Revelation (4 page)

My stomach pinches with dread.

That's
exactly
what she wanted.

And it hurts. It physically hurts feeling this small—this weak and insignificant—to know that no matter what I do, on my own, it will
never
be enough.

I'm supposed to change the world. The Guardian in my dream—my vision?—said I would. But how can I change the world if I can't even control my own tiny corner of the universe? How could anything I do matter? And most important: why
me
?

I lift the rose from the dresser, close my eyes, inhale. The scent lures me from this place, this time, memories of Seth flickering through my head. The old rental house. Broken glass. Bodies twisted in a pile of sheets, gentle kisses, breath warm against my neck. The recollection fills me with strength. Courage. Determination. I swallow the knot jamming my throat, pushing bitterness aside, sliding my black knit cardigan off the hanger.

Whatever it takes, I'll get him back
.

Outside, wheels turn over the driveway, gravel crunching beneath them.

By the time I reach the living room Carter is at the front door, fidgeting with keys. I seize a mouthful of air, holding it, heart rushing, and smooth my dress. He steps into the entryway, arms full of plastic bags—what looks like groceries. He pauses when he sees me, grin deepening, and whistles low under his breath. A fiery blush stings my cheeks. "I see you got my note."

"I thought I told you not to plan anything for my birthday."

He drags the remaining bags inside, kicks the door closed with his foot. "I didn't. I'm just taking you to dinner. I figured you would need a dress, so. . . ." He trails off, eyes drifting. "You look great, Gee."

"Thank you. For the dress, I mean. It's perfect. And . . . check this out." I lift the front, tilt my leg, revealing the leather holster, forty-five strapped inside.

"Now
that
is sexy."

I laugh, amused. "Yeah, I thought you might say that. Can I help bring something in?"

"Nope." He sets the bags on the counter. "I got it."

"Well, let me at least put them away. I feel like you're carrying all the weight around here."

"Hardly. But if it makes you feel better, go for it. I need a shower, anyway. Give me fifteen, then we'll head out."

*          *          *

The restaurant is a solid twenty miles out of town. A little Italian place. Cozy. Not fancy—not dress shirt and khakis and shimmery gold dress fancy, anyway—but nice. Red tablecloths. Fresh flowers. Candlelight.

Carter and I fill up on bread, split an order of lasagna, share a complementary brownie—fresh from the oven—and vanilla ice cream smothered in chocolate syrup. And, by the time we're climbing the steps to the cabin, I've decided only one thing could have made this night more perfect. I force back the hot tears threatening my mascara, my cheeks, the entire evening. Carter is trying so hard. I don't want to ruin it. I can't think about Seth—how he should be here, right now, celebrating with me.

I'll get him back. I'll find him, and I'll figure out a way I can be with him.

Inside, Carter assembles a small pile of logs in the fireplace. He crumples newspapers, cramming them between wood, lighting them with a long, slender match. I kick my shoes to the side, toss the couch pillows onto the floor. He shuffles around the kitchen while I prod the fire with a metal poker, stirring it. The fire grows brighter, warming the room. In a few moments he returns, glasses of red wine in hand.

"What is it about this town?" I ask, taking a glass from him. "First guns and now wine?"

He sinks to the floor beside me, shoulder touching mine. "I have no idea. They didn't even card me."

"You don't really look like someone to screw with. They probably didn't want any trouble."

"Are you saying I cause trouble?"

I hike the fabric of my dress up my leg, remove the handgun, empty the chamber, and place it on the floor beside me. "No more than I'd cause." He leans away from me,
untucking
the dark blue dress shirt from his khakis, producing a nearly identical gun from his belt holster. "We're just a modern-day Bonnie and Clyde, aren't we?" I tease, taking a sip of wine. The first taste shocks my tongue, burns my throat as I swallow.

"It ended badly for those two," he reminds me, voice low, serious.

The fire blazes, flames reaching, flickering. An uneasy quiet pervades, the distance expanding between us. I don’t know what to say, anymore. What to do. I don't know this Carter. This Carter who whisks me to safety, no questions asked. This Carter who risks everything, who brandishes guns, willing to use them. . . .

