Page 33 of Bloom

I kick off the blanket tangled around my legs. Swallowing a yawn, I pad into the kitchen. “That’s my job.”

It’s a miracle, really, that I manage to get the words out, what with the sight before me—Hunter sitting at the kitchen table, cradling Alex as he feeds him a bottle. Only when the little guy’s fierce suckling eases and Hunter situates him to be burped does he acknowledge my presence. “You were asleep.”

Something defensive licks a path up my spine. “I had an alarm set.” Several alarms, actually, to make sure I don’t accidentally mess up Alex’s feeding schedule.

“I know.” One big hand rubs Alex's back, fingers spanning the length of him. “I turned it off.”

“Why?”

“You were asleep.” Wood scrapes against wood as Hunter pushes back his chair, getting to his feet. “I’m gonna put him back down.”

“I can—”

“I got it.”

I don’t like how I feel as I watch him disappear down the hall. Not the odd warm buzz at the sight of the littlest Jackson drooling on his shoulder, nor the icky incompetence of someone doing my job for me.

Shaking it off, I reach for my phone just as it starts to ring. Lux checking in, I assume, but as soon as I lay eyes on the screen, my stomach drops. It’s not a saved number. Not one I recognize either. But somehow, I know. Probably because it’s not the first time I’ve gotten a slew of missed calls from an unknown number late at night.

I really, really don’t want to answer, but I can’t very well stand here, watching it ring, not with Hunter ambling back down the hall towards me. Making a split second decision, I dart outside, ensuring the door closes behind me before reluctantly answering the incoming call. “Dad?”

“Caroline?”

I frown—not the voice I expected. “Who is this?”

“Tommy. Tommy Fields. We, uh, went to high school together?”

The name conjures up a vague memory of a blurry face. He was on the baseball team with Jackson, I think. “Why are you calling me?”

He pauses, clearing his throat. “I work at Bishop’s.”

The only explanation I need, and the exact explanation I expected.

Embarrassment, upset, and annoyance fight for dominance, building something hot and wet behind my eyes. “I can’t help him.”

“He’s pretty bad, Caroline. Been here since this afternoon.”

“I can’t,” I repeat but it’s weak, fragile, malleable.

A deep sigh echoes down the line. “It’s you or the cops, Line.”

Let him call the cops, a bitter voice in my head whispers.He deserves a night in the drunk tank.

I wish I could give in to that voice. I wish I didn’t care. I wish I wasn’t weak, wasn’t a pushover, wasn’t telling Tommy I’ll be there soon.

Nausea slams into me like a freight train as I hang up. My hand trembles as I slide my phone into my pocket, my palm slippery as it wraps around the front door handle and pulls, my head a tangle of too many thoughts to sort through.

“Everything okay?”

I paste on a shaky smile and pray Hunter doesn’t see right through it. “Yeah. I just need to talk to Lottie.”

“She went out.”

My eyes close briefly. Of course, she did. “Then,” I can barely bring myself to whisper, swallowing what little pride I have and grasping my equally lacking backbone with both hands. “I need a favor.”

Dark brows furrow.

“I have to go out for a little while. Can you stay and watch Alex?”

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