Reviving Bloom (Bloom Daniels Series)

by michelle turner

  Reviving Bloom

  By: Michelle Turner

  Copyright 2012 Michelle Turner

  Cover photo by Stephanie Mooney

  Edited by Jaidis Shaw

  Dedication

  Michele T., Emily T., Mindy B. & Melly R.: I can’t thank you all enough for putting up with me while I was writing. You all supported me and encouraged me every step of the way. And I will never forget that.

  Coconut: Thank you for putting up with cranky Mommy when I was in my writing mode and I promise we’ll play SpongeBob Monopoly now that it’s done. Mommy loves you more than the moon and the stars in the sky.

  Gary Michael: You’ve showed me support and understanding through this whole process. Even when it involved you fixing dinner or eating take out because I couldn’t pry myself away from writing. I’m blessed to call you my husband. I love you Monkey Butt.

  Chapter 1- Bloom

  ~ I’m going to count the tearless days as small victories against the aching hole in my chest ~

  I slowly pry my eyes open to stare at the stars stuck to my ceiling. They’ve been there since I was a kid. Dad helped me stick them up; over a 1000 little glow in the dark stars. They’re my form of a night light. Seeing them brings back the memories just like everything else in this house, memories I can’t face without crying. I pull the cover back over my head determined to go back to sleep. I know I need to face the day and I will face it, but knowing that today marks a year since I lost him makes it harder. There are days I wake up and just wish I could lay back down and sleep my life away. Today is one of those days.

  Adam Michael Daniels was my Dad and he was also my best friend. He was always a hard worker; even when he was exhausted and knew he needed to rest he, would still agree to work over. That’s what eventually killed him. The police told me he fell asleep behind the wheel and ran off the road, right into a tree. He had just got off working a double for the third day in a row at the local factory. I tried to blame myself for the accident. I was determined he hadn’t fallen asleep but that it was my car. He had been driving it to test out my brakes, but the sheriff explained that there wasn’t even a sign he tried to brake. He drove full speed right off the road and out of my life.

  Dad is the one who named me Bloom Michael; and he was the only parent I had. Even though he worked way too hard he always found time for me. He never missed a school event when I was growing up and he regularly took me fishing at the lake. I know I probably should’ve missed having my mother but I never felt that way. I loved having my Dad and I had a feeling that if she had been around I would’ve turned out completely different and not in a good way. Plus you can’t miss someone you don’t even remember.

  The woman people refer to as my mom left us when I was a day old. I have no memory of her, except what people have tried to tell me. Her name was Rose and apparently she told the nurses at the hospital she wanted to take a walk and never came back. Dad later found a note at the house from her stating she felt trapped and wasn’t ready to be what we needed. From what my Dad’s friends have told me he took it hard, but he held it in and didn’t let it stop him from caring for me. With a little bit of help from them, he found a way to care for his new born while his heart was broken (his heart never really healed). I think he always thought she’d come back. He didn’t even get rid of the things she had left behind. He kept them in his closet until I was old enough to start asking questions and then he moved them to our storage shed so I wouldn’t have to see them.

  When I turned 13 Dad gave me a necklace; a little white gold cross that was encrusted with diamonds. I loved it until I found out it had belonged to Rose. I know now that he just wanted me to have something that belonged to her, but at the time I was furious. I was convinced he was trying to turn me into her, which was the last thing I wanted. It was the first big fight we had. I didn’t speak to him for almost a week. I wish now I could have that week back and tell him I realize what he was trying to do with that necklace. But I’ll never get the chance.

