48. Scott
CHAPTER 48
Scott
APRIL 1ST
“ D o you want me to off him, Nieta?” Abuelita peers over her glasses. “I’m so old they can’t do that much to me if I get caught.”
It’s April Fool’s Day, so whether or not she’s joking isn’t exactly clear, but from the menacing glint in her eye, it seems she’s deadly serious.
My girl waves a dismissive hand as she scoops some kind of rice dish onto her plate. “I’ve got it.”
Abuelita shrugs. “The offer has no expiry date. And can be transferred to a new victim if the need arises.” She gives me the stink eye from across the room.
“Abuelita, if I need to be offed, Athena is more than capable of doing it herself.” I take a bite of potato salad from my plate. “And if she needs help, I know at least three people who won’t question why they need to assist her in burying my body.”
One of the men in question grunts.
We were supposed to hit Get the Fork Out, the local pie shop for lunch, but Megan—the owner—told us it would take a while for food to be ready as Susie, one of her workers, was putting out a fire in the kitchen.
The acrid smell, and the fact we’d have to wait, sent us right back to Casa de la Pena to raid Gabriella’s well-stocked fridge.
Abuelita points her fork at me. “Did you know that in Roman mythology Athena punished Medusa for being raped by Poseidon in her temple? She was more pissed about the defiling of her temple than anything else.”
I nod. “I don’t buy that the punishment was a way of protecting her from men, though.” Controversial hot take on the goddess Athena, perhaps. “And in Greek mythology, she punished Arachne for being a better seamstress than she was. I’m well aware of the force of nature that is your granddaughter, Abuelita. And I have no plans to hurt her.”
“Mamá, leave the boy alone.” Gabriella pats my shoulder as she walks past on her way to a seat at the far end of the table. Gang’s all here, well, except Alonso who has been suspiciously absent from the scene for a while now. I wonder where his body is and if anyone will ever find it.
My glasses slide down my nose but I’m too hungry to push them back up, so they’ll have to sit there until I’ve crammed every last morsel of this potato salad into my mouth. I think they’ve laced it with crack cocaine.
I’m serious. It’s the most delicious thing to ever—wait, the second most delicious thing I’ve ever had in my mouth.
“You want to take a breath there, Gizmo?” Athena’s smirking at me, her rice-filled fork poised halfway to her mouth.
I shake my head. Once my mouth is mostly empty, I attempt to speak. “If I die, I’ll go with something delicious in my mouth.” The innuendo was accidental but draws a giggle from my sweet Bright Eyes all the same.
It’s only been a couple weeks; it’s early days but I’m starting to see glimmers of her come back into everyday life. And so far, she hasn’t kicked me out of her place or murdered me.
The police never came to her door for me, either. Nor have they gone to the hockey house. I have a feeling my best friends made the whole situation disappear.
Tabitha—the UCR hockey community gossip column—reported that Brock had a fractured eye socket, jaw, and a few broken ribs. It’s not as much damage as I wanted to do, not as much as he deserved, but it was apparently enough for him not to come after me.
Tabitha reported it as a mugging, a random attack in the middle of the street, right on the heels of Athena’s attack. To her credit, Tabitha hasn’t reported a single word about Athena’s rape. I think if she did, the boys would go after her with the enthusiasm of a dog hearing the word ‘walk.’
“Scottie?” Athena bumps my foot under the dining table.
“Mmm?”
“You okay?” She purses her lips like she’s assessing me.
I nod. “Just lost in my thoughts a little.”
She nods back. “I know how that goes. Therapy did a number on you this morning, huh?” She may not be back at one hundred percent, but she’s not stupid, and she doesn’t miss a beat.
Before I can answer, Ares pushes back from the table. “Me too. Fucking therapy. Everyone talks about how good it is for you, but no one ever tells you how much fucking work it is.”
Apollo waves his fork at no one in particular. “Right? The homework is such a ball ache. Like, can’t I just throw money at someone to make my brain not fucked up?”
