6. Athena
CHAPTER 6
Athena
(EIGHTEEN YEARS OLD)
December 2019: The Birthdays Part II
“ H ark! The Herald angels sing.”
“Glory to the newborn king.”
I turn around to find Scott leaning against the doorframe of our living room. He’s got that adorable lopsided grin on his face, watching me battle it out with a twisted string of Christmas blinking lights and filling in the next line of my favorite Christmas carol.
“You going to just stand there? Or are you going to help?”
He quirks a brow as he tips his head to the side. “You seem to have things under control.” He sweeps his hand like I should continue. “But don’t you have anything else to do on your birthday? This seems somewhat anticlimactic for a Greek goddess.”
An unfamiliar sizzle in my cheeks burns as I shrug, which allows the cord of twinkling lights resting over my shoulder to slip, landing on the ground with a clunk. “It’s my birthday?” I try to seem carefree, like my birthday isn’t a big deal.
Hopefully my voice doesn’t betray the fact I’m not only surprised he remembered, but also kind of touched. December thirteenth is apparently close enough to Christmas to warrant a singular, combined ‘event’ gift from people who love me, and with Mamá having checked out this year, it seems no one else has remembered today is my eighteenth birthday.
Until Scott. He hums, but I don’t turn to look at him. I’m not sure I can resist his penetrating gaze, his swirling blue eyes, not today. Not right now. “If I don’t decorate this, no one else will.” Mamá usually puts up the Christmas decorations, or at least hires someone to do it. As soon as Thanksgiving is over, and the Black Friday purchases have been put away, our lights come out and the tree goes up.
Not this year.
This year, it seems it’s up to me. I’ve no idea what happened, but Mamá’s been kind of AWOL this week. It’s not like her to suddenly disappear off the face of the planet, and it’s even less common for her to have been left in peace and quiet. Abuelita assures me Mamá will be back, that she’s not feeling too well, but I’ve never known Mamá to drop the ball like this before.
I refuse to do every tree in the house. I’ll do this one in the main living room, and if that’s not enough, the boys can figure something else out. Or even Papá. He could make the effort to step outside his office and make something festive happen for a change.
The chance would be a fine thing.
Blinking back the sudden onslaught of hot tears filling my eyes, I turn my full attention to the knotted string of lights, sitting on the floor cross-legged, still not turning to look at my friend in the doorway.
That’s what we are, right? Friends? He’s one of the few people I know doesn’t talk to me simply because he wants access to my brothers, he already has it, and he talks to me regardless. I think that’s what friendship is. No ulterior motives.
“Do you want some help?” There’s emotion in his tone but I can’t place it. He hasn’t stepped into the room. He’s keeping his distance, standing in the doorway, not invading my space. Do I want him to? Is this sudden burst of unstable emotion working its way through my veins something I want to share with my brother’s best friend?
Biting my bottom lip, I shake my head. “I’m good, thanks. The boys are upstairs.”
Even without turning to look at him, I know he hovers, like he’s torn between respecting my dismissal and wanting to insert himself into my very scientific process of untangling these lights. I’m going to make damn sure they’re stored in a more sensible manner for next year. This is a battle no one deserves to face.
After pretending to ignore his existence for a long moment, he huffs out a long breath and leaves, taking some of the tension from the air with him.
I’m not sure how long it is before I take a break, but when I stand up, there’s a cramp in my calf, my back aches, and my butt is asleep. Safe to say I’ve been here a while. And the tree still isn’t dressed.
This shit is for the birds. I’m regretting my life choices to start this process in the first place.
My water bottle is empty, my travel coffee mug is empty, and my bottle of pop is empty too. After a quick trip to the bathroom, I head to the kitchen to get a refill before I start the decorating process now that the hard work of detangling the clump of lights has been completed.
As soon as I step into the kitchen I’m accosted by sights and sounds I wasn’t expecting. Ares and Scott are bent over Mom’s majestic yellow kitchen mixer, clouds of flour are exploding into the air as the mixer runs at full blast.
Apollo and Artemis are in charge of décor. Twin one is hanging streamers and balloons around the room, while Twin two is battling with a ‘Happy Birthday’ banner. I think it’s safe to assume that Scott has reminded my brothers today is my birthday. If they’d remembered by themselves, this chaos would have already been finished before now.
