Page 40 of Fallen Gods

I angrily toss the phone onto my bed and grab my shower caddy. When I walk out of the room, it’s to see Rey just getting back. As she brushes past me, I can tell she still smells like a fresh spring day. It’s like she wasn’t just covered in mud minutes ago.

Lights continue to flicker overhead. It’s not helping with my bad mood.

“Are they going to do that all semester?” she asks like she wants to spark up a conversation with me, despite all outward warnings that I’m ready to explode.

I roll my eyes and pass her, giving her a wide berth. “Maybe we’re cursed because you’re on this wing now.”

“Very funny,” she says, her gaze focused on the key card she waves in front of her locked door.

“Wasn’t joking.”

The lock dings, and she turns. “Hey, Aric—”

“Nope.” I ignore her and go into the bathroom, shutting her out of my life and my thoughts as much as possible.

The moment the door closes behind me, I can finally exhale.

I cross the room in three strides and turn the shower on—hot, as hot as it goes—then brace both hands on the sink whilesteam curls up the mirror like fingers trying to blur me out of the picture.

I strip. Step in.

The heat hits like a punch, and I welcome it.

The minutes tick by as I stand there too long, water pounding over my head, down my back, trying to scald the memory of her from my skin. It doesn’t work. The heat just makes her feel closer.

Her voice still echoes in my ears. That look she gave me—half challenge, half invitation—like she was daring me to lose control.

And I almost did.

I tip my head forward, press my forehead to the tile.

This can’t keep happening.

Since my parents died, I’ve kept everything contained—my grief, my anger, the expectations from my grandfather to take over what’s left of the family’s legacy. I didn’t ask for this weight. But I carry it all the same, because someone has to. Someone has to wear the crown before it’s taken from us.

Just thinking of Odin and what he did to my parents makes my muscles lock tight, fists clenching on instinct. Fuck me. I came in here to calm down, not ratchet my rage higher.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath, steam filling my lungs as I drag the heat in and hold it there. Inhale, count to three. Exhale, count to three. I repeat the exercise my therapist taught me, and my pulse slows, shoulders ease, a semblance of control seeping back into my bones.

Control. Such a simple word. And the only thing keeping me from breaking.

Yet when Rey’s in the room, I have none.

She tears the ground out from under me without trying. Looks at me like I’m a puzzle she already solved and resents the answer.

And I hate her for that. Almost as much as I hate the part of methat wants her anyway.

The water turns cold, but I stay under it. Let the sting anchor me as I think through what to do about this woman. It’s obvious she’s not going to give up. Maybe even can’t. But that doesn’t mean I can’t seize control of the situation. Use it to my advantage.

When I finally step out, I’ve made my decision. I move slowly, deliberately. Let the plan settle against my chest like a familiar blanket.

I grab my towel, sling it around my waist. Breathe.

Dragging my fist across the fogged surface, I create a clear slash across the mirror. The reflection that stares back at me? Good. I look like a man who has it together.

And all because of one simple plan.

She wants to get close? I’ll let her. I’ll play along, give her what shethinksshe wants—access, proximity, influence.