my coursework with human decency. To be worthy of a Rhodes Scholarship and, more importantly, deserving of Odin's forgiveness.

But as I crank up my air purifier and climb into bed, my last thoughts before sleep claims me are of piercing blue eyes and a smile that makes my heart do somersaults.

I am so, so screwed.

CHAPTER 5

ODIN

I sitin the front of Mom’s car after getting wheeled out to the curb, cramming cookies in my mouth and staring out the window as she drives me home. When we get to my apartment, we realize it’s not an accessible building. There are stairs everywhere.

I stand outside the door, one leg resting on the knee roller, one hand on the handlebars, the other clutching that damn tin of cookies.

Mom stares at the steps into the building and the stairwell up two floors to the apartment I share with my brother and cousins. “Odin, I’m so sorry.” Mom gestures at the stairs like she is the architect or something. “This isn’t accessible at all, is it? Not even a ramp…”

I sniff. This building is for student-athletes, so it makes sense that there’s a minimum expectation of walking ability. Mom sighs. “I’ll run up and grab your brother, okay? We’ll get you inside.”

I have no idea what the plan is to get me upstairs. I’m not crawling up the steps. I guess I’d let Gunnar give me a piggyback ride. Lord knows I’ve carried his drunk ass up to our apartment that way before.

Gun and Stellan make their way outside, along with Mom, who looks like she wants to cry. Gunny claps a hand on my shoulder. “This sucks, bro,” he offers. I grunt at him.

Mom fiddles with her car keys. She’s double-parked outside the building, and people are starting to stare at us as traffic backs up behind her black SUV. “I’m just going to move the car, and I’ll come in with your things, okay?”

I wave a hand at her because what do I care where she parks?

Stellan walks around my knee roller, checking out the foam pad where I’m supposed to rest my cast. I can put weight on my knee, but not under any circumstances, my foot or lower leg.

Gunnar points a thick finger at me and says, “I assume you don’t want me to throw you over my shoulder?”

“Fuck you.” I flip my brother the bird because this is how we communicate our love when our parents aren’t around.

Stellan scratches his chin, squinting at the apartment entrance. “I think we can hop this together,” he says.

Gunnar nods. “Odin, you put your left hand on the banister, right arm around me, and we’ll hop you up. Stelly can carry this contraption.”

“Why do you get to help him hop?” Stellan is now put out over not being chosen to help his invalid cousin up the stairs. I groan and finagle my roller toward the banister, testing my weight on the creaky railing.

“I’m his brother, asshole. When your brother gets hurt, you can help him hop.”

Stellan flicks Gunnar in the ear. “Don’t say that about getting hurt, man. You’re going to jinx us.”

I kick the knee roller away with a growl. “You guys going to fight all day or help me inside?”

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