33. Teenage Dreams #2
Carter slips a napkin into my free palm, his hand settling on my knee as Ronnie continues.
“Teenage omegas face increased rates of physical and mental illness. Many are left without any form of support and without the physical environment they need in a strained system that cannot offer the one-to-one help needed for them to develop safely. Statistics show us that they are disproportionately likely to experience physical and sexual abuse. Too often, this results in tragic outcomes, and we as a society—as a community—need to do better. A new fund set up from tonight’s gala will be used to recruit and train a number of specialized support workers who will work specifically with displaced omegas across Blackwater.
We will also be introducing dedicated packages to support young omegas to build a physical environment they can see as their own safe space, no matter where they are. ”
I can feel Carter’s eyes on me, but I keep mine on the stage.
“Our Nesting Bundles have been developed with help from omegas who have experienced the system for themselves. Each one includes a specially-created tent, moveable lighting and a bedding and blanket package which will be indefinitely funded by NestRest. Every single Blackwater omega entering the system will receive one. In time, we hope to expand the project nationally.”
Carter’s whisper brushes my ear. “You’ve been holding out on me.”
It’s happening. I can’t stop the tears, and I mentally bid farewell to my mascara as I scrub at my eyes to see the stage. Katie is bouncing in her seat, and we swap grins.
“This initiative was pitched to us by someone who has been heavily involved in the work of Equal Playing Field.”
Oh, no.
“I’d personally like to thank someone here tonight who brought this idea to us and helped in the design of the Nesting Bundles using her own lived experiences.
Not only that, but she and her pack have personally funded the first thousand units, which have already been distributed to omegas across Blackwater. ”
Carter’s hand tightens on mine.
Everyone at the table is looking at me now. “What? It could be somebody else—”
“Rosie Johnson.” Ronnie, who is no longer my friend, points at me, and the entire room swivels in my direction.
The bitch grins widely. “I am so very proud to have you as my friend. Let’s show her some appreciation, folks.
And she’s taking part in the auction later, so if you want to support a fantastic cause, this is your chance! ”
Katie jumps up first with a whoop. Ethan beside her. Benji. And then the entire room, in a wave of people who get to their feet.
“Rosie.” Carter’s smiling at me. “Stand up, baby.”
Awkwardly, I shuffle to my feet. But he’s clapping too, his eyes curiously bright.
“You didn’t say anything!” Jonas still looks stunned as we sit back down. “Seriously, Ro, why didn’t you mention it?”
“You knew I do stuff with Ronnie.” I grab for my wine again, in dire need of fortitude, but Liam is already refilling it. “It just snowballed.”
He hands it to me without a word of complaint. “I’m really proud of you. That’s a great idea.”
The faint kernel of panic inside my chest recedes, and I clink my glass against his. “Thank you.”
Carter is still watching me silently. His fingers trace my cheek. “The NestRest blowout makes sense now. I thought you’d bought the most expensive blankets ever made.”
Katie leans across Benji. “You should’ve seen her. She was on a mission. Bought the whole shop and then got their PR team on the phone for sponsorship. They signed up before we even left. It was phenomenal.”
“Ronnie and I had already talked about it,” I defend weakly. “I had an urge to get things moving. It felt important.”
“It is important,” Carter says at once. “It’s brilliant.”
“Yeah?” Our starters begin to arrive, tiny plates of artfully arranged beets and burrata delivered by smartly dressed waitstaff. It never fails to amaze me how rich people have to spend money in order to raise money. Also, why anyone would choose beets is beyond me.
I fiddle with the cream linen napkin, folding it over in my lap. “It makes sense, right? You don’t mind? I know it’s a lot of money.”
“Stop that thought, right now,” Carter says firmly. He tugs the napkin from my hands and spreads it out over my lap. “It’s our money, Rosie. All of it. I wouldn’t have it without you. And I can’t think of a better cause to spend it on, because I know how important it is.”
“Not everyone has a Carter.” I try to smile. “I don’t think I would have survived it without you, you know. Not any of it.”
I’d been a broken, almost mute eleven-year-old when I’d been shunted into another group home after an incident at my last one.
This house had been loud, and bright, too many voices and too many scents crammed into a far-too-small space.
I’d spotted a corner and beelined for it, and the skinny boy who smelled like bonfires and pepper hadn’t said a word when I’d crawled into his lap, my nose burying into his grubby t-shirt.
He made the world quiet in a way nothing else ever had.
And he hadn’t let go. Not then. And not ever, even when it meant fighting adults who wanted to separate us and scaring off bigger kids who saw a target on my back. We went through homes where he was more bruises than anything else, but he never let anyone put a single one on me.
We’d shuffled from home to home, some of them decent and some of them not, before we’d arrived at a new place, with a new family.
This one was quieter. Good with troubled kids, our social worker had sighed as we’d curled together in the back seat splitting a packet of Sour Patch Kids. Maybe they can do something with you.
And there—
“Rosie?”
The table stutters off into silence, growing tense as I turn in my seat. Carter turns to stone beside me. “Have you got a fucking death wish? Keep walking, Mercer.”
“I’m not here for trouble.” Boone raises his hands in a parley, stepping back as he slips them into his pockets. “Promise. I just wanted to say that the new scheme is brilliant, Rosie. A really good thing.”
Our eyes meet. He shows me the sincerity there. The apology. “I mean it.”
My hand closes over Carter’s arm. “Thanks.”
He inclines his head. “Have a good night.”
“You too.” I watch him go, weaving through the tables in the direction of the long bar that runs along the back of the hall. Dimitri Yukov falls into step beside him after a silent nod to me that might be approval.
I lose myself in conversation over dinner, trying to ease the squeezing in my stomach that I can’t explain. Carter’s voice grows louder as the entrées roll out. “What is this?”
I snag a foiled menu card, ignoring that a few faces have turned toward us at the raised voice. “Herb-crusted Atlantic salmon with wild rice, seasonal vegetables, lemon beurre blanc, and fresh herbs.”
“I’m going to get another drink.” His eyes look glazed as he kisses my head. “More wine?”
“No. Look, there are drinks here—”