Page 66 of Bloom in Darkness

"So when you guys do things for me, I know it's different, but some part of me still waits for the total." His scent goes sour with embarrassment. "Caelan spends fifty thousand dollars to get Silas away from me. You leave work because I call. I eat your food, sleep here, use your shower, wear your clothes. Tonight you both dropped everything because I couldn't manage the fucking Bloom."

Caelan's hand tightens over Astra's ribs while I keep mine around his waist. "Astra."

"I know you aren’t Sabine." Astra has to swallow before he can keep going. "I know that. But I keep waiting for the invoice anyway."

“You keep dancing, you want out, you take time off—none of that changes this,” I tell him.

Astra turns his head enough to see me. "What if I'm a mess for a while?"

"Then you're a mess for a while," I tell him, and Caelan kisses his forehead. "You are not a balance we're waiting to collect."

Astra settles more heavily between us, and after a minute the sourness gradually fades from Astra’s scent.

Astra doesn’t answer, his breathing gradually evening out with one hand still fisted in Caelan’s shirt and his back pressed to my chest. Caelan lasts a little longer before his breathing slows too, his phone untouched on the nightstand while I keep my hand over both of them until sleep finally catches me.

Astra

My apartment smells stale when I unlock the door after spending more nights at Bryn and Caelan’s than I have here lately.

The coffee smell is gone, the candle on the counter has burned down to nothing, and Bryn wanted to come with me. Caelan only talked him down by pointing out that I was collecting clothes and checking my mail, not crossing a war zone. I sent both of them a picture from the hallway anyway, because apparently surviving one bad night with Bloom means I now have to provide proof of life when I leave the house alone.

Then I see the envelopes on the floor. Three are thick cream paper with Sabine's name printed in the corner. Another is heavier, the thick formal paper telling me what it is before I even bend to pick it up. NIGHT OF SCARLET stretches across the front in embossed red letters, and my stomach tightens before I even open it.

I carry everything to the kitchen table with the bag of food Caelan made me take and sit down slowly. I'm not shaking like I was yesterday, but my hands still tremble if I move too fast and my skin feels weirdly tender under my clothes. Bryn caught it this morning and spent the next ten minutes pretending he wasn't watching me. I left before he could decide a trip across town required an armed escort.

The first statement says $87,812. The number hasn't changed. I stare at it anyway, then flip to the itemized page and find required wardrobe, administrative fee, missed private booking, interest adjustment, event preparation, and another costume charge I can't place. Payments have come off, but new fees keep replacing them fast enough that the total has barely moved.

"Of course," I mutter, pulling my phone out.

I photograph every page, then email the pictures to myself and put copies into a cloud folder Caelan made me set up after I admitted I didn't have all of my statements. I'm halfway through the second envelope when my phone buzzes.

Silas: Heard you're making this harder than it needs to be.

A second message appears before I can lock the screen.

Silas: The Night of Scarlet can clear everything. Think about what you're throwing away.

I set the phone facedown and open the formal packet. My name is already printed beneath PARTICIPATING OMEGA, along with the arrival time, the Omega entrance, check-in instructions, and the start of the formal rose return. Clipped behind the official pages is a separate sheet on Sabine's letterhead with my debt balance, her contact information, and a list of prospective Valla and Alphas who have expressed interest. Silas and Rourke are both there. Two paired households are listed beneath them, each with a note about financial settlement.

Nothing in the actual Night of Scarlet paperwork says I have to choose anybody. The debt and the people willing to settle it are all Sabine. She thinks eighty-seven thousand eight hundred and twelve dollars is enough to make the decision for me.

My phone buzzes again. This time it's Rourke.

Rourke: Choose wisely and you walk away clean.

I laugh once and shove the chair back hard enough for the legs to scrape across the floor. A month ago I’d have stared at the balance until I convinced myself that eighty-seven thousand eight hundred and twelve dollars was bigger than anything I wanted. Now I'm thinking about Bryn cutting up fruit because I eat better when food is shoved directly into my hand, and Caelan buying me three fucking sketchpads because I mentioned I was almost out of paper.

I text Caelan.

Found the mail. Going to deal with one thing before I head back.

His reply comes almost immediately.

Need one of us?

I probably should tell him, especially after years of leaving conversations with Sabine wondering how the fuck I agreed to things I never wanted. But Bryn would be at the club before I parked, and Caelan would somehow have Forrest involved before I hung up.

I need to ask Sabine what the fuck she thinks she's doing and hear the answer without two men I love standing between us.