Page 108 of Traded

I can see the headline now.

Feral omega holds star hockey captain hostage in Blackwater horror.

When he shifts, sitting up and bringing me with him, I have a flash of prickling cold sweat that he’s somehow heard my plan and he’s making a run for it. “What are you doing?”

Carter slips out of bed, tugging on a pair of sweats tossed over the back of his chair and reaching for me. He draws up my green blanket, wrapping it around me before sliding his arms under me and collecting me up like a pile of washing.

“Change of plans.” I lean against him as he carries me out of his bedroom and down the hall.

My throat grows tight as he jiggles me to free up a hand, reaching for the door to my nest. “Carter—”

He pushes the door open. My body wilts, and I find myself pressing back into him without meaning to. I watch his face instead. He takes in the empty space with a stoic expression. His eyes travel over my bed, my shelves, the sheer emptiness of an omega’s nest stripped back to nothing.

And Carter doesn’t say a word.

His body has turned to rock beneath mine. When he finally takes a breath, he inhales in a single, sharp movement. The scent of bleach hangs heavily in the air, but he doesn’t flinch.

Carter steps inside, bringing me with him as he turns, taking in every inch. “Oh, Rosie.”

“I’m sorry,” I whisper. His face has changed, collapsing into lines of devastation. “It’s a refresh. I needed—I needed some changes. That’s all.”

I remember how excited he’d been to show me this room. How he’d tied a green scarf around my eyes and brought me up in the elevator, swearing the others to silence. He hadn’t said a word as he’d led me down the hall, his hand tight in mine, so focused on making it to the nest that I’d bumped into two walls and a doorframe, both of us giggling like children.

How he’d tugged the scarf away and backed up a few steps to see my face, his own flushed and boyish and shining.

I’d never had a space of my own. Never had much at all. Ma Mercer had tried, clearing out a bedroom so I could have a space to try and fix my broken nervous system. She’d filled it with bedding and blankets and teddies, and I’d never had the heart to tell her it didn’t work for me because all I could scent was other people’s lives. Their perfumes, their body washes, their scents,and none of them felt safe because nobody else had ever been safe for me before.

But this room was brand new. I could still smell paint, but there was nothing else. A blank slate, just for me. And he’d been so happy to give it to me, as if the work and the injuries and the draft and the money had all been for this one, single moment.

Now it’s a blank slate again. Every part of the last three years has been torn away and scrubbed into oblivion, and Carter isn’tmoving. “Carter?”

“A refresh,” he says finally. His eyes lower, dark and deep and blue and filled with something that scares the hell out of me. Because it looks awfully close to understanding. And fear. “That’s it?”

“Yeah.” My fingers tangle with his hair, stroking the back of his neck. I have to make this better. Make him better. The bark pushes me harder, to make him believe… but behind that isme. “That’s it.”

As my lips form the words, understanding settles into me, fresh concrete burying me in a truth I’m only just beginning to see clearly.

If Carter knew the truth, all of it… it would destroy him.

All roads lead to Rosie.

He watches my face for long seconds, looking for the lie. When he sets me down carefully, against the wall, my arms are slow to unwind from his neck. “What are we doing?”

He cups my face, pushing hair back and stroking my cheek before he hands me his phone. “I’m building you a nest. Find us a playlist, Ro.”

Oh.

He carries the bags in, one by one. Sheets, and covers, and pillows, and brightly colored cushions, none of them matching. Drawing up my knees, I sip at the tea he carries in for me as eachbag is carefully unpacked. He brings every single thing to me first, offering it up for inspection.

When I nod, he unpacks it, layering the bedding with careful movements until my mattress no longer resembles a clinical cell. The blankets follow, a dozen at least. I reach out and snag a particularly soft deep amethyst number, stealing it, and he smiles for the first time since he stepped inside and turns, pulling out several packs of fairy lights that I watch him string across my ceiling with several muffled curses as he balances on a stepladder from the utility closet.

And Carter rebuilds my nest for me, piece by piece. He rebuildsme.

When the bags are empty, he disappears. I lay my head back against the wall, waiting until he reappears with a bundle of clothes and approaches me.

Kneeling, he holds up each item in turn. I sink my nose into them, nodding with every hit of black pepper and bonfire smoke. Safe scents. Familiar scents. I snatch a t-shirt, adding it to the purple blanket in my hands and eyeing him with a silent warning that he might lose a finger if he tries to take it back off me.

A black shirt is next. My mouth twists in immediate judgement before I can stop it. “It’s fine.”