Page 42 of Odin
For years, I’d been dreaming of a family and an epic love story. I tried to make it work. Tried to carefully plan for all of it.
Now, I’m pregnant by my ex’s dad, who happens to be twice my age, and the only thing I feel at the moment is sheer terror. Not about any of that.
About the fact that tonight, the world could have lost another good man.
I force myself to move through the small apartment. I didn’t want to dress up for this dinner because we were staying in and that felt weird, but I still put on a pair of high-waisted, wide leg black pants, a gray sweater, and a white blouse with the collar sticking out over the top. I realize how I’m-going-to-a-job-interviewthe outfit looks, and there’s no way I’m going to the clubhouse wearing it.
I swap the pants for black jeans, roll up the ankles, and stuff my feet into a comfy pair of black boots. I don’t have many heavy weight shirts, but I settle on a green plaid button up, and top it with my vintage, fringed black leather jacket.
My hair is already swept back in a high ponytail. I was wearing minimal makeup, but I head to the bathroom and put on a thick layer of waterproof mascara, touch up the foundation I just cried streaks into, and opt for blush and soft pink lipstick. I need something to hide how pale I am, and having the ritual of changing clothes and applying makeup helps to keep my mind off all the slippery slope of freaking out that it wants to slide down.
By the time I slide behind the wheel of my car, I’m not really calm, but I’m definitelycalmer. I’m not going to spontaneously burst into tears.
Just to give myself a few more minutes to get myself under control, I pick up my phone and search for a Vietnamese restaurant close by. I find one with decent reviews, check their menu, then call in an order for pickup.
I drive over, more carefully than I usually would. All I keep getting are flashes of Odin, pinned under a mangledmotorcycle. Tarynn made sure I knew that wasn’t the case and that it wasn’t anything major, but still. It’s like getting a scare when you’re driving and for the next couple of days, taking far more care than you usually would.
I pick up the food in a giant paper bag. I have no idea what Odin likes, or what he’d consider comfort food, but hot ginger beef with wonton soup sounds a lot better than microwaved pasta and chicken turned goopy and chewy. I’ll eat that tomorrow and I’m okay with it because wasting food still makes me shudder, but it isn’t going to cut it tonight.
It only takes me another ten minutes to get to the clubhouse. It looks very much like it did the first night I pulled up here. Bikes all in neat rows in the compound, a few younger guys on guard duty out there, the asphalt parking lot littered with a few vehicles, the streetlight filtering down golden light on the immaculate brick building. The only thing that’s noticeably different is that the bushes out front have burlap bags on them to keep them settled in through the cooler weather, and the large trees on the corner of the lot have changed color. The streetlight doesn’t reach them fully, but during the day, I know what a bright yellow they are.
I park in the lot, grab the huge paper bag, and walk over with it tucked in my arms. The chain link gate is already rolled back and Jonathan, a younger guy who Odin said has been prospecting for a while, greets me with a smile. He has a total babyface, but somehow his leather jacket, roughed up jeans, and shitkicker boots still suit him.
“Hey, Willow. Tyrant said to watch for you. Odin’s in the lounge. I can take you in.”
“Sure.” I blink back the not so entirely unexpected sheen of tears. “Thanks.”
He leads me through that heavy steel door and down the long hallway. Even though I’ve been in the clubhouse a few times now, I’m still intrigued by all of it. Even if I was here a hundred times, I don’t know if it would lose its badass aura.
“I’ve been thinking about a club name for a long time now,” Jonathan says suddenly. I’m not sure if he’s noticed that I’m blinking way too much and breathing too deep to try and settle myself out, or if he’s just making conversation. “What do you think about Stabmaster?”
I do my best not to choke on the piece of peppermint gum I popped in my mouth in the car. “Oh. Do you uh- is stabbing people going to be part of your job?”
Jonathan is tall, with broad shoulders and gangly limbs. He’s one of those guys who hasn’t grown into their height yet and probably won’t until he fills out later. His smile is shy. “I’ve been practicing with knives. Not to stab anyone. We don’t do much of that as a club anymore.”
Anymore. Okay. Good to know.
“Maybe just Blade?”
He hums as he walks, some old fashioned sounding tune. Honestly, I think that this guy would get eaten alive in any other club, but not this one, and knowing that floods me with warmth.
“It’s a little common though, don’t you think? Maybe Blade Wielder.”
“Yeah. That’s cool.”
“Blade for short,” he winks at me, but then his face creases. “Shit. Sorry. I should take that bag for you.”
“Oh. No worries. It’s not heavy.” It’s also sending a pleasant warmth through me, and I’m in no hurry to get rid of it.
“Okay. If you’re sure.”
“I am, thanks.”
The closer we get to the lounge, the louder the hum of voices is, until I can hear everything being said.
“Sit down. She’s coming here. You don’t need to go anywhere. She’s not mad. That’s what we keep trying to tell you. If you won’t sit, I’m going to tackle you to the ground, throw you over my shoulder, and take you straight back to Archer’s. You clearly need a reassessment. I don’t believe that you don’t have a concussion.”
“I think the hearing damage just comes from being old.”