  Everyone has always told me I look more like Rose’s clone than her child, though I never consider myself “her child.” In my opinion she is only the surrogate that brought me to my Dad. But that doesn’t change the fact that I have her heart-shaped face and butterscotch blonde hair that falls half way down my back. I stand around five foot seven just like I’ve been told she did. The only thing I received from my Dad in the looks department was his hazel eyes. Which happen to be my favorite feature and they’re a small reminder of him every time I look in a mirror. But still, I was a constant reminder to him growing up of the woman that walked out. He loved me anyways and never once compared me to her, no matter what my crazy 13–year-old self thought. I know he wouldn’t want me to have ill feelings toward her; he never once spoke badly about her. I’m just not interested in the woman that could do that to my Dad. The woman that could walk out on her only child and never look back.

  Since he’s been gone I’ve stuck mostly to work and the house. I still live in the house my Dad built for Rose. It’s a little two bedroom cedar cabin that sets in the woods of southern Ohio. It may not seem like much with its tiny porch and dirt drive way, but to me it is heaven. I have no neighbors for at least a mile so I get the peace and quiet I crave, plus I can sit out on my porch swing in my pj’s and not worry about anyone seeing me. Occasionally I get a visit from a wild animal trying to get into my strawberry patch (Dad and me started planting it when I was seven) and at least once a week one of Dad’s old friends will come by to chat. They like to check up on me since he’s been gone, though I’ve stopped answering the door when they come by.

  I have no immediate family left since Dad died and as far as I know I don’t have any distant family either. He was an only child (just like me), my Grandma died the same year I was born, and Pap passed away when I was 10. I don’t know if I have any relatives left from Rose’s side. Apparently the Aunt she lived with skipped town not long after she did and Dad had never met any other relatives though he said she spoke of family in Tennessee.

  Feeling the sun pour through my window, I decide it’s time to drag myself out of bed. I push the cover off me, climb out and head over to the closet. I grab my favorite pair of worn jeans and a simple white tank top then walk to the bathroom to take a shower. I’m determined not to spend the day in my pj’s. I guess I ought a drag my behind into work while I’m at it so my boss Billy doesn’t fire me. I haven’t shown up for my shift in days, and I’ve been avoiding his calls and texts.

  I hoped the warm water rolling over my skin would help to wash away some of my sadness, but no luck. I stayed in long enough that the water turned ice cold then climbed out to towel dry. Thankfully the mirror fogged over so I don’t have to see my eyes while I brush my teeth. As much as I love them and the reminder of Dad, I’m already hanging on by a thread. I need to get through the day without crying. That’s my new goal. I’m going to count the tearless days as small victories against the aching hole in my chest.

  I contemplated fixing breakfast but settled for an apple. I doubt my stomach can handle much more, I’ll probably get on a crying fit sometime in the day and it’ll all come back up anyways. I speak out loud correcting myself, “No Bloom, stay positive. You will not cry today!”

  Tossing the core in the trash I turn around, grab my keys and bag off the counter and head for the door. It’s almost noon and the lunch rush should be starting. Billy will be so happy to have help that he might forgive me for not showing up the last several days.

  As I step out of the house and off of the porch a summer breeze sweeps my hair to the side. It feels like a warm caress and I raise my face to the sun so I can fully feel
the heat of the rays on my cheeks and the soft breeze on my skin. I let out a long soft sigh when I turn away from the light to head to the truck.

  Chapter 2 – Pike

  ~ Strawberries & Cedar ~

  Feeling the ground under my paws and the hot summer breeze in my coat as I run is the only thing I have to clear my head. I didn’t think I’d run this far from home but I have a lot to clear out with killing my Dad and all. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not the bad guy. I was just following pack law, but it doesn’t change the fact that it’s tearing me a part inside. Dad was always a strong man. The strongest in our pack, he over took the old alpha when he was 25 and had been leading us ever since, but he started to change when my mom died a year ago.

