Page 93 of Bloom: Part 2

“Sarge, we’re a little busy in here,” Bloom shouted back.

“For fuck’s sake, Bloom, you’ve barely left the room in two days. Give it a rest already. You’re traumatizing poor Crowe.”

“What do you want?”

“Chris is hurt. I need the doc to take a look at him.”

I opened my mouth to respond I would be right there.

“Can’t it wait?” Bloom beat me to it.

I missed performing surgeries, but the bikers were a reckless enough bunch to give me my fair share of setting broken bones and sewing them up. At this rate, they could hire me as a full-time doctor.

“I swear to god, Bloom, I’ll take the bloody door off its hinges!”

“It’s okay.” I covered Bloom’s mouth before he could respond in kind. “I’m coming now.”

Bloom glared. I rolled us over and got off the bed. “It may be serious. We can have sex anytime.”

“Or take a break,” Sarge muttered. “Tired of hearing all the fucking behind closed doors. Jesus.”

I grabbed a pair of sweats from the chair and pulled it on. “Do you want my help or what?” I cried, then winked at Bloom. I was getting too familiar with the way they yelled, cursed, and threatened each other. Their twisted way of showing affection.

“Yeah, all right, just hurry up,” Sarge grumbled.

“We should probably get something to eat anyway,” I said to Bloom. “Take a shower, and we’ll meet in the mess hall.”

“Okay, then.” Bloom’s pout was still on his face. A part of me wanted to rush back and lavish him with the attention he craved from me. But duty called. With one last lingering look, I walked out of the bedroom.

Sarge, who stood directly in front of the door, stared past my shoulder to where Bloom lay spread on the bed, naked. I pulled the door shut quickly.

He must have understood my frown because he shook his head. “Trust me, Doc, I have no thoughts there. You’re the only one brave enough to hook up with that boy. The rest of us much prefer the current location of our dicks. Plus, he’s the kid we all had a hand in raising.”

“Good to know. Where’s Chris?”

He ran his hands through his hair and huffed out a breath. “This way.”

I followed him to the mess hall, where Chris sat in a chair at the long communal table, his face pale. His grimace gave way to the stubborn jut of a chin and squinted eyes as he glared at Sarge. His leather jacket hung loosely around him, and he was cradling one arm against his chest. The left side of his face was discolored and the area above his right eye swollen.

“What happened?” I gently took Chris’s face and turned it toward me for a closer inspection. His jaw was still aligned. The bruising was awful, but there didn’t seem to be any permanent damage.

“Speed racing.” Sarge crossed his arms. “He wiped out. Luckily, he’s not fucking dead. Is he gonna be all right?”

Chris gritted his teeth. “I’m fine. It was just an accident. Could have happened to anyone.”

“Except you weren’t wearing your fucking helmet. How many times do I—”

“Sarge, will you do me a favor and get me a warm towel?” I asked.

If he and Chris kept arguing, they would only make my inspection harder. Sarge was being over the top, but it was plain he cared about the boy. Whatever Chris had done had shaken him up.

“Try not to break your neck in the two minutes I’ll be gone, will you?” Sarge snapped and marched off to fetch what I asked.

“You look like hell,” I said when Sarge was out of earshot. “This is your chance to tell me where it hurts now that the protective giant of yours is out of the way.”

“He’s not mine.” But the way his eyes followed after Sarge didn’t hide how much he wanted the biker to be.

“I hit my cheek pretty hard,” he said. “My hip and right arm hurt like a bitch.”

---