Page 9 of Bloom

Chin-length, silky hair falls in Hunter’s face as he shakes his head.

No. Obviously not. Most of Alex’s first few hours home have been spent in my arms.Think, Caroline.“Right. Well, he’s adorable.”

Hunter grunts in time with the beep of the microwave.

“He—”

“You really can't tell when someone doesn't wanna talk to you, huh?”

My mouth clamps shut so hard, I'm surprised I don't chip a tooth. Blinking wildly for a couple of seconds, I force myself to maintain a smile. To shrug nonchalantly. To act like that snipped comment didn’t hurt like hell. “Just trying to make conversation.”

Hunter frowns. “I'm not interested.”

He doesn’t look at me, and I’m glad. Knowing my eyes are watery and my cheeks are bright red is bad enough without someone else perceiving it. Internally, I reprimand myself for not keeping my bad, unfortunately chronic habit in check; I never know when to shut up, never know when to stop pushing, can never tell when someone doesn't give a crap about what I'm saying. “Sorry.”

The only reply I get is the creak of a chair struggling to hold Hunter’s bulk, the clang of a plate hitting the dining table, the scrape of cutlery against porcelain. I watch him eat the dinner I made, and I feel… a lot. Sad. Tired. So painfully curious about the man once again pretending I don’t exist who looks perfectly content sitting there alone, who seems to prefer being alone—aforeign concept to someone who actively strives to avoid her own company.

I want to ask why he doesn’t want to talk to me. If I did something. I almost do, but my phone ringing saves me from what’s sure to be more mortifying, disinterested silence. I don’t check the caller ID; I just snatch it from the table and slip outside, quickly realizing my mistake when I answer and a voice barks, “Where are you?”

I take another cautionary step away from the house, keeping my voice low. “Hi, Dad.”

“Where the fuck are you, Caroline?”

Is it possible to smell someone's breath through a phone? Because I swear the stench of beer assaults my nose. “I'm at a friend's house.”

Dad snorts, muttering something beneath his breath that sounds a whole lot like‘what fucking friends?’“I want you home.Now.”

Home. Well. I guess that answers the question I’ve been trying so hard not to dwell on—he hasn’t even noticed I moved out.

Sucking in a deep breath, my entire body shakes with the effort of keeping my voice even and bright, a safeguard against any eavesdroppers. “I'm a little busy right now. Can I call you back?”

He ignores me. Or maybe he doesn’t hear me. His end of the call is so loud—full of boisterous laughter and muffled deep voices—I wouldn’t be surprised. “Get a couple cases of beer on your way home.”

I squeeze my eyes shut. “I'm sorry, Dad, I can't.”

“Why the fuck not?”

“I'm not coming home tonight.” Or tomorrow. Or the next day. Or ever, preferably.

He repeats his slurred question.

Because I don't live there anymore.“I just can't.”

“Caroline, I swear to—”

“I have to go.” For the first time in my life, I cut my dad off. Not for the first time, I lie to him. “I'll see you soon. Bye.”

I end the call, but not quite quick enough to avoid hearing the onslaught of curses spat down the line. Eyes still closed, I pocket my phone and cross my arms over my chest, hugging myself as tight as I can.

“You're fine,” I mutter. “You're freaking fine, Caroline.”

I repeat the self-assurance like a mantra until it chases away the lingering echo of my dad’s voice. When it finally does, I slowly uncross my arms and exhale a long, deep breath.

Suddenly, the need to get the hell out of here strikes me in the chest. Suddenly, being on this ranch is insufferable. Suddenly, the idea of being around a family that actually likes each other, for the most part, seems like the worst punishment imaginable.

I keep my head down as I hurry inside to grab my purse, but when I feel the palpable weight of being watched, I make the mistake of glancing up. Twice in one night, the expression I find on Hunter's face catches me off guard.

Inquisitive. Suspicious. Knowing, almost.

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