Page 32 of Riding the Pine

She nods, still not talking.

“Is it okay to put my arm around you?”

Another nod.

As soon as we’re out of the bathroom, I curl an arm around her shoulders and guide her out of the house. Thankfully, no one’s around to ask questions or stop us on the way. I don’t know if that’s down to Raffi doing traffic control or what, but I pick my keys up from the table inside the door and get Athena to my 1983 Chevy Blazer, parked perfectly outside the house, without issue.

Once she’s got her seatbelt on, I pull away from the hockey house and drive into the darkness. My heart’s thrashing inside my body, ricocheting from rib to rib as I drive, the silence crippling me, but Athena works at her own pace, forcing her to talk won’t do either of us any good.

So, we sit, and I wait, and I drive.

About fifteen minutes into our adventure, she reaches across the center console and picks up my hand. I don’t react, don’t look at her, don’t crash the damn car in shock, but I let her plop my hand on her lap and let her hold onto it and idly stroke it as I drive.

I’m not sure if she’s trying to comfort me or draw comfort from me, but either way I can’t deny how nice it is to have one hand on the steering wheel, and one hand clasped between hers.

I find a gravel road to pull into on the way out home to Keystone. We’re near Newhall because I don’t want to wait a single minute longer to look into her eyes or give her the biggest hug of her life.

I cut the ignition, turn on the interior light, and wait some more.

Eventually, she looks up at me from under the hood of her sweater. Her eyes are sad, tear streaked cheeks are flushed pink, and her lip darker red toward the corner like she’s been chewing on it.

When I search her face in the dim light there’s a darkening bruise on her cheek like someone’s swiped a backhand at her.

Incandescent, white-hot rage vibrates through my body like I’ve jumped into an ice bath. It sears my body like an intense, fervid fire, and I can barely contain myself as I cautiously reach out to brush her hair out of her face to get a better look.

She doesn’t flinch or shirk away; she doesn’t drop her eyes from mine. My beautiful, strong, and stoic goddess Athena.

Her nostrils flare a split second before she opens her mouth to speak. “It was Mathias.”

CHAPTER 14

Athena

Istare at Scott’s face, poorly contained anger making his nose flare and his jaw hard. He doesn’t say anything but studies my cheek like he’s trying to figure out how to make it better and murder the person who hurt me all at the same time.

There’s a coldness in his eyes I haven’t seen before, and I know it’s not for me. He’s clearly torn, flickering between a deep, emotional whirlpool of intensity as he stops his fingers just short of touching my injury, and a blindingly bright rage that steals my breath away.

He grazes his knuckle across my cheek making me hiss. “It’s swollen.” His words are gritted through his teeth. He doesn’t hesitate for a second before he’s hopping out of his car and moving to the trunk. When he returns, he’s got a little ice pack in his hand. He snaps it to activate it and presses it to my face.

I cover his hand with mine, soaking in the cool relief of the ice pack and the warmth of his skin against mine.

I catch his gaze, it’s soft and full of fear and concern for me as he searches my face. When his eyes land on my wrist, he frowns, a deep ‘v’ appearing between his eyebrows.

“Did he grab your wrist, too?”

I nod. “It’s not what it looks like.”

“The fuck it isn’t, Athena. He hurt my…” He sucks in a slow breath. “He hurt you. It’s exactly what it looks like.”

It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask him what he was going to say. My what?What am I to you Scottis right there, simmering at the back of my throat but it doesn’t come out, I swallow down the burning question.

“He grabbed my wrist when I tried to walk away. He recognized my face or at least saw a similarity enough to want to grab me. But he grabbed too hard. He apologized.”

Scott’s not buying this for a single second.

“It’s true. He was spooked, I tried to flee, he grabbed my wrist too hard.”

Scott doesn’t move the ice pack from my face, and I don’t move my hand from under his. “And your face?” His voice is gruff, strained, like he’s trying so hard to hold back a tsunami of emotions, my heart flexes, swelling in my chest like it’s trying to catch every ounce of his feelings.

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