We sit on the blanket, Heather beside me, with Carter across from her.
I hand her a gift bag and say, “We had this made for you.”
She sets her glass on the ground, takes the purple bag, and stares at it.
“I didn’t know we were exchanging gifts.”
Carter says, “We aren’t. You are the fucking gift. Now open it.”
She giggles as she repeats his words to herself.
“You are the fucking gift.”
Heather opens the small bag and pulls a jewelry box out. She opens it with a gasp and takes the charm bracelet out.
“A racing flag, a black car, a purple car, a bow and a black heart,” She says as she inspects it closely.
“Please tell me this isn’t a goodbye gift.”
Carter narrows his gaze at her.
“There will be no fucking goodbye, Little Heathen. You belong to us. End of discussion.”
His statement gives me pause. I’m fond of her, and like fucking her, but I’m not in love with Heather. Carter is. When he first set his eyes on her, Killain and I thought it was his OCD, but now it’s clearly more than that. He said he’s in love with her, and I believe him. It’s in the way he looks at her, and the way he wants to give her everything, even at the expense of himself. Maybe that’s what love is. Wanting someone else’s happiness above your own.
Carter opens the basket and grabs the fruit and sandwiches he made. He places a clear plastic plate of food in front of her and says, “Eat.”
She glances at him, narrowing her gaze, as if she’s trying to read his mind. He’s nervous, and it’s written all over his face.
“Carter, what’s wrong?”
He shakes his head and sits back down. Reaching across, he hands me a plate and then opens his own. I take the plastic wrap off her plate and then mine. I take a large bite of my roast beef sandwich and chew quickly.
She holds her sandwich to her mouth, ready to take a bite, but stops and repeats her previous question.
“Carter, what’s wrong?”
He shakes his head and pops a piece of fruit into his mouth. I can see, as he chews his food, that something is going on in his head.
“I’m okay. Sometimes I have—not really flashbacks, but intrusive thoughts. There’s no rhyme or reason for why they come. It’s like images from the torture just appear in my mind. I told you before, Little Heathen, I’m a fucking head case.”
Heather tosses back her wine, like she needs the liquid courage for what comes next.
“Were you sexually abused?” She asks warily, before adding, “You don’t have to tell me, but I’d like to know, if you’re comfortable telling me.”
I wait for his answer, not knowing the truth, because he has never talked about what happened in detail. Carter shakes his head before answering her.
“No. I was beaten and tortured, but there was no sexual abuse.”
Attempting to take the drama down a notch, I grab the bracelet and fasten it onto her wrist. She looks up at me with an emotion-filled expression.
“Thank you.”
“Eat,” I say, and she picks up a strawberry and puts it into her mouth.
We eat quietly, but the silence isn’t uncomfortable. It’s like the three of us have been like this for years, when in reality, it’s only been a month.
Once we finish with the food, I take the dishes and set them aside.
