Page 87 of Bloom

Of course.

Of freaking course.

Digging the heels of my hands into my shut eyelids until stars dance across the blackness, I ignore Hunter. I hope that maybe if I pretend he isn’t here, he suddenly won’t be.

I should know by now that tactic doesn’t work.

“Line.” The porch creaks as he lowers himself down beside me. Knuckles brush the back of my head. “Look at me, please.”

To my credit, I hold out. I don’t move, a little brattish in my stubborn noncompliance, but it gives me some meager sense of control, not immediately folding to his whims. But then he whispers that freaking term of endearment, so soft and concerned, and those five little letters unravel me.

Wiping away as many tears as possible, I slowly look up. Hunter scans me quickly, his fingers tightening almost imperceptibly in my hair. “You cryin’?” he grunts, his accent the thickest I’ve heard it, his face the hardest I’ve seen it.

I shake my head—the world’s worst lie.

His hand drops onto my shoulder. He moves to crouch in front of me, never once breaking eye-contact. A thumb swipes beneath my eyes. When the pad comes away wet, his disapproving huff blows my hair back from my face. “What did he do?”

I frown.

“Yourdate,” he spits the word like it tastes bad in his mouth.

“He didn’t do anything.”

“Bullshit, Line.” Palms cup my bare knees. “Just tell me what he did. I’ll take care of it.”

Not even rolling my bottom lip between my teeth can stop it from wobbling. “He didn’t do anything. It was all me. I’m a terrible date.”

“He say that?”

“No.” A half laugh, half sob escapes me. “He was perfect and I—”Couldn’t stop thinking about you?Is thatreallyhow I was going to end that sentence? Swallowing those foolish words, I shake my head again. “I’m just upset because it was a bad date, okay? Nothing happened, I promise.”

Eventually, the tension holding Hunter taut leaves him with a deep breath. His grip shifts as he sits beside me again, an arm slinking around my shoulder as he tugs me into his side.

I shouldn’t, but I sink against him anyway. I turn my head so I can bury my face in the crook of his neck, and I inhale deeply, hopefully discreetly. I allow the earthy smell of hay and Hunter and a little salty sweat to calm me down until my erratic heartbeat matches his steadier one. I think every occupant of the ranch could suddenly return and I still wouldn’t move a muscle—I don’t think I’d even notice. For the first time in days, I feel… settled. Free of frazzle or fluster or the sinking gut feeling that’s been normal as of late.

I hate it, but I still don’t move.

“Fuckin’ kill me, honey,” he murmurs into my ear. “Those tears kill me.”

I don’t apologize. If anything, I silently revel in the admission—ha.Good. Let someone other than me suffer for once.

“You avoidin’ me kills me too.”

That, on the other hand, ekes a reaction.

“I wasn’t avoiding you,” I lie.

I’m not sure when we separate, when a hand drifts upwards to cup my cheek, but suddenly it’s there, a thumb stroking my still-damp cheekbone as hazel eyes hold me hostage. “Liar.”

It’s too much for me. Too reminiscent of the last time we were this close. And the completely mortifying memory of being so thoroughly rejected has me pulling away. Dropping my gaze to my lap, I shrug weakly. “I didn't think you'd want to see me.”

“I always want to see you.”

Six words somehow bolster me yet sucker-punch me at the same time. Wrapping my arms tightly around my middle, my posture deflates until I'm practically caving in on myself. “You can't say stuff like that to me.”

“Why not?”

“Because I'll believe you and you don't mean it.”

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