Always There

Chapter One Hundred and Thirty-Two

"I know you can, baby. But I made the mess, so I should clean it up," I say. I can't help but to smile as she furrows her eyebrows and stares at the towel in her hand, not quite sure what to do with it. "Just leave it in one of the sinks," I tell her. "I'll toss it in the laundry machine. I need to do some laundry later anyway."

I watch intently as Blossom brushes her teeth, washes her face, and runs a brush through her hair. The soft waves become frizzy, and as she stares at her reflection in the mirror, she lets out an aggravated huff.

"I'll braid it for you," I offer. "Just come back to bed."

She scoffs. "If I get back in that bed, I won't be able to walk in an hour's time."

I grin and shut my eyes for a moment. "That's my specialty, angel."

With a tender smile, Blossom takes a few steps away from the sink and towards me. She pauses just behind the doorway, and I watch as she reaches with one hand to begin closing the door.

I jerk upright in bed. "Hey! Why are you doing that?"

Blossom crinkles her nose. "I have to pee. Don't be gross."

I raise an eyebrow. "How am I being gross? I have all sorts of your bodily fluids in my mouth all the time, but you really think that being able to hear the sound of you p—"

Blossom slams the door shut.

🌸🌸🌸

"Your birthday is in a few days, isn't it Lex?"

I pause just at the bottom of the staircase. The voice that spoke was male, coming from the kitchen, and the idea of some man entering the house and cornering Blossom in the kitchen fills me with a sudden inexplicable rage.

I storm down the hallway, face heated with anger and anxiety. Blossom is speaking now, and I can hear her say, "Yes. It's on the thirteenth. I doubt I'll do anything special for it, since my dad is still in the hospital. Twenty-three isn't usually a big birthday, but it marks ten years since me and Bryce kissed for the first time, which I think was the moment I realized that I'm in love with him, so it means a lot to—"

Blossom cuts herself off as I burst into the kitchen, hands clenched into fists at my sides. "Who the hell is in here?"

Blossom is standing behind the stove, cracking eggs into a steaming hot pan. A cutting board is beside the stove, and a stack of uncut fruit is piled on top of it. I can faintly smell the scent of coffee, and when I look over Blossom's shoulder I can see that she's turned on the coffee pot.

At my appearance, she tosses the last eggshell into the compost and turns to look at me.

Her eyes immediately widen, big and brown in the centre of her face. She's tied her long hair into a knot at the nape of her neck, but a few strands have fallen free and I want so badly to reach out and tuck them behind her ears.

After she had finished in the bathroom, she disappeared into my closet and emerged wearing a pair of atrocious blue plaid boxers that never should have been allowed into my home and a tiny, nearly-sheer white tank top that is leaving very little left to the imagination.

She's still wearing this, and only this, as she stands in front of the stove. I watch in fascination as her nipples pebble under the thin fabric.

"Naughty girl," I mutter just as another male voice, different from earlier says, "Little one? Hello?"

British. And, judging by the nickname, Knox.

My eyes scan the room to find no one here but Blossom and I. It's then that I notice Blossom's phone propped upright against the paper towel roll, and I can only assume that she must be speaking to Knox and the other guy through a video call.