Page 17 of Bloom

Technically, the hard seltzers I brandish were bought under Lux’s direction—a bribe if I’ve ever seen one—but hey, I’ll take the credit if it earns me the pleased grin that lights Eliza up. Snatching what’s really little more than watermelon-flavored sparkling juice, she twists the box to squeal at the more-firm-than-hard alcohol percentage stamped on the cardboard. “No way.”

Lux and I exchange a look—oh, to be sixteen again.

“If you and your friends get drunk and your brother finds out,” I shiver at the mere thought, “blame your sister, not me, okay? He’ll let her live.”

Just like that, Eliza’s face drops, as does her gaze. “I didn’t invite anyone.”

I glance at Lux again, who widens her eyes and shakes her head quickly.

Luckily, I don’t have time to be mad at myself for inadvertently putting my foot in my mouth. Eliza bounces back quickly, and I don’t know whether to be amazed or deeply saddened at how quickly she shoves her emotions aside and changes the subject. “Do you think Hunter will come tonight?”

“I hope not,” I mumble beneath my breath, not even really meaning to say the words aloud, but out they come—and heard, they are.

Two identical pairs of so-dark-brown-they’re-almost-black eyes swing my way. “You don’t like Hunter?”

Avoiding their gazes, I shrug as I start unpacking the grocery bag nearest to me. “He’s not very nice, don’t you think?”

Whistling, Eliza pretends to fan herself. “He’s pretty nice to look at.”

“Elizabeth.”

“What?” The youngest Jackson sibling is the picture of doe-eyed innocence as she blinks at her older sister. “I’m sixteen, not six. I know a hot guy when I see one.”

“Being hot doesn’t mean he gets a free pass to be an ass.”

Again, I speak without meaning to, and I cringe as silence settles. When I glance up nervously, I find the sisters looking uncharacteristically serious. “Did he do something to you?” Lux asks.

“No.” Pretending to inspect a jumbo bag of marshmallows, I take a leaf out of Eliza’s book, and swiftly change the subject. “You mind if I cook so we don’t end up having s’mores for dinner?”

With Alex in my arms, I watch Lux inhale a chicken thigh like she hasn’t seen food in weeks. When she groans a borderline pornographic noise, I laugh, but the sound is drowned out by the rest of the noise flooding the kitchen.

I forgot Jackson’s friends were visiting for the weekend until I was pulling ingredients out of the fridge and Lux off-handedly asked if I was okay making enough to feed a small army. I’m notsure how I could forget, considering they’ve been flitting around the yard all morning helping to set up, but I guess I’ve been distracted keeping Lux calm.

When Jackson, his friends, and his girlfriend filed into the kitchen about fifteen minutes ago, I tucked myself in the corner without even realizing what I was doing. Cowering like a nervous child, Alex cradled to my chest like a shield, my heart in my throat as I was subtly assessed by people I only briefly met once before at Lux’s mom’s funeral—not my finest moment. People whose presence makes me anxious because I dread to think what stories they’ve heard about me. People whose names I barely know because honestly, there’s a lot to remember.

I know they call the short redhead‘Tiny,’and she’s never far from the guy with all the tattoos. A girl with waist-length braids leans against the sink with her arm around a golden-skinned girl. Luna’s sister is here too, the pair so uncannily similar, it’s a little hard to believe they were friends for months before finding out about their relation. A perpetually smiling blond guy flits around the room like a puppy with too much energy. And Cass Morgan, I know—I doubt there’s a person alive who’s met Cass and forgot about it.

Everyone greeted me. No one needed an introduction, which I read into more than necessary. They thanked me for the meal before digging in, and they’ve been chatting, bickering, joking around ever since.

All except for one.

As discreetly as I’m capable of, I watch Hunter. He came in with the rest of them and pulled up a seat at the table, but he’s certainly notwiththem. He doesn’t join in the chatter. He sits, he eats, he grunts occasionally when someone speaks in his direction. I wonder if the cacophony of voices grates on him as much as it does on me, and that’s why he’s so stiff and tense. If that’s the case, then that makes three of us, because Alex doesn’tlike the hustle and bustle either, a grumpy frown crumpling his small face as he squawks unhappily.

No one notices when I duck outside. I settle on the porch steps, resting Alex on my thighs and tickling his round, full belly. “You don’t like lots of people either, do you, buddy?”

The newest Jackson mewls quietly. One little hand reaches up to tug on my hair, making me wince—for such a small thing, he’s got a hell of a grip. Carefully detangling his grabby fingers, I offer him my thumb as a replacement, smiling when he immediately tries to shove the digit in his mouth.

I lean forward and my hair falls around, like a thin shield separating us from the rest of the world. “It’s okay. They’re not that scary.”

Alex blinks.

“Okay,” I amend. “The big one is kinda scary.”

It’s impossible because he’s barely a month old, but I swear the little guy laughs in tune with the laughter spilling out of the door behind us.

“You’re so lucky, buddy,” I whisper quietly. “Got so many people who love you. Your mom and your aunts and your uncle…” I whistle softly. “I’d kill for that.”

“Caroline.”

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