Forging Chaos (Forging #3)

7. Odin

CHAPTER 7

ODIN

I haven’t been to class since my injury. How long has it been? A week? A year? I only left the apartment once to follow up with my surgeon, and it was such a debacle getting up and down the stairs that I haven’t bothered since.

So, I don’t know why I’m up and dressed and slithering down the stairs on my ass to wheel myself to this arguments class. I pretty much decided to withdraw from the semester and finish later. I have nothing else to do in the fall. Except if I withdraw now, that leaves Thora without a partner.

We’ve hung out together daily, working on this project when she has time between her classes and her grueling schedule at the bar. She wants to take over and do this whole project herself, on her timeline, and…I don’t want to let her do that for some reason. The girl gets under my skin. So maybe I’m dragging myself up Forbes Avenue to prove something to her.

I growl in frustration when a car is parked too close to the corner, blocking the curb cut, and I can’t get my knee roller up without a hassle. Some jagoff honks at me when the light turns, and I question every one of my life choices to date.

Despite all of this, I’m always on time for class and events. People think I’m really laid back, but I guess growing up in a house with world-class athlete parents rubbed off on me. I’m disciplined about my schedule when I care, which I did until I got hurt.

I park my roller in the back corner of the class and wedge myself into the too-small desk, sprawling my cast into the aisle but unable to do anything about it. Thora walks in, and I watch her eyes widen at the sight of me. She hurries to a desk in front of me and sinks into the seat, her dark hair flouncing over her tiny shoulders. She really is a small person.

“What are you doing here?” She hiss-whispers like it’s some secret or like I’m an intruder.

I shrug. “Attending class? With my project partner?”

Her eyes roll hard enough to make me dizzy. “Aren’t you supposed to be in bed with your foot elevated or something?”

I waggle my eyebrows at her. “You like thinking of me in bed, Janssen?” An adorable flush blooms across her cheeks as the professor makes his way into the room and dumps his stuff on the lectern he never uses. Professor Ferda likes to sit on the edge of a table, facing us but still looming above us. Except I’m pretty much at eye level with him, sitting. Not that I’ve made a habit of making eye contact.

“All right, scholars,” he says, clapping his hands. “We’ve got what? A week left together? By now, you’ve got all the basic concepts for forming effective arguments, persuading an audience, and utilizing a call to action, right? Right?” He waits for us all to murmur at him, and he smiles. “So, I’m going to give you all a chance to workshop your final presentations. If you’re not already, please move to sit with your partner. You’ll have five minutes to organize your outlines, and then I will have you swap with another group.”

Professor Ferda hands out a worksheet with things we are supposed to look for in each other’s outlines. I’m one thousand percent certain Thora, and I have all this shit in place already. The last draft of the outline she sent me was so detailed I spent a half hour just crossing things out and whittling it all down.

Which she points out when she flings our printed outline onto her desk and glares at me. “What’s with all this? Those were good ideas.”

“We would have gone over the time limit,” I insist. “It’s more refined this way—three main arguments. We can’t get into the weeds talking about socialized healthcare and paid parental leave when we only have ten minutes. We need to stick to education.”

Thora frowns. I could already tell she was one of those people who spews out the entire context of every possible angle before she can get to the meat of an argument. Except when she’s sparring with me, it seems. And I kind of like that she gives me shit on a regular basis. Who shows up in someone’s hospital room to yell at them about group work? This girl.

“The free healthcare is important, though. It shows the Scandinavian values.”

“Are we talking about the merits of socialism, or are we talking about free college?” I raise a brow and cross my arms.

She huffs. “They’re the same thing.” She crosses her arms.

I’m about to tell her she’s absolutely incorrect when Professor Ferda stops by my desk. “Hey, Odin.” His voice is saccharine, like I’m seven and scraped my knee. “I was sorry to hear about your injury. I wasn’t expecting you back in class after your advisor reached out.”

I shrug. “I haven’t talked to him this week. I would never leave Thora high and dry.” I wink at her, and that seems to piss her off, so I file that away to do it again sometime.

Professor Ferda nods and purses his lips before saying, “Okay, great. Well, why don’t you two switch papers with Jean and Malcolm?”

I let Thora scribble all over the other group’s notes, watching as she mutters to herself the whole time. Class ends, and we get our paper back with only a few smiley faces in the margins. I can tell this bothers Thora, so I thank Jean and slide the paper into my sweatpants pocket. “Where to now?” I ask Thora, and she rears her head in confusion.

