Page 22 of Bloom: Part 1

His face split into a grin. “What I’m hearing is that I have a shot.”

I shut the door. I hadn’t said that at all.

5

BLOOM

Fifteen minutes after Logan left, I was bored out of my mind. How long was I supposed to wait on him? If I went away and returned before he came back, he would never know. But as I laid my hand on the doorknob, guilt overcame me, and I plopped onto the couch again. I couldn’t be dishonest. Not to him. I’d promised to not leave his office, so barring a fire, I had to keep my word and stay put. No matter how much the walls felt as though they were closing in on me.

The door remained my escape route, taunting me with the promise of freedom. I sighed heavily. I needed a distraction, something to take my mind off how trapped I felt.

Obeying Logan reminded me of memories best left buried.

I sat at his desk and tried to snoop on his computer, but he had it password protected. Damn. I would have loved to dig into his emails and files to learn more about the man I wanted to be mine. He made it so difficult to get to know him.

The desk was filled with junk—not really. They were important files, but they meant nothing to me, so garbage. I shoved them aside, and something fell to the floor. I picked it up. A well-wornleather-bound journal with a clasp closure. My heart skipped a beat. Bingo. What secrets was he keeping in this book?

Only a few pages in and I slumped my shoulders. Dense, technical descriptions, and medical jargon filled the pages. He kept a detailed log of his routine, making notes on medical conditions, patients, and daily occurrences at the hospital. I would find nothing personal about him inside this book. I thumbed through the pages, and… I straightened up and slowly went back a few pages.

In his neat, bold handwriting was my name printed. Bloom. My heart thudded, and blood rushed to my head. I clamped my eyes shut, counted to five, and peeked at the page again. My name was still there. Logan had writtenmyname in his book, a book he took up every single day. Sure, the rest of the page was blank. He could have written my name in frustration or with fondness, but I gave not one fuck about it.

All that mattered was that my name was there.

The air seemed to vanish as I held my breath and traced my name with a trembling finger. It felt intimate to touch the exact place where he had. I closed my eyes and imagined him sitting at his desk, pen gripped between his skillful fingers, writing my name with the same deliberate precision with which he performed his surgeries. The same focus and intensity directed at me, at my name.

The imagery was more intoxicating than the tequila I’d drunk in Crowe’s boat. I carefully put the book right where I’d found it. No, I wanted him to know I’d seen it. Grinning, I scribbled on a sticky note, stuck it on the page where he’d written my name, and gently closed the journal. I hugged it to my chest and replaced it.

Feeling more lively than I had earlier, I yanked open the top drawer of his desk. What else was he hiding from me? A bottle ofTylenol, toilet paper, hand sanitizer, wipes, and a box of Band-Aids. Typical doctor stuff.

I shook the Tylenol, the pills rattling like tiny pebbles in a jar. I put the bottle back, closed the drawer, and opened the next one.

This drawer held more junk from the hospital, but a novel with dog-eared pages was tucked away in the corner. The cover featured a desolate cityscape with towering skyscrapers half submerged in water. Logan liked these kinds of books? Hmm. From the worn pages and smudges, he must have read it a few times. He also tabbed some of the pages with yellow, green, and red.

I flipped the cover and squinted at the text written in a hasty crawl, the letters jumbling before my eyes like a cryptic code. Each word seemed to twist and warp, a frustrating dance of shapes that refused to stay still. I shut my eyes tight and rubbed the bridge of my nose.

Concentrate.

I opened my eyes and carefully deciphered the words.

Thanks for loving me the way you have over all these years. I owe everything I am to you.

My blood boiled, but then I read the names below the message.

To Christian

Love, Axel

Hell’s balls! For a second, I’d thought I would have to kill every Axel I came across, but the book wasn’t even Logan’s. I grinned. He’d probably think I should increase my visits to my shrink if he knew a little note almost sent me over the edge. Good thing he would never know.

I put down the book and rifled through the bottom drawer. A half-empty box of Nature Valley snacks and an old stethoscope with its rubber tubing cracked were the only items in the drawer. I pushed my hand inside the box and hit something that crinkledlike plastic. I pulled it out and almost passed out. I forgot how to exhale.

He’d kept them. He had acted as if he hated everything I’d sent him. Hell, he’d even called them juvenile, but he’d kept them.

With a shaky hand, I opened the Ziploc bag and carefully took out the handwritten notes I felt embarrassed about now that I knew what his handwriting was like. The lock of my hair I’d cut off, the jumbo plastic ring I’d sent him as a promise ring, and the naked photo.

If I didn’t like someone, I wouldn’t keep their gifts. No one did that, right? Which meant…did Logan like me back? Was it not a figment of my imagination, but did he really like me? He had rushed over to patch me up when he found out I was hurt.

I rocked back in his chair with a grin so wide my face was in danger of being split in two. This was even better than I’d hoped for. I clutched the photograph to my chest, a mix of emotions surging within me.

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