As if he can tell I’m thinking about him, Scott turns to me, his intense blue eyes cutting through the mayhem of the kitchen. He’s got a streak of flour accenting his right cheekbone, and there’s a stack of sticks of butter and blocks of cream cheese on the counter in front of him.
So far as I can tell, my brothers aren’t aware of my presence at the kitchen door, and as delayed as it is, I don’t really want to ruin their surprise or diminish their efforts.
I wave my empty bottle at Scott who nods and jerks his chin like I should leave them be. I hope that means he’ll bring me a refill.
I return to the living room, giving my whole attention back to this way-too-big tree and the strings of lights laid out in lines on the carpet. By the time Scott appears, I’ve got half a cord of colored lights wrapped around the pine-scented branches. I’m on a small stepladder, because when I say the tree is massive, I’m not exaggerating. It’s probably a good eight feet tall.
“Your drinks, m’lady.”
Even though I expected him and knew he had come into the room, his gruff voice still startles me, and I lose my balance. As if he’s making a prediction, he tosses my water bottle onto the couch and places a mug on the end table just as my foot slips off the edge of the step. I’m falling in slow motion. My stomach leaps into my throat as I instinctively throw both hands out to break my fall, but it never comes.
Strong, warm arms quickly band around my body, saving me from colliding face first with the floor. I squeak as Scott catches me on a grunt and turns me toward his chest.
Time freezes while we stare at each other, my cheeks heating from the embarrassment of being a damsel in distress, needing a strong man to save me from… well, anything really. My namesake was a fierce and ruthless warrior, brave and fearless. Any time life threatens to consume me, I remind myself of the great goddess Athena and the qualities she reportedly displayed and try to channel those.
The silence between us stretches out like a long stretch of Arizona desert. When his tongue snakes out to wet his bottom lip, I can’t help but flick my gaze to track its motions.
“My hero,” I manage, making us both chuckle in awkward amusement.
“I brought you drinks.” He’s talking to me, but his eyes are pinned to my lips like they might hold a secret he’s waiting for with bated breath.
“Got a little more than you bargained for.” I’m acutely aware of the fact he’s still holding me, crouched with me in his arms like an oversized baby.
A throat clearing makes Scott stand up, and our attention is pulled to the doorway. Ares has a weird look on his face as he regards his teammate cradling his sister. I bet he’s not thinking about how athletic and firm Scott’s muscles are as they hold my bodyweight, but it hasn’t missed my attention that his body isn’t that of a wiry teen anymore. He may be seventeen years old, but he’s bulking up into quite a well-defined man.
As he stands me up, my body brushes against the front of his, sending a shiver along the curve of my spine. I steady myself by placing my palm on his chest. Well-defined indeed.
“I need your help.” Ares sounds amused but I’m not looking at him to find out. “When you’re done helping Athena.” Before he turns to leave, I take half a step back from Scott, then shuffle a little further still. I need to put some space between me and the manly scent he has no business emanating as a seventeen-year-old teenager.
When my heel catches the leg of the small stepladder, both Scott and Ares dart in my direction, but I steady myself before I go down, again.
I hold up a hand, waving at them to leave me to drown in the quickly growing pool of embarrassment I’m standing in. “I’m good. Go help him.”
Scott’s eyes catch mine one last time, hesitating for just a long enough beat for me to notice before he nods and follows my brother back into the kitchen.
What the hell is wrong with me? What is it about Scott Raine that throws me off balance. Literally?
My fingers absently drift to my lips as I stare toward the now empty doorway. We never kissed, he drew a very clear boundary between us, and the way he moved on to the all-too-eager bunnies after the game last month reminds me of how he enforced it. But there’s something between us, something… more. Something that could probably flicker into a flame if we lit the kindling.
My racing heart, and the pulsing under my skin where he held me in his arms, remind me that it’s something I’d like to pursue, something I’m curious about. I don’t give a fuck that he’s a year younger than me, in the grand scheme of things that means nothing. I care that he drew the line in the snow, and that I have to respect.
