Page 116 of Traded

“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 isno longermy 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 wasphenomenal.”

“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 Iknowhow 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 anincidentat 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.”