Page 70 of Bloom

The hand that bands high on my thigh, though, I have a harder time ignoring. It holds me tightly, an unmoving palm scorching hot against my inner thigh.

Notholds—secures. Makes sure I don’t fall out the window and onto the grassy ground that seems to rush by a little slower now.

I wonder how Hunter would react if he knew it wouldn’t be my first fall of the day.

Not well, if I had to guess; as soon as we come to a stop, he storms around the truck’s hood. “What the fuck are you doing, Caroline?”

Instinctively, an apology brews, but I choke it down. I stay quiet as I try to duck back inside without whacking my head, neither my attempt nor my silence lasts long. I squeal loudlywhen I’m suddenly lifted into the air, smoothly extracted from the truck with far more grace than I’d be capable of achieving on my own. As a hand on either side of my ribcage holds me airborne, my own scramble for purchase across broad shoulders.

“You could’ve hurt yourself.”

Well. What’s a quick tumble from a moving vehicle in the grand scheme of all that’s happened tonight?

I wriggle in Hunter’s grip. “Put me down.”

He takes his time obliging. The slow drag of my body against his hitches my dress dangerously high, cotton catching against denim the same way my breath does in my throat. I must be drunker than I thought—or maybe I’m exactly as drunk as I thought—because in my drunken state, I imagine his throat bobbing with a deep swallow. I imagine something hot sparking in irises the color of late autumn leaves. I imagine something possessive in the way he fists the hem of my dress and yanks it down before I flash him.

As Hunter clears his throat, he clears his face of any expression too. He nods towards the house we’re parked outside of, a silent command to follow as he starts towards it. Head swirling as I try to concoct an excuse Lux won’t see right through, I slowly—

Wait. “Where are we?”

A pointless question; I know exactly where we are. I recognize the modest, wooden structure—structures, I notice now, as I squint into the dark at the half a dozen other cabins scattered a good distance apart from each other. The red shuttered windows, the wrap-around porches, the swinging benches hanging from the roof overhang by thick rope, the beds of sunflowers on either side of the porch steps, I recognize them all—I planted those freaking flowers.

Yet still, when Hunter replies, “My house,” I freeze.

“I thought you were taking me to Lux’s.”

Back muscles ripple as Hunter rolls his shoulders back in a shrug. “Didn’t think you’d want that.”

Confused, vaguely amused and a little incensed, I scrunch my nose. “But you thought I’d wanna comehere?”

Hunter flinches, and I do too—meandoesn’t feel all that good. It’s exhausting, actually.Orthat’s the alcohol catching up with me, making my mind and limbs feel like they’re made of lead as I’m corralled towards the front door.

As it swings it open and Hunter strides inside, I try so very hard to extinguish my growing curiosity. Fingers curled around the doorframe, I hesitantly peer inside the cabin that seems far too small for a man of Hunter’s stature.

It’s soplain. So blank. Exactly like the other guest lodges on the ranch; tastefully but sparsely decorated. Not a single thing is adapted to make this place his, except for the dirty boots kicked off and left beside the door. Not even a freaking plant. It looks like a hotel, not a home, and it makes me sad, imagining someone living here permanently.

What a damn shame.

I don’t go inside. The porch creaks beneath my feet as I make myself to the bench swing, and that creaks too as I sit on it, cross-legged. Tipping my head back until it hits the log wall, I close my eyes, and before I can stop myself, I start imagining what it would be like if I lived here.

There would be plants everywhere, that’s for damn sure. Flowers on the dining table, on the kitchen counter, in the bedroom, freshened every week. It would be quiet, living out here. Peaceful. Nothing but the rustle of the wind, the jingle of the wind chime hanging from the rafters, the chirp of cicadas. And, as of right now, the sound of cabinets being opened and closed, and the deep rumble of a man talking to himself as he does who knows what in his kitchen.

I feel Hunter’s return as much as I hear it. When the swing protests under his weight, I open my eyes before I can think better of it. He takes up most of the seat, but it’s not the thigh sliding beneath my knee that catches my attention; it’s the plate that balances on top of it.

He made me food. Two slices of buttered toast and a peeled orange, and a grumbled, “It’s all I have.”

I eye the offerings, but I don’t take it. Food is sobering, right? I don’t want to be sober, not yet. If I’m sober, I’llfeel. The mortification, the dread, the pure and utter hopelessness will come rushing back again, and the last couple of hours will’ve been wasted. I want to be numb a little longer.

With a shake of my head, I avert my gaze towards the dark landscape again, focusing on the serene sounds of nature instead of Hunter’s loud exhale.

“Caroline,” he starts to say, but he barely finishes the first syllable. He cuts himself off when he sets a heavy hand on my knee, and I flinch for the umpteenth time tonight—except this time, someone notices.

I yank my legs away, but the damage is done. He’s already seen the mottled purple skin, growing darker by the second. His interest, hissuspicion, is peaked, and his eyes narrow as they scan every inch of me, searching. I duck my chin, but it’s too late for that now too. My evasive attempts and the dimly lit porch do nothing to hide the evidence of a too-rough touch from someone who seems to know exactly what he’s looking for.

A hand cups either side of my jaw, gently but unrelenting as they tilt my head to the side. “Are thosefingerprints?”

I escape his grip quickly, but it’s only because Hunter lets me go. He recoils like my skin is burning him, hands fisting at his sides as he stands, pacing the length of the porch once before coming to a stop at the stairs. Descending them, he starts back towards his truck, calm but purposeful strides.

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