Does it light me up the way my skin dances when he touches me? Of course it does. Am I afraid my brothers would beat fifty shades of blood out of him if something were to go wrong between us? Sure, but that’s their problem, not mine. Just like it’s my body, my choice. If I were to date their friend and they got all neanderthal about it, I’d take Abuelita’s chancla to their asses.
My body, my choice, as well they all fucking know, too. They learned that one the hard way.
When I was like, maybe thirteen, one of their friends wanted to date me. Looking back, it was a notch on the bedpost type thing. I’d always thought that bedding a de la Pena was only currency for women. However, it seems that since there’s only one of me, those bragging rights carry even more weight.
Anyway, I caught Apollo and Artemis threatening someone on their team with various forms of bodily harm. The guy wanted to ask me out on a date, he was cute, but knowing my three hockey playing brothers, I kind of have my own rules for dating jocks so I’d have said no.
Hearing them defend my honor and threaten a poor kid who was literally shaking in his skates by the end of the lecture only served to make my blood boil. And like the brat Mamá told me I was damn near every day as a child, I did exactly what my brothers didn’t want me to do. I dated the guy.
For months.
I got the worse end of that deal because dude was boring as fuck, but I wanted to prove a point. And I did, because they haven’t ever tried to stop me from dating since. At least, not that I know of, but they know that if I ever found out they’d intervened, they’d be in a world of fucking trouble.
Which is the other reason I’m not throwing myself at Scott and begging him to take a chance on us. Firstly, I don’t beg. But secondly, if a guy is too chicken shit to step up to my brothers and say, “she’s a grown-ass woman and can make her own choices,” then he doesn’t deserve to be with me.
Scott seems too concerned with what my brothers think to be able to take the leap, so we’ll circle each other in that weird, friends-with-chemistry sphere for the rest of our lives.
It’s another hour before the lights are all on the tree, and by now I need a fucking shower, but there’s a sweet smell of baking in the air that has my mouth watering and my feet moving me back toward the kitchen.
Laden with two full arms of empty drinks containers, I don’t get the full picture of the kitchen until I’ve dumped my travel mugs, bottles, and glasses into the sink and turn around. As if waiting for me to get my shit together and make an appearance, my brothers and Scott are sitting around the table wearing golden paper crowns, and there’s a selection of sandwiches and snack foods on tiered cake stands between them on the table. In the center, a two-tiered cake decorated with pink frosting that I think says my name on it but it’s kind of hard to read. Athena looks more like Abuelita, but considering how proud of themselves they look, I’m not going to burst their bubble.
There are pink and gold balloons around the room, and a banner that says Happy Birthday, Athena hung from the wall.
It’s hard to fight the lump that wells in my throat. When Scott told them today was my birthday, they probably panicked and figured they needed to go all-in to make me feel special. They’re not bad guys, they’re just slightly self-absorbed dumbasses sometimes. I mean, who isn’t from time to time?
Apollo pulls out the almost empty chair between him and Artemis and gestures, I guess for me to claim it. In order for that to happen, I have to get past the stuffed owl sitting there in my place.
Given my name, there isn’t much I don’t know about the Greek goddess I’m named after. The little owl, or Athene noctua, represents Athena’s intelligence and insight. The owl in general is linked to Athena, but specifically this type of owl. It has a flat-topped head, a plump, compact body and a short tail. It’s kind of adorable and has a tag tied around its neck on a piece of hot pink ribbon.
Trying not to react, I inch my way around the table, suddenly aware that everyone’s attention is on me. It’s something that usually wouldn’t bother me, but in this instance, I pull the little owl onto my lap and sit. The tag says, Happy Birthday, Bright Eyes . And I cast my own eyes everywhere but at the person who gave me such a thoughtful gift.
Thankfully, my brothers break the weird atmosphere settling over the table, they collectively lift teacups filled with what seems to be some kind of champagne or fizzy drink into the air.
“Happy birthday, Hermana.” Ares clinks his cup against mine. “We didn’t forget it was your birthday; we just momentarily didn’t remember.” My three brothers have the decency to look equal measures of embarrassed and guilty as they shift in their seats.
Scott seeks out my gaze, offering me a genuine smile across the table. I mouth “thank you” to him as my brothers all simmer in their discomfort.
He tips his head to the side like it was nothing.
If only he knew it was actually everything.