Page 77 of Bloom: Part 2

I shook my head. “I’m not tired. I was scared that you’d left me.”

“I won’t do that to you. If that’s what I wanted, I would have gotten the US Marshals to relocate me the very day my first picture appeared in the media. Instead, I wanted to marry you and take you with me.”

“Logan.”

“Hmm?”

“Did you only want to marry me so I could join you on the run?” My voice was barely a whisper, my gaze locked onto the tiled bathroom floor below. I held my breath, dreading his response.

Logan gently stroked through my tangled hair. I shuddered from the light contact.

“That’s not just why,” he said in a husky voice. “But yes, I wanted to marry you so they couldn’t turn you down and you could be with me. But that’s only because I want to spend the rest of my life with you. That’s not all, though. I want to have you covered legally should anything happen to me.”

“Like what? Nothing’s going to happen to you.”

“It’s just a provision, Bloom. I want you to be taken care of whether I’m around to do it or not.”

“We don’t have to think about that because nothing’s going to happen.”

He patted my head. “All right.”

Logan opened the medicine chest, his movements deliberate and unhurried, as though nothing about this morning—or last night—was unusual. He retrieved a small bottle of antiseptic, a packet of gauze, medical tape, a needle, and a spool of suturing thread. He didn’t take the painkillers, which sat at the edge of the shelf, their label tilted toward me.

His behavior tightened my throat. Calm. Unbothered. How could he be so steady when my chest felt like it was caving in on itself?

I pushed to my feet, my legs shaky but determined. The small bloodstains on the towel draped around his waist made my stomach churn. The realization hit me square in the chest like a wrecking ball. I’d done this to him.

“Let me,” I blurted out. My voice was uneven and heavy with my guilt. I’d deliberately avoided looking at his shoulder, where I’d stabbed him last night. Thankfully, it didn’t look deep.

“You know how?”

“No.” I swallowed hard. “But you can tell me what to do.”

For a moment, he didn’t say anything. Then he nodded and stepped back from the mirror. He sat on the closed lid of thetoilet, leaning slightly forward to give me better access to his shoulder.

“All right.” He placed the supplies in my trembling hands. “We’ll take it one step at a time.”

I grabbed a washcloth first and soaked it under warm water from the sink. My hands shook as I wrung it out and gently pressed it to his skin, wiping away the dried blood from the jagged cut on his shoulder. Logan didn’t flinch, but I did. The memory of the blade slicing into him flashed in my mind. My stomach turned, but I kept going.

“Good,” he said, his voice calm. “Now grab the antiseptic.”

I unscrewed the cap, wrinkling my nose at the sharp smell, and poured a small amount onto a clean piece of gauze. My hands were still trembling as I pressed it to the wound. Logan let out a hiss through his teeth, but he didn’t pull away.

“Sorry,” I whispered, my voice thick.

I keep hurting him.

“It’s fine,” he murmured. “You’re doing great.”

I didn’t deserve his kindness. Not after what I’d done. I could barely meet his eyes as he handed me the needle and thread.

“Now, you’re going to thread the needle. Loop it through and tie a knot at the end,” he instructed.

It took me longer than it should have, my fingers fumbling with the delicate thread. Once it was done, I froze, staring at the wound. Could I really do this? Pierce Logan’s skin with a needle? Hurt him again?

“You can,” Logan said gently, as if he could hear my thoughts. “Start at one end, push it through the skin, and pull tight. Like sewing.”

I steadied my trembling hand and carefully inserted the needle into his skin. Logan winced slightly but didn’t utter an outcry of pain.

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