Page 33 of Where We Bloom

“I’m coming over with a banana bag,” he informs me. “Are you home, or are you still at Connor’s?”

“I’m at home. And I hate bananas.”

“It’s an IV, and you’re getting it.”

“I hate needles more, and you know that.”

“Too bad. Three minutes.”

He hangs up on me and I toss the phone onto the couch before walking into my closet to change out of Connor’s shorts—but I leave the shirt on—and exchange them for light, loose athletic pants. With a detour to quickly wash my face, I have just enough time before there are two knocks on my door, and Blake strides right inside, carrying his old-fashioned doctor bag with him.

“You left me with Connor all night,” I inform my brother.

“Reluctantly. He followed my instructions to care for you,” he replies with a scowl. “He did take care of you, right? Do I have to kill him?”

“No, he took care of me.” I sit on the sofa, too tiredto get into it with him. “But I don’t want Connor to be my caregiver.”

“Why not?”

“For girl reasons.”

My brother, the doctor, pulls out a large IV bag and clips it to the lamp beside the sofa, and starts fiddling with tubes and then pulling out tape and gauze and the dreaded needles.

“Have you had sex with Connor Gallagher?” he asks me. There’s no judgment in his tone, and there shouldn’t be because Blake has alotof sex of his own.

“A long time ago,” I confirm, then watch as my big brother’s eyes narrow. “But not last night.”

“Jesus, Bee, he’s got to be close to fifteen years older than you.”

“I didn’t know that at the time, not that it matters. I’m not telling you the whole sordid story. I don’t ask about all of your many conquests. I don’t want to know.”

“Give me your arm.” I hold it out, palm up, and he presses the pad of his finger against the skin of my inner elbow until he seems happy with the vein he’s found, then wraps an elastic band around my bicep.

“Look away,” he murmurs, his head bent over my arm in concentration. “You hate this part.”

Doing as I’m told, I look to the left and think about adding some bookshelves to the far side of my living room. I feel the prick in my elbow, but then it’s gone. Blake pulls the needle out, leaving the tiny catheter in my vein. He secures it with tape and gets the fluidsflowing.

“I’m getting you some water. Have you eaten anything?”

“No, I woke up less than an hour ago.” I watch him saunter into the kitchen. He fills the large tumbler I use for water and brings it to me. “I have some soup in the fridge.”

“I’ll heat it. Do you have enough for two?”

“I have enough for six,” I reply and sip my water. Using my toes, I scoot my ottoman over to put my feet up and close my eyes, listening to my brother bustle in the kitchen.

“Have you talked to Chase?” Blake asks.

“Not yet. Did they find the guy?”

“He was in the hospital,” Blake replies as he pulls the bowls of soup out of the microwave, wraps each one in a towel so they’re not too hot to hold, the way our mom used to do, and brings them into the living room. He passes me one before he sits in the chair opposite me. “He’ll be there for a few more days yet.”

“Wait. Why is he in the hospital?”

Blake scoops a noodle into his mouth. “Connor didn’t tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

“He beat the hell out of that guy. Broke his nose, his jaw, his wrist.”

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