Page 43 of Odin
“He’s probably had enough of the ground. He left half his skin all over it.”
“Odin. Seriously.Sit down. You’re banged up, bandaged, and half skinned. You look two shades better than roadkill. That tar snake fucked you six ways to Sunday.”
“You don’t understand. I gave my word.”
I don’t know who the other voices belong to, but it’s clear that they’re not being cruel. They’re concerned, but they’re also keeping things as light as possible. A little bit of brotherly, good natured teasing to talk Odin down.
As soon as I hear him, I want to rush down the remaining hallway, clear the corner, and careen into the lounge. I want to throw myself at him and tell him it’s all good. I’m here.We’refine. And probably burst into tears and embarrass myself by sniffling different versions ofthank fuck you’re alivethrough it all.
I don’t want to be anything other than encouraging, so I make sure I keep a measured pace behind Jonathan, no matter how much I want to shove the bag into his arms and take off.
“Wedoget it. That’s why we keep telling you that she’ll be here shortly.” That’s Crow. I know his voice.
“You don’t know that.” Odin’s low growl is more of a question, though.
“We do, because she told Tarynn she was on her way, and Tarynn asked Crow to ask Tyrant to get the okay for her to spend the night here so she doesn’t have to drive back to Crow’s shop at some ungodly hour. It’s all good. Everything’s fine. Is it low blood sugar? Is that what’s happening?” Raiden has a certain way of speaking, a sort of drawl that he probably doesn’t even notice, but I do.
“I think that must be it. Everyone gets hangry and spacey when they haven’t eaten, get knocked about, pass out, have to see the surgeon, get bandaged up, have to ride in a cage back across the city, and try to start several fights because of selective hearing.”
“You’re an asshole.”Thatgrowl doesn’t have any uncertainty in it.
“Love you too, darling.”
It’s clear that they really do, though. All of them.
And hearing that does my heart so, so good. It’s a beautiful reminder that the family I dreamed of for so long can and does exist in the world. The life I spent so many years trying to build, and so much effort trying to make work, isn’t the only thing out there. Just because it didn’t work out, doesn’t mean that nothing ever will. It doesn’t mean that even though I was wrong about love before, doesn’t mean I’m wrong about this.
I knew what I was going to say tonight. I had it planned out. I’d gone over and over it in my head, just to make sure there weren’t any loopholes.
I was relying solely on logic. On science. I tend to fall back on reason to make decisions. Most people will tell you that that’s a solid basis and a good idea.
These men are one percenters. Meaning that they’re not like other people. I think the term originally meant something not so great and the connotation has stuck, striking fear and probably loathing into the hearts of people who can coexist in society. I take it to mean that the men here are different than most people, and maybe society didn’t want them, but they found their ninety-nine percent here. They created it. Found family. Brotherhood. Shared values.
As I follow Jonathan around the corner, down the short hall that branches off into the front of the clubhouse where the lounge and kitchen are, I know that whatever I had planned to say tonight is no longer a thing. Fake marriage or not, I’m a part of this family. I’m in Odin’s life. We don’t need to talk about the future tonight. It’ll be there in the morning.
Tonight, all I want to do is sit beside him, soak him in, bask in his presence, and be thankful that he’s here, and celebrate the fact that he’s in my life at all.
Chapter 15
Odin
Ididn’t realize just how much it hurt to try to breathe until Jonathan walks into the lounge and behind him, follows Willow. My lungs unclench, air rushes in and whooshes out. The world is only blurry because my one good eye is seeing it through a sheen of moisture.
She’s so beautiful with the slight pink flush on her cheeks, her eyes wide, taking in everything and everyone in the lounge. Her lips are the softest petal pink, her hair scraped into a high ponytail, back to its natural shade, so soft and shiny under the fluorescent lights in here.
She’s here. She’s smiling softly in relief, which detonates a massive relief bomb inside my chest. She’s not angry. She’s real, she’s peaceful, and she’s looking at me like I’m the one person in the world that she wanted to see.
I just about fall to my knees, and not just because half my body is throbbing and aching like I’ve been skinned alive, and things have been hazy since right before I passed out under my bike and came to in Archer’s basement clinic. The wounds are nothing compared to the pressure that had built in my chest, the panic, the urgent need to get the fuck out of this place and get to Willow and just talk to her.
It didn’t make much sense, even to me.
I have no idea why the sight of her is like water poured on my burning skin, and a balm to my torn up insides. I feel the same way I did when I walked into the park after not seeing her for weeks when I thought I’d never set eyes on her again. It’s too much. Too strong. It’s a nonsensical attachment. Iknowthat. I can’t just turn off the way I feel, though.
I can’t pretend that all the tension I had locked in my body doesn’t evaporate the second I see her.
“Hey,” she breathes, holding out the bag in front of her. “I brought Vietnamese.”
“Ooh!” Zeppelin walks up and pokes me in the ribs. The good side, where I’m not all banged up. It’s not hard to spot, because I have gauze bandages wrapped all over the other side, poking out from under the way too big t-shirt that someone went and found for me and brought to Archer’s. “Did you bring enough for everyone?”
