Page 56 of Bloom

The second a tight-lipped Tommy slopes away, I jab a foot into Hunter’s shin. “What was that?”

His expression is the picture of oblivious innocence. “What was what?”

“You were being kinda rude.”

Hunter simply shrugs as he slumps in his seat. Our knees knock together beneath the table. One gargantuan thigh settles on the outside of either of mine, caging me in. “Was I?”

His blasé tone makes me doubt myself. Was he? Maybe I’m becoming so used to a softer Hunter, I forgot how brusque he can be—you know, to people who aren’t hisfriends. But then Tommy returns with our drinks, and I catch Hunter morphing into the stony-faced grump I used to hate just a little, and I know I didn’t imagine it.

A murmur of my name draws my attention aside. I jolt a little when I turn to find Tommy closer than expected. Leaning down with a palm against the table, he angles away from Hunter, voice quiet and so very foreboding as he says, “I hate to do this.”

My polite smile falters, a preternatural sense of knowing settling in my gut.

“But your dad was here again last night.”

For a millisecond, I close my eyes.One day. That’s all I ask. Why can’t I have that?

He usually doesn’t drink outside of the house—he can’t afford overpriced bar beers—yet this is twice in as many weeks. That I’m aware of, at least. As much as I hated the constant reek of booze and the excessive noise and the frequent, undesirable company, I preferred it that way. Him being wasted at home meant he wasn’t wasted around other people, people who would have questions, people who would talk.

Of course, after all these years, he chooses now to branch out. Of course, when I’m starting to feel like my life is on track, or at least finding a track, he ruins it.Of course.

“Oh?” I fight to keep my voice normal, to stop the myriad of emotions collecting in my chest from bleeding into it.

“Yeah, with a bunch of guys on his crew.” I hate the pity on Tommy's face. As if he knows more than I'm comfortable with him knowing. “I'm sorry, Line, but he left a tab open.”

My heart sinks.

“He said you would pay it.”

“What?” No amount of effort could keep my voice from cracking at that revelation. Quick to rectify my mistake, I smooth out my expression, waving a dismissive hand as I shake my head. “Yeah, of course. No problem. How much?”

The number he rattles off makes me cringe. I fight a sudden onslaught of tears as I dig around in my purse, and I pray neither men notice my hand trembling as I pass Tommy my card.

In one night, my dad managed to rack up a bill equivalent to an entire month’s rent. And not the pitiful amount Odette charges me; the kind you pay for a real apartment, in this town and every surrounding one. What the hell was he doing? Buying rounds for the crew? For the entire damn bar?

I hate him.

God, I hate him so much.

Tommy squeezes my shoulder, and I flinch at the contact, refusing to return the sad smile I know he's giving me. I don't want the comfort, I really don't. I don't want there to be anything in my life that requires comfort. I don't want toneedcomfort.

After he walks away, I keep my gaze firmly on the tabletop, my legs bouncing up and down, my nose scrunched with the effort of keeping tears from leaking. My body jerks when rough palms make contact with my knees, stopping their erratic movement. Sucking in a breath, I send up a silent prayer.

Don't say anything.

Please don't say anything.

Just let it go.

As thumbs draw circles on the skin above my kneecaps, I hold my breath and wait for the inevitable,dreadingit.

“Favorite flower?”

My gaze snaps upwards. Finds no pity, no curiosity. Shutters briefly before reopening. “Daisies.”

With the size of those hands, Hunter’s fingers practically span the length of my thighs, and they shift a little higher to tug on the hem of my dress. “Aren't they weeds?”

“Only technically.”

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