Athena snickers. “Riiiiight. Like there’s a sum of money on earth that could make that happen.”
“You walked into that, hermano.” Artemis has already had two plates of food, and he’s going back to the impromptu buffet on the counter for a third round. He’s not even wearing stretchy pants. Guy’s my fuckin’ hero.
“Always with the wise-assing.” Apollo’s fork is now pointing at Athena.
Gabriella and Abuelita stay quiet, but they’re both watching the exchange with amused expressions on their faces.
“Is it mature? No. Is it who I am? Yes, and I accept this.” Athena flips her hair over her shoulder. “You should also expect it by now, querido hermano.”
When everyone turns their attention back to their plates, Athena bumps me again with her foot. “Anything you want to talk about? I know therapy is a very personal thing, but if you need to talk, you know I’m always here.”
The weight of Artemis’s stare on my face telling me he feels the same way makes me look at him. “I know. It’s nothing.” At least nothing I’m going to talk about in front of Gabriella and Abuelita.
“Movie?” Athena has barely touched the food on her plate. But barely is better than not at all, so I’ll accept her efforts as progress and try not to worry about the fact my girlfriend is disappearing in front of my eyes.
“Absolutely.” I scoop the last of my food into my mouth and stand, moving to put the plate in the dishwasher. “Thanks so much for lunch.” I pat my stomach. “You saved me from an early death.”
Athena pushes back from the long, wooden table. “So dramatic.” She reaches a hand in my direction, and it strikes me how normal this all is. It’s like nothing has changed, and yet, Athena is holding my hand. Everything has changed, but the way her family simply accept this as part of everyday life warms my chest.
“You want to pick?” She casts a smile back over her shoulder. We both know she’s going to pass out in my arms and sleep like the dead.
A shiver snakes up my spine. Still too soon. The thought she could have died, and the flash of her lying there like a broken doll on the grass has me pulling her to me to kiss her forehead.
“I’m happy to pick.” I kiss her again.
“What is it?” She studies my face like a scholar.
“Just did some self-worth work today at therapy. It’s hard to believe it all, you know?”
She tugs me into the den, closing the door over halfway behind us. “It’s hard to believe self-worth?”
I nod, rubbing at the back of my neck with my palm. “My entrenched core beliefs about how I’m not good enough, or how I’m going to end up like my family members… that shit runs deep. It’s not something I’m just going to sneeze, and it’ll be magically fixed.”
She turns to face me head on, taking both my hands in hers, letting them hang between us. “Starting is the hardest part. Letting yourself believe that first little bit, grasping the thread, that’s the worst of it. Once you commit to the idea that you’re not the piece of shit you think you are, it gets a little easier each time.”
She speaks to me like she knows where I’m coming from. “It doesn’t matter what the core belief is, the process is the same. You just have to get your finger stuck into it and then grab it with another finger and another until you have one hand around it, then work on grabbing it with both hands. It’ll take time but being aware of it and working to break down those childhood beliefs… it’s worth every second of therapy, Scottie. You’ll get there.”
The way she speaks with such conviction tells me I have a zero percent chance of failing.
“And any time you might doubt your new belief system, just ask me, or my butthead brothers.” She tips her head to the side. “Or even Mamá, she told me you’re a good man, too. We all see what you don’t. Sometimes that’s the most frustrating part of everything. The person who needs to see it most doesn’t and spends time and energy and money in therapy to learn how to see something the rest of us see with little effort.”
She tugs me toward the couch, guiding both of us to sit, then snuggles into me. “You’re doing the hard thing, Scott Raine, and it’ll serve you well. But you have to open your heart to truly believing you’re worthy.” She yawns. “And not just because we all say so, but because you feel it.”
She taps my heart. “In here.”
And as she falls into a restful sleep on my chest, I think I’ve found the end of the thread she was talking about, and I’m ready to grab onto it with both hands.