Page 121 of Bloom: Part 1

I gritted my teeth, checking Bloom’s pulse despite James’s assessment. I ignored his sigh. He didn’t understand. I had to assure myself he was fine. I didn’t trust anyone else with Bloom’s care.

“See. I told you he was stable,” James said when I finished.

I brushed Bloom’s hair from his forehead. “It’s not you.”

“Don’t worry. I’m not offended. I know you’re worried about him. You’ve had a traumatic experience, though, and then handling Bloom’s surgery must have taken a toll on you. Why don’t you go home and rest? I’ll keep an eye on him.”

Except I didn’t want anyone to keep an eye on him. I wanted to always have my eyes on him in case something went wrong. How could I trust James with such a huge task? Bloom wasn’t a random patient. I couldn’t afford for anything to go wrong.

“I can rest here.”

“Come on, Dr. Collier. The hospital is finally back to normal, and everyone is singing Bloom’s praises as a hero. Go home—”

“He’s not a hero.”

“What?”

“He didn’t do it to save those people’s lives, James. Bloom couldn’t care less about those people. He did it to save me.”

“It doesn’t matter why he did it. He did, and many lives were saved because of it.”

“At the expense of his life?” I snapped. I finally understood. If he died, it wouldn’t be worth it. A hundred lives didn’t compare to his.

“I understand you’re upset—”

“Don’t. I don’t need platitudes, James. I just need him to be alright. Can you assure me he’ll be alright? Because if not, then go away. I don’t want to talk to anyone.”

“Eventually, you’ll have to talk to the press and the CEO and police. You can’t stay with him all the time.”

“Watch me.”

He sighed. “All right, I’ll go, but you’re not the only one worried about him. Crowe’s here, and he wants to see Bloom.”

“No. He’s in recovery. No one can see him yet.”

“I know that, but you’ve already bypassed so many red tapes, so what’s one more? I’ll send him in.”

“James—”

But he walked out of the room, and in came Bloom’s guardian, face pale, lines of worry etched deeply into the corners of his eyes. The last time we’d spoken back at my house, Crowe had appeared larger than life, in control, and nearly indestructible. The man in front of me was reduced to trembling hands and wet eyes.

“Bloom,” he whispered the boy’s name and approached the bed. “Jesus Christ, kid.” Tears spilled down his cheeks as he tentatively reached out a trembling hand and stroked Bloom’sashen cheek. There was a deep sorrow in his eyes, a crack in the tough biker president exterior he showed the world.

I inhaled deeply, blinking back my tears. I’d thought I’d shed enough right after his surgery, but my eyes leaked seeing the way Crowe cared for him. He kissed the boy’s forehead.

“It’s my fault. I should never have brought you here to Smoky Vale. You’d have been better in Riverton.”

In other words, away from me. I closed my eyes, acknowledging the truth of his words. Bloom would have been better off having not met me.

“What’s the damage?” he asked gruffly.

My throat constricted, and words couldn’t pass my lips. I slowly shook my head.

“Is he going to make it?”

“The surgery went well.”

“That’s not what I asked you.”

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