Forging Chaos (Forging #3)

38. Thora

CHAPTER 38

THORA

EARLY DECEMBER

I shiver on the banks of the Isis, glad Odin’s mom sent me a Snuggie-type garment, even if it does have a giant stag on the back. Let the people see who I’m rooting for, I say.

While I don’t understand why the Cambridge and Oxford rowing teams compete against each other in December like maniacs, I’m really happy to be here cheering for Odin. Intercollegiate rowing is different here than how sports work back in the States. Oxford has crew teams for each college within the university, but then one fancy Blue Boat team that seems to line up with infamy over here the way varsity football does in the US.

Six months ago, I would have felt guilty about taking an entire Saturday to watch someone else do things for the whole day. I would have tried to work the bar in the boat house or squeezed in some work before and after the event.

But today, I woke up in my bed with my giant boyfriend wrapped around me, had morning good-luck sex, and wandered over to the river leisurely, with a thermos of tea, to sit with the other wives and girlfriends. And I’m going to hang out for the social after the races, too.

It’s been a big term for me. I say term now, like a proper English schoolgirl, instead of semester. I’ve learned to relax, go sightseeing with Fern, and massage my boyfriend’s shoulders after practice. He doesn’t technically live with me because that would violate the rules, but we spend most of our time together.

I love it.

And I love him. I just haven’t worked up the nerve to tell him yet.

I sit up straighter as I watch the judges line up the bow balls for the eight-seater boats. Odin is in the middle, a place he tells me is called the engine of the boat. He’s out there in a unitard tank top, tiny socks, and little shoes that are actually built into the boat.

He’s about ten weeks out of his cast now, rowing like a regular guy, he says. The official fires the starter pistol, and I hear the little shouty guys in the backs of the boats yelling at the rowers. “Power ten,” they holler, and “move it.”

I see them moving it, all right. I clutch my tea mug, watching Odin’s shoulder muscles move in sync with the other athletes in his boat. But his body is the most beautiful. This is objective fact. Years of elite training have done him a million favors in honing his muscles.

The woman next to me elbows me. “Look at your man go!”

I nod. “He’s worked really hard to be here.”

The Oxford boat creeps ahead of the Cambridge boat, oars flying, and hardly any water splashes as these guys move with perfect form. I feel my cell phone buzzing in my pocket and realize Odin’s mom is waiting for an update. I know they’re streaming the race live online, but I’m sure there’s a lag. I told Juniper I’d try to respond, but now I don’t want to look away as the rival boat starts gaining on Oxford.

Yesterday afternoon, I was presenting data on the correlation between family support policies and reduced recidivism across multiple European countries’ correctional systems. Odin stood in the back, pumping his fist silently while I talked to a crowd of intellectuals from around the world. He wore a bespoke suit and then took me out to dinner at the nicest pub in town, telling me he could listen to me talk about justice and equity forever.

Old Thora would have protested and insisted on paying. When we arrived four months ago, I kept trying to give him his scholarship money back. But I’ve learned to appreciate the gifts he gives me as just that: no strings attached. They are offerings from his heart, things he wants me to have because it makes him happy to see me succeed.

I’m sure I would have felt proud of myself without him here. I probably would have felt confident in my role here, my power as a researcher, and knowing that my work matters. But having Odin at my side for all of it? Cheering for me and doting on me? It’s like a dream I never dared to imagine.

When the coxswain notices the Cambridge boat creeping ahead and starts bellowing at Odin’s team to use “Pick it up, lads!” I fly to my feet, the stag Snuggie dropping to the grass.

“Stronger strokes, Odin Stag,” I scream through my cupped hands. “Eat their water!” He doesn’t turn his head to face me, but I catch a glimpse of his lips turning up in a smile. The Oxford guys kick it into a new gear, and the boat catches Cambridge. I run along the course, closer to the finish rope. “Come on, Blue.” My throat is hoarse as I watch the eight rowers’ knees and arms moving in unison. I can see the muscles of their thighs, the ripples in their shoulders and backs as they dig and dig until it’s over. As the boat glides to a stop, Odin pumps a fist in the air.

