Page 57 of Bloom in Darkness

Caelan shifts the book fully into his lap. "For what?"

"I know you said we would figure out how much I'm using, and then I mostly avoided figuring it out." I stare down at the page. "I used to know. Not in a written-down spreadsheet way, but I knew how much went on my thighs, how long it lasted, when I could use more without getting floaty. Now I don't always know. Sometimes I put it on because I'm hurting. Sometimes I put it on because I'm about to work and I don't want to feel the room as much."

Bryn comes back from the kitchen and sits on the edge of the coffee table. Bryn’s scent sharpens, but his hands stay loose over his knees. He waits.

Caelan sets the book aside. "Before we go any farther, I owe you something." I look up from the sketchbook.

His thumb rubs once over the edge of the blanket. "An apology. When I saw the jar, I let everything I've seen Bloom do to fighters decide what I thought was happening with you before I actually listened. That wasn't fair."

Caelan meets my eyes. "Bloom can help people, and yours helps you. I should’ve started with that instead of treating the worst thing I’d seen as if it was automatically your situation."

"It does help." I rub my thumb over the graphite on the side of my hand and look down at the page again.

"I know." Caelan stays quiet after that, giving me room to keep going.

I shake my head and pick at the corner of the paper. "It isn't just pain anymore. It makes me feel like I can do the job. I put it on and I know the lights won't bother me as much. I know I can get through another set without thinking about who is staring or whether somebody is waiting outside the curtain. It makes me feel confident before I even walk out there."

Bryn leans forward, elbows resting on his thighs. "A shield."

"Yeah." I look at him. "A really good one. Until it wears off and I start thinking about the next time I can use it."

Nobody says anything for a few seconds. Caelan watches me from the sofa before asking, "When you reach for it now, do you always know you want it?"

"Yes." The answer is halfway out before I stop, because that is what I want the answer to be. I look down at the sketchbook. "I don't know."

Bryn leans forward slightly. "Then that's the part we pay attention to."

I look between them, almost irritated that neither one is reacting the way I prepared myself for. "Meaning what?"

"Meaning we ask what you want," Caelan says. "Not because you need our permission. If you use it, I want it to be because you chose it."

Bryn reaches out after I shift closer, his hand wrapping around my ankle where it rests on the rug. "And if you want one of us to scent you, or you need sleep, or your calves hurt, call. Don't decide you're bothering us before you ask."

Heat climbs into my face. "I didn't say I do that."

"You told us being scented makes you use less." Bryn's thumb moves slowly over my ankle. "Then you act like calling because you want us is too much."

I close the sketchbook and set it aside. "What if I keep using Bloom anyway?"

Caelan does not hesitate. "Then you keep using it. We figure out what you're taking and how your body is responding so you have actual information instead of guesses."

“And if I don’t want to leave the club once we know what Sabine can actually enforce?” I ask.

“Then you don’t,” Bryn says. His fingers tighten once around my ankle and then relax. “We figure out what the contract actually says first. After that, it’s your choice.”

After that, Sunday goes quiet again, and for once I’m grateful for it. We order dinner because nobody wants to cook. I draw while Caelan dozes on the couch, and Bryn goes upstairs for my charger because I left it beside their bed again. It is dark outside before I realize how late it has gotten.

"I should probably go home," I say, even though I do not make any move toward my bag or the stairs.

Caelan turns another page while Bryn plugs in my phone.

An hour later I am still there, stretched across Bryn's lap while he sits against the headboard with a plate balanced on one thigh, feeding me pieces of cheese. Caelan is reading beside us with his bad leg under the blanket, and when Bryn holds another cube toward my mouth, Caelan lowers the book.

"You've never fed me cheese in bed," Caelan says, lowering the book just enough to look offended. Bryn studies him for several seconds before offering him the piece between his fingers.

Caelan catches Bryn's hand and slowly closes his mouth around his fingertip. Bryn's purr cuts off in a startled growl.

"We're eating," Bryn tells him, pulling his hand back while Caelan grins. "Stop that."