Sinclair

Chapter Nine: Chicken Alfredo

"AND THAT'S WHY I need you to start doing my grocery shopping," I finish with a huff. Anyone with perfectly functioning ears can hear the resigned annoyance my tone carries as I beg my brother to make plans in his Saturday to do my grocery shopping since I am too much of a coward to face the stares and the harsh criticism that I know is going along with those stares.

My brother, Odin, lets out this large, exaggerated half groan, half sigh and I can see him so clearly in my mind's eye, rolling his eyes up to the ceiling as he sends a silent prayer to the big man upstairs to keep himself from driving over to my house just to strangle to death.

"Freyja, you know how this town works," Odin says, using the same tone an exasperated parent would use with a child. "By the time you have to go shopping for food again, they'll have forgotten all about you."

I didn't answer because I knew that wasn't true. Well, it was true that if I stayed away from Bruiser and Sinclair and everything Iron Order, the rumors would die down. Just like with all small towns, if you didn't give them a reason to gossip, they just moved on to the next thing. But these rumors would be unable to die down because I was going to be giving this town a lot to gossip about. Not only had Sinnerman himself been in my yard and in my house, I was going to be walking around the Carn-Evil with him tomorrow night. The text I had gotten from him after he left yesterday made holding my phone feel equivalent to holding a ticking time bomb in my hands.

No, the gossip would definitely not die down. It was just going to get worse. And once word reached Mom, there would be no way for me to deny the rumors like last time. When I had made my promise to stay away from anyone from The Iron Order, I had truly meant it. But after having been given the choice to ride Sinclair the way one rides a horse or go to a carnival with him, I had to choose the lesser of two evils. Because while riding Sinclair was a lot of fun—something I know from a lot of experience—it wasn't something that was good for me or him.

"Please, Odin," I begged softly, squeezing my eyes closed. "Just this one Saturday. Please."

Odin is so quiet on the other end that for a split second, I assume he's hung up on me. But then he speaks again, in a slightly worried tone.

"Are you sure you're okay, Freyja? Those Iron Order guys aren't threatening you or anything like that, are they? Because if they are, I can—"

I smile softly—half because I'm touched that my little brother would go through such lengths for me, and half bitterly because I know that, despite how big and strong my brother is for his age, if it came down between a fight between him and Sinclair, Sinclair would win hands down.

I shake my head and then, realizing he can't see me, I tell him, "No, Odin, they're not bothering me. They're just...I knew some of them a long time ago and they wanted to check on me, I guess. It's not really a big deal."

"Wait, you knew people from The Iron Order?" Odin asks his question so loudly, I have to cringe and hold the phone away from my ear.

"Jesus, Odin, you little shit, want to say that any louder?"

"You knew people from The Iron Order?" he asks again, his voice quieter this time. He says the name with the same kind of fear, disdain and begrudging respect as the rest of the residents of Willow's Creek. There is something about The Iron Order that demands all of those things: fear, disdain, and respect. No matter how much you hate them, no matter how much you fear them, you cannot help but respect them. They're a lot like the old crime families you see in mafia movies.

"Yes, I knew a couple of them from a long time ago. When I was in high school," I fib. "This was long before The Iron Order was even really a thing. Remember that summer internship I had working with Fara Earthly, the top critic for The New York Times? Yeah, I met some of them there."