He’s so happy when he’s competing like his body was made to do this. Sure, he’s doing great in his coursework. And he’s really looking forward to working with a professional sports team someday, helping the athletes balance the mental aspects of competition … and coping with injuries that prevent them from doing what they love .

But for now, he gets another chance to be a beast. To tax his body to the limit and feel that glory from working in unison with his team.

Back on land, I see him looking for me, and I run to him, Snuggie flapping in the wind as he wraps his long, sweaty arms around me. “Thora! Did you see that shit?”

I kiss his neck, tasting salt. “I did, babe. You were amazing.” He turns to wave at a passing fan, and I glance down at the thick vertical scar on his right ankle, which is a reminder that all of this is fleeting.

His muscles bulge around the spandex uniform, and his bare feet look strong, gripping the dock. He’s in his element here, and he wants me to be part of it, holding me close and kissing me again and again. “Ugh,” he moans. “I have to help put shit away. But you’ll meet me inside?” He points at the boat house, where fans are heading, some joyful, some frustrated.

“Of course I will.” My smile widens as he grips my arm. “Hey.” He looks down, eyebrows raised, body poised to go and help his team with the boat. I pull his palm to my chest and press it above my ribs. “I love you, Odin. I love you so much.”

The smile that splits his face is bright enough to catch a glare from the river. “Thora, I’ve loved you since the day you showed up in my hospital room,” he says, lifting me off the ground so my face is level with his. “I’ve been waiting and waiting for you to feel ready to say it.”

I kiss the tip of his nose. “I’m ready now,” I tell him. “I never want to stop.”

He kisses me, lips cold despite his internal furnace. He spins me around, and I laugh at the beauty of all of it. “I love you,” I repeat.

“I love the hell out of you,” he says. He sets me down. “Okay, that one was a little weird.” He pulls my hand up and presses a kiss to my palm. “I love you, and I need to go put this boat away.”

“Go,” I tell him, and he steps backward, waving.

I snap a picture with my phone as he walks toward the boat, his torso turned toward me, arm waving, smile shooting sparks my way.

I missed a hundred messages from his family asking about the race. Apparently, the online stream didn’t work. I send the photo to his family group chat, telling them, “My man, the victor. They crushed those light blue Cambridge Smurfs.”

I also sent the picture to my mom, telling her I wish she could have seen Odin row, and promising her that she’ll get to meet him at Christmas. Dad got a job washing dishes at the diner where Mom works, and things have been a little better back home. I might not ever be able to help lift enough stigma and baggage to help my parents directly, but I know my work will make a difference for other families like mine.

I know Odin Stag will be at my side wherever I go, rooting for me and making life work together. I used to think commitments to other people would be a burden, that opening myself up to anyone, but Fern would hold me back. I see now how these connections Odin has forced upon me have opened my world.

I grab a beer for each of us and sit on a bench at one of the long tables to wait for him.

My body relaxes when he arrives, gray sweats over his uniform, sandals on his still-bare feet. He slides onto the bench and pulls me into his arms, kissing me before reaching for his beer. “I love you,” he says. “I’m going to say it twenty times an hour now.”

“I love you too.” I clink my cup against his, lean my head on his shoulder, and sip my drink happily. “Hey,” I say, turning again to face him. “Did I ever thank you for following me here?”

He grins. “No, but that’s okay. I can tell you need me.”

“Oh, I need you, do I?”

He nods and finishes his beer in one more gulp. “You need it bad, Thora Janssen.” He squints, studying me, and then leans in close. “In fact, I think we should get out of here.”

“You don’t want to stay and celebrate with your team?”

He shakes his head, hops to his feet, and reaches for my hand. “What I want is you, Thora. Always.”