Page 33 of Carte

He closed his parted lips, and cleared his throat, “Thanks.”

“Seriously, this is sooo good.”

He didn’t say anything else. We ate in silence for a few minutes. It was awkward. I hated silence.

Shifting, I glanced up to see Carter focused on his food so hard I was wondering if he would pop a vessel.

“Who taught you how to cook?” I asked just to break the stifling silence.

He glanced up at me, pain slashing through his eyes, “My mom. But this was my Dad’s favorite.”

“Was?” I asked softly.

He looked down at the food spread before us, his brows creased. “He was killed on the job. He was a police officer. Went to work that morning like normal. Kissed Mom, gave hugs to us kids. And he never came back.”

I felt like I was going to choke on air. The pain that was lacing his words was too much. Fighting the urge to stand up, go to him, and wrap my arms around him was the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life up until that point.

“I was just a kid, but I’ll never forget the sight of my Mom kneeling at the entrance of the house, and begging the officers that came to inform her of what had happened to tell her it was a lie.”

A fist lodged itself in my throat, and my heart broke for that little boy. I had to fight the tears that threatened to spill. I knew he would hate them.

Not because they would show weakness, or that he would have some misguided belief that I pitied him. On some level I knew he would hate himself if he thought that he brought me pain, no matter if the pain I was feeling was for him, and not because of him.

“I’m so sorry, Carter.”

He looked up then, his eyes haunted by loss. “It was a hard time, but they’re all good now. It took a long time, but Mom remarried and is now finally happy.”

I didn’t know what to say, except, “That’s good.”

“Yeah,” he muttered, and lightly shook his head as he focused back on his food.

As the silence descended again, I shifted, “I’m sorry you grew up without your dad. I know how that feels.”

“You lost yours?”

“Never had one.” I chewed and swallowed before continuing. “Well, technically. There was a man who the state says is my father because his name is on my birth certificate. But, when he wasn’t completely ignoring me, which was half of the time, he was controlling my every move.”

“Did he-”

“Hurt me?” I asked as a matter of fact. “Sure. A couple of times he beat the hell out of me. But after he broke my ribs, I packed my bags and left.”

A spark flickered in his eyes. A spark that ignited the fire in my heart and body.

“How old were you?”

“Sixteen.”

“A baby,” he mumbled, looking at me in a way that made me squirm.

It wasn’t one of his normal scowls, or the looks he gave me that had heat pouring through me. It wasn’t even that gentle look he gave me a few times. It was a brand new look.

One that I would cherish forever. One that whispered to my soul.

It was a look that finally made me feel seen.

Chapter Eight

Carter