  In our society she’s what we would call his mate. A wolf shifter will do anything to love, care for, and protect their mate. I know what you’re thinking but no, it’s not what the humans have in their marriages, even when they refer to themselves as soul mates. In a true mating there is no risk of divorce, abuse, or even cheating. There’s no such thing as a volatile mating. We physically can’t harm our mates. Our wolf side is so protective he’d shred us apart from the inside if we even thought about causing them harm. From the moment we find our mate our life shifts and our mate becomes the center of our whole being. That’s why when we lose our mate we don’t usually last long after. It’s as if half of our heart is ripped from us and we no longer wish to live. That’s what a mate is, the other half of a shifter’s heart, the part that anchors us to our humanity. Mom was the good part for Dad, and when she died all that was left was the hate and anger.

  He started shirking his responsibilities. He wouldn’t guide the new pups through their first change. He wasn’t attending the pack meetings and started to revel in watching the wolves fight. As alpha he should’ve been stopping this mindless violence but he was drawn to the carnage. It all came to a head when he took the life of a pack elder who questioned him about his odd behavior. That’s when the remaining pack elders came to me for help. I knew it was coming even though I tried to deny it. Pack law simply states that any pack member who becomes a lost wolf (a wolf who lets his dark side take control) will have to be “handled” by the pack Alpha, so they don’t call attention to our kind. But in this case our Alpha was the lost wolf, and as his son it was my responsibility. I carry his alpha blood in my veins therefore I was the only one strong enough to take him down.

  My mother died a year ago and now they wanted me to kill my father. I believed it’s what he would’ve wanted; at least that’s what I told myself. My father was nothing like this monster who was parading around in his body soiling his legacy. He would want to be at peace on the other side with his mate.

  So six days ago I confronted him. It was a quick death. I took him down in less than five minutes while most of the pack watched. He didn’t fight like an alpha is expected to. I think I even saw him smile when he drew his last breath. It was another sign he was ready to go. My sister, Emily, and I buried him beside our Mom in the local grave yard. He’s finally at peace after a year of hell.

  By taking Dad out I became the new pack alpha, a job I was not ready to assume. I had never wanted to be a leader and it was being forced upon me. So I did the only thing I could think to do and ran. I know it makes me sound like a coward and you should know I’ve never been one, but leading the pack of wolves who just demanded I kill part of my family wasn’t something I could do yet. My wolf agreed with the decision to run, which should’ve been the first sign something big was about to happen. He’s never backed down from a challenge, and leading the pack is undoubtedly a challenge. So I said bye to Emily and left word for my second-in-command, Tucker, to lead while I was gone. I’ve been running, in wolf form, ever since.

  I’ve been across the Ohio line for several hours. This is the farthest I’ve ever run in my wolf form, and it’s starting to feel a long way from my home in Tennessee. I haven’t been in my human skin since the day we put Dad in the ground. I’ve been living off the rabbits my wolf hunted and bathing in the rivers and creeks I come across. A couple nights I’ve curled up under low hanging tree branches and tried to sleep, not that it ever comes. There’s been too much running through my mind. My plan is to run until I’m too exhausted to think anymore then I’ll let myself collapse and sleep for days. The exhaustion hasn’t come. My damn wolf strength is keeping it at bay. I should’ve known it would mess up my plan.

  Looking around the unfamiliar woods makes my wolf long for our home and pack. A wolf is always strongest when they’re with their pack, and now that I was the alpha I seemed to draw more strength from them than ever. Even 500 miles from home I can still feel the ties that bind me to them and them to me. As much as it pained me to admit it, I missed them and I missed my sister. I hate worrying her; she’d been through enough losing both of our parents. She doesn’t need to deal with a brother who’s not man enough to face his responsibilities.

  Curled up in a soft patch of grass under a large oak tree, I consider heading home. I can try to rest here a few hours then I’ll turn around and go back to my responsibilities. I’m needed there and if I’m being honest I need them too. I was just laying my muzzle across my paws and closing my eyes when a shift of breeze brings a new scent to my nose. It hits me like a freight train and makes my ears prick up. It’s such a simple mixture of smells, strawberries and cedar, but there’s something else laced with it. The something else I know only I can smell and I know I have to find where it originates.

