Page 17 of Odin
I glance over my shoulder in time to see him nod tightly. “I have quite a few of those. Not the regular self-help bullshit. They’re the real deal. I get what it’s like to have your whole life changed. You don’t just move on from that within a few days.”
“I’m here. I didn’t think much past that. It sounds so stupid when I admit it.”
“It’s not stupid. I came here the same way. I followed a man with a dream and a promise of something bigger than myself. It’s not the same thing, but I know what it’s like to need to leave everything you know behind.”
“I know what it’s like to lose everything. You’d think I could just fall back on that. I know that grief never goes away. I know the sick clenching in my stomach and the sucker punch way it destroys your chest, even years later. I know I’m a survivor, so it’s pissing me off that I’m being a lame ass whiny brat right now.”
He grunts at my vehemence. If I went any harder, I’d be hissing. “I have books for that too.”
I can’t tell if he’s deadpanning or not, so I roll with it. “I’d love to read that. A shower would be great, but the tattoo?”
“The skin bandage they put on is fine to shower with.”
I should have asked. I trust Odin. He’s covered in tattoos, so if anyone knows how it goes for healing them, it’s him. He brushes past me and heads to the shelf with purpose, pulling out a well-thumbed paperback with creases in the orange spine. The cover is white, with a Buddha head on the front. Iwant to tell him that I don’t subscribe to categorical religious thought, but I guess Buddhism is more of a philosophy. Plus, I asked. I can’t just shit all over his advice.
He sets the book on the nightstand, leaving it there like it’s okay for me not to pick it up. He turns and bends down, his jeans tightening over his rock hard ass, his leather jacket literally groaning at the size of him as he reaches forward to slip a few records off the shelves. I get why that bowed angel looks like she’s weeping now. I had the impression that she’d be located in a graveyard, but she could also just be staring down at a body that has no right to be so fucking alluring.
I want to weep over his ass too, babe. I get you.
He pulls from various spots and leaves the stack beside the book.
“I hope that gets you through. If not, feel free to cry, yell, or scream. Whatever you need to do. A few guys might come running down the hallway to check on things, but nothing else will happen. I’ll protect your right to any emotions, however you want to feel them.”
“Oh god.” I remember that urge to laugh and scream, to rage and rail and yell and cry. I’ve read all about protecting your energy, about not trusting shaky thoughts, about how what you think defines you. I need to tell myself that I’m going to be fine, even if change is scary. I can face the world like a boss. I need to cling to that. “I’ll be okay. I stopped asking why a long time ago, when my dad was taken from me. I learned that there isn’t an answer. The universe is random and cruel. I know there’s love in the world, equal or greater than all that hate and pain, or at least, I want to cling to that hope. Bad things just happen and it hurts.It might even hurt a lot, over and over, but I do know that you get through it. I have plenty of practice. I’ll be okay. I promise.”
He looks even less convinced than before, but just like he’s done from the moment we met, he gives me his trust. Just like that. “That makes a lot of sense, what you said. I think that you’re right about all of it.”
“The tattoo pain helped release a lot of adrenaline. It was quite therapeutic.” I point to the TV. “Any shows that you’d recommend? Something with lots of drama and craziness that makes my situation look easy to handle?”
“I could recommend a few biker shows.”
Wow. Look at him flex his dry sense of humor again. This man is full of surprises. Over and over, he’s astounded me.
“Aren’t they horribly toxic and not at all close to reality?”
“Yes, but I thought that’s what you wanted.”
“You’re right. That fits what I asked for exactly. Do they get anything right?”
He thinks about that for a minute, lips pursed, frowning. He’s so unfairly attractive when he gives those broody vibes. “When you blend guys with pasts like ours, I can see how the toxic outlaw mentality would crop up. I’d say that we’re the exception. We’ve worked hard to be. We have rules here that we strive hard to follow. Tyrant is careful about how this club operates. That means who gets to prospect and patch in, and how we take care of and give back to the community. We weren’t all angels, despite the patch on our back, I can promise you that, but we’re no devils either. We might have our demons, but we come here and work through them. We don’t let them consume us.”
I stare at him, open mouthed. He takes it the wrong way, but isn’t offended.
“Sorry. You didn’t need a damn sermon. It’s easy to sum up, hard to put into practice. Tyrant and our VP, Raiden—they work tirelessly. We all do, but especially them. It all takes a toll, but they have a strong will and a good heart to match.”
My chest constricts right along with my throat. “You make this place sound like somewhere I’d want to stay.” Tarynn did too. And Crow, even though he’s the strong, silent type.
“You could,” he says carefully. “But you don’t have to feel obligated.”
“I can’t believe it. In LA, I don’t know a single person, even my friends from school, who would open up their hearts and their lives like this. It’s just not- not small town like that, I guess. That doesn’t mean I don’t know good people.”
“Not everyone is in a position to help others,” he reasons. “It’s a privilege and none of us take it lightly. We’ve all been helped ourselves, at some point.”
“I’ll never forget any of this. I won’t take it lightly either. And I promise that the next time I’m in a position to help, I will.”
“I think you would anyway. You’ve seen both sides of life. It didn’t feel like a gift at the time, I’m sure, but it was the fire to your steel.”
“Blacksmithing references?” I choke out. “Do you do that?”
