Page 136 of Bloom

His name leaves my lips, a weak protest. I don’t want an apology, not when it’s not a real one, not when Dad doesn’t think he’s done anything wrong, not when he never will. I want to get out of here, to not feel like I’m a specimen being studied under a microscope, to rewind an hour to when Hunter stormed off the ranch and to grow enough of a backbone to ignore Lux and follow him and stop this from happening.

“Go on,” Hunter taunts. “Two words. You can do that, can’t you, Ken?”

“Fuck off,” Dad spits. “Fucking hick. You think she’s worth this shit?”

“You haveno ideawhat she’s worth to me. And I really don’t think you wanna find out.”

“Hunter, stop it,” I snap, trulysnap, because I’m suffocating under the weight of everyone watching this, looking at me, at my cheek, and I’m seeing freaking thought bubbles floating above their heads, full of cogs turning and puzzle pieces slotting together and conclusions being drawn, and I hate it and I’m humiliated and I’mfurious. “Let him go, please.”

He does. Without hesitation or argument, he lets my dad go, only to grab him a second later when he stumbles a single, minute step my way.

Hunter isn’t rough or violent or even all that threatening, really—he’s just completely and utterly serious as he murmurs, low but somehow thunderously loud, “You don’t talk to her. You touch her again, and I’ll break more than your nose. You so much aslookat her, I’ll bury you.”

Dad grumbles something incoherent, but his gaze drops, and his head bobs in jerky acknowledgement. Even in his drunken state, he must hear the clear, undeniable truth to Hunter’s words.

I know I do. I know I believe them. I know I don't know how to feel about them.

I know that’s a lie; I know exactly how,what, I feel. I just don’t know what kind of a person that makes me, flushing and swooning and squirming over a blatant, violent threat like that when violence is what brought us here.

The same kind of person as Lux, I guess, because out of the corner of my eye, I swear I see her fanning herself.

That snaps me out of it. Reminds me that there’s people watching, people witnessing, people jotting the current happenings down in their notes app so they can relay everythingin perfect detail later to those who missed it, and I’ve never wanted something more than I want tonotbe here.

“I’m so sorry,” I tell Tommy, I say to everyone. “I’m so, so sorry.”

If there’s a response, an acknowledgement, I don’t notice it. For a minute, I don’t register anything but my dad, slouched over and glaring at the floor, bleeding and hurting, and guilt roils in my stomach, the instinctual urge to apologize weighing down my tongue, and I realize this is how you’re supposed to feel when you see a family member in pain. You’re supposed to care. You’re supposed to apologize if it’s your fault.

Dad doesn’t care. He would never have apologized—even with Hunter holding him down and forcing him to, I don’t think his pride would’ve let him.

I think about what Lux said about family. About my dad not being mine. About my mom.

When I turn to my friend, to Jackson hovering beside her looking very confused, and ask if they can make sure my dad goes home, I promise myself, I swear on everything dear to me, that it’s the last good thing I’ll ever do for him.

And then I turn around. I leave without looking back. I walk down Main Street until I can breathe again.

A brick wall abrading my back, I stare at my shoes. The longer I do, the blurrier the drops of blood,my blood, marring them get. When I hear footsteps, I blink away the burgeoning tears, breathing deeply before looking up. “I asked you not to do anything.”

Hunter stops barely a couple of inches away from me, thumbs casually hooked around his belt buckle. “I know.”

“Ibeggedyou.”

“I know, honey.”

I drop my gaze to the ground again. “Did you see how they were looking at me? Theyknow.Everyone’sgonna know.”

His boots float into my line of sight. His mouth brushes my hairline a second before his forehead nudges mine. “You have nothing to be ashamed of.”

I jerk backward as much as I can, scrunching my eyes shut as I shake my head because I can’t disagree with him to his face, not when he’s looking at me the way he’s looking at me right now—infuriatingly understanding, infuriatingly close, infuriatingly calm. “Not wanting everyone to know every sordid detail of my entire life doesn’t mean I’mashamed, Hunter. It means it’smylife.Mybusiness.”

I feel the air shift as he nods. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“If you know, then why did you do it?”

He pauses for a second; collecting his thoughts or, more likely, giving me a moment to collect myself. “I went to your house first. Figured he would still be there. The door was open, so I let myself in.” Gingerly cupping my cheek, he grazes a thumb over the cut on my cheekbone. “I saw the glass. The blood.” He kisses the same spot, featherlight. “Imagined him hurtin’ you. Couldn’t stop imaginin’ it.”

I open my eyes and I immediately wish I hadn’t because his? Theyburn. Bright and angry, but not at me,forme. “And then I found him in Bishop’s, drinkin’ and fuckin'laughin’. He knew who I was, y’know. He said it was too late, that you were all mine now, he wouldn’t take you off my hands. He talked so much shit, Line, shit I don’t wanna repeat, and I couldn’t just sit there, I couldn’t let him talk about the woman I love like that, and I snapped.”

He snapped. He threw a glass at his face, I vaguely remember my dad saying. He cracked my dad’s head against the counter hard enough tobreak his nose. He—

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