“Um, I work.”

I frown. I hadn’t considered that she had shit to do and wouldn’t just come back to my place for more arguments. If I’m really honest, I want her near my bed in case I convince her to join me in it. I scratch my chin. “At the bar?” She nods. “But it’s slow during the day if you want to finish our sources in between customers?”

I shrug. “I guess I’ll be a barfly then. I’ve never been to a bar during daylight hours…”

“I can’t believe this is how you’re going to spend your afternoon.” She tugs on her backpack straps.

I realize I haven’t exactly told her that this paper is officially the only thing I have going on until I start physical therapy. I get myself situated on the knee roller.

She winces. “Are you going to sit there and bug me?”

“Ah, so I bug you? Sounds interesting.” Veins start pulsing in her neck, and I laugh. “I’ll sit on a bar stool, and eat some soup or something, and work on our bibliography.”

Thora bites her lip, which is probably the only plump thing on her body, and I stare as she works her teeth along the rosy, sensitive skin. “I guess that’s okay.”

I start rolling back down Forbes, and she walks beside me. “Don’t you usually work evenings?”

She sighs. “I work whenever I can get in there. You know I’m moving to the UK this fall, right?” I shake my head. She hums. “Fern and I both are. She’s there long term but I’m just there for a year. And I need so much stuff I can’t afford yet.” She pauses while I navigate a curb cut, successfully this time. “ You probably don’t care about my airfare or professional wardrobe.”

“I care. I’m not an asshole.”

“Oh, no, you’re renowned for your benevolence.” Thora laughs. “What do they say about you? That you rack people up by the horns or something?”

“Well, nobody’s going to say that ever again, are they?”

Thora stares at me with her mouth hanging open. “Oh my god, Odin. I’m so sorry. I keep doing that to you. How can you stand me?”

“I’m not really sure I can,” I joke. We get to the bar, and she holds the door open. I’m happy to see this place has a ramp from the curb. I guess the owners want everyone to be able to access their cheap beer and fried food. I make my way to the stool at the end of the bar, and Thora walks behind it, tossing her bag somewhere and tugging on a black apron.

“What’ll it be, Stag?”

I consider this. She’s right about the meds not mixing with liquor. But this place serves all kinds of fried food I’m never allowed to eat while training. And I’ll never have anyone telling me what to eat again. I slap the sticky wood surface of the bar. “Bring me the app platter.”

She frowns. “That’s meant to serve four people.”

“App. Platter.” I enunciate each syllable and pop all the p’s until Thora laughs and shakes her head. I watch as she types in my order and then hurries to serve some preppy kid who thinks he’s cool because winks at the bartender.

She walks off to pour his beer, and I glare at him when he sets a crumpled dollar in a ring of condensation on the bar. He walks off with his beer as Thora heads to the kitchen, presumably for my food, and I reach in my wallet for a five, placing that guy’s shitty tip along with my addition on a drink napkin, nice and smooth and dry.

When Thora sets the food in front of me, she sees the tip, and a smile spreads wide across her face. She folds the bills neatly and adds them to the jar by the register.

I eat all the fried food, knowing it will make my gut churn. It takes me five minutes to type up our sources for our essay, so I take my time and watch her work. I confer with her between customers and add some stuff that we can use for our presentation to a list on my phone.

I was going to pester her into returning to my apartment after her shift, but I'm exhausted between leaving the house and eating all the heavy food. I text my cousins to come get me and leave a twenty folded neatly by my plate.

I force myself to walk away because if she sees me, she will refuse the tip, and I want her to have it.

When I get back to the apartment, there’s an envelope sitting on my pillow. I frown at it because the edge is ripped like one of these buffoons opened my mail. I sit on the edge of my bed and chill my irritation when I see the letter is only addressed to “Mr. Stag,” which could really be anyone here.

My guts churn when I see that it’s a check from the college football video game that made me into a character. I knew this was coming, but it still feels like shit to see it sitting here. What the fuck am I supposed to do with this money? What kid wants me in their damn video game anymore?

I consider ripping up the damn thing, but that feels disrespectful to Thora, who is still working behind the bar and will be for hours. I shove the check and the envelope in my desk drawer and pop a pain pill, hoping for sleep.