  Screw rest!

  I hop up and sprint full force through the trees again following the scent. I know with my wolf senses I can still be miles from my destination, but I don’t care. I’ll run to the gates of hell and back if I can find who’s creating that heavenly scent.

  Chapter 3 – Bloom

  ~ A torture device used to open my freshly healing wounds ~

  Pulling the truck into the parking spot I survey the lot to see if we’re packed. It’s the normal lunch rush from what I can tell. Taking a deep breath I silently remind myself I can handle this. Billy’s Pizza Pub (his parents owned it before him and named the place after their only child) is one of the few restaurants in the small town near my home, but that doesn’t matter even if the town was large it would still do well. The pizza is the best. Billy’s sauce recipe was passed down to him from his great-great-grandmother or someone like that. So they had plenty of time to get it to perfection. He took over the restaurant when he was 20 and became a smash hit in this little town. Not that he was new to Jackson. He’s lived here his entire life. In fact, he and my Dad had been best friends since kindergarten. That’s why he gave me a job and I know that’s why he hasn’t fired me. But today’s a new day and anything can happen, even that.

  I work up the courage to walk in the door and I instantly hear Billy’s voice coming from the kitchen. He catches sight of me as soon as he walks into the dining area and stops in his tracks. By the way he’s looking at me, I can’t tell if he’s going to yell or scoop me up into a hug. He chooses the hug.

  “Bloom, you’ve had me scared to death. Where have you been? Why haven’t you been answering my calls or texts?” He rapidly shoots question after question my way.

  He loosens the hug enough so he can look me over. He’s checking for an injury. Of course there is none, well at least none he can see. I don’t think he’ll count the invisible hole I have in my chest. The concerned look he’s giving me makes the guilt ten times worse when I softly say, “Sorry, I’ve been sleeping.” Of course I’ve been crying more than sleeping, but he doesn’t need to know that.

  His mouth falls open in shock for a brief second then I see his expression turn from concern to anger. When he speaks I can tell he’s trying to hold back his anger, “You mean I have been calling around checking on you all because you were sleeping. How the hell do you sleep for four days? I was on the verge of calling the police department to report you missing. I stopped by your house and you didn’t answer. I ab
out broke down the damn door just to make sure you weren’t …” He stops himself right there, but I know what he was going to say. He thought I was dead. He glances over at the calendar that hangs by the register and then back at me before he scoops me back into the hug. “I’m sorry doll, I know you miss him. I can hardly believe it’s been a year.”

  The anger I can handle but this I can’t, not without crying. And crying is not an option! I gently wiggle out of his grip and say, “Billy, I’m sorry about the last several days. I shouldn’t have left you shorthanded but as long as I still have a job I’d like to get to it.”

  Thankfully he can tell I’m not up to discussing what today is yet and says, “I’d never fire you doll. As long as you want a job you’ve got one here. Now get your butt to work.” I’m so relieved I’m not going to be unemployed that I give him another hug before running into the back to grab my apron and order pad.

  I’ve worked for Billy since I was sixteen. In this area jobs are hard to come by and most people have to drive 40 minutes to one of the bigger towns. So I was thrilled when he offered to let me work at the restaurant, even if it was only a couple days a week. After Dad was gone he knew I needed more money to keep up with the house bills so he upped my hours. Billy Garrison is just a big softy at heart, though he’ll never admit it.

  Several of my regular customers stop in during my shift, I think they heard I showed my face and want to make sure I’m alright. Billy’s keeping an extra close eye on me as well. They’re all waiting on me to fall to pieces, but I stay strong and don’t shed a single tear. This is hard for me to accomplish, especially when someone grabs me into a big hug and whisper things they think are reassuring. The sweet words only make it harder to hold my tears inside. Part of me appreciates the thought but the other part of me sees the arms they’re holding me in as a torture device used to open my freshly healing wounds.