"You've changed," I finally say, puncturing the stillness.

"How?"

"You're just . . . different now."

His finger traces the rim of the glass, agitating the wine. "Be more specific."

"I don't know. You're not. . . . You don't seem like
you,
anymore."

"I thought every girl wanted the bad guy," he says, taking a swig.

"You're not a bad guy," I tell him.

"What am I, then? Or better yet, what, exactly, am I
supposed
to be?"

My shoulders lift, a quiet shrug. "I don't know.
Carter
. Carter
Fleming
."

"What does that even mean?" he asks.

"It means what it means. This isn't. . . . It's not
you
."

"Why? Because I'm a Fleming? Because we're loaded? No cares? No worries?"

The fire warms my bare skin, dries my eyes. "That's not what I meant."

"But it's true. We have our
whole lives
set up for us."

My cheeks prickle with the heat of embarrassment.

The accident—the fight we had
.

"I'm sorry. I was angry. I shouldn't have said . . ."

"You were right, though."

"No, I was wrong. I should've never dragged you into this. Your life was perfect before you met me."

"You didn't drag me into this. And I didn't start living until I met you."

"This isn't
living
," I argue, voice rising. "Not hiding in the mountains. Not running from demons. You should be in school right now. Having
fun
."

"That's not what I want. If I go to college, if I work for my dad, if I become just like him, it's over. I mean, what difference would I make? In a hundred years, who would even care?"

The flames snap, sparks revolting as they mount the sky.

"I care." I slide out of the dark cardigan and set it aside. The firelight dances with the images on my arm.

"I want to be more than a Fleming," he says, ignoring me. "I want a chance to make my own difference, apart from them."

He takes my hand in his and turns my arm over, examining the flowers and vines, the contrasting colors, patterns. And I hate that I don't know what he's thinking, what he sees when he looks at me. We broke up what feels like forever ago—like yesterday. I fell for my Guardian—the one who was supposed to protect me—and now he's gone. I've lost everything, and it's all my fault. If I would've been better. . . . If I would've fought harder. . . . And here he is, caught in the middle of it all. I swallow back contempt for Viola. The Council. Myself.

"It's hideous. I hate it."

"It's beautiful," he replies.

"It's like I sold my soul."

"We sell our soul every day, Gee. Little by little."

I pull my arm away from him, take another quick sip of wine. Carter stares ahead, vacant eyes reflecting the firelight, lost. A log crumbles apart, cracking and popping as it settles.

"I haven't given you your birthday present," he finally says.

"This is enough, Carter. I can't pay you back for any of this—everything you've done for me."

"I haven't asked you to. And I won't. I promised." He clears his throat, a somber frown deepening his features.

"The thing is . . . I got you something for your birthday, and I need to give it to you."

His hand slips inside his pants pocket and removes a tiny black jewelry box.

"What is it?" I ask, hesitating.

He refuses to meet my gaze, handing it to me. "Open it."

I slowly lift the cover.

Inside, nestled between velvet folds—a ring.

The stone is round, a subtle shade of blue, double band encrusted with tiny, diamond-like stones that sparkle in the firelight.

I exhale a quick gasp. "Oh My God. Carter! This is beautiful!"

"It reminded me of you," he explains, with a trace of sadness too hard to ignore.

"It's like . . . water. A tropical ocean. Is it a topaz?"

"Something like that."

I study the ring, turning it this way then that, light springing from every angle. I imagine what it would look like on my finger. It must've cost a small fortune. "I can't accept this," I say, handing it back to him.

"I knew you were going to say that. And I also know that, not only can you not accept this ring, you're about to flat-out refuse what I'm going to say next."

"What are you talking about?"

He tosses his head back, polishing off the remaining wine in a single gulp. The firelight casts shadows across his dark features.

"I want you to marry me."

S
IX

A weak laugh jams my throat, a surge of panic coursing through my veins. I watch him, mouth gaping, waiting for some kind of. . . . I don't know what I'm waiting for. An explanation? I don't know what this is. What he's doing. He
can't be
serious.

Wait. Did Carter just ask me to
marry
him?

He's kidding. He meant it as a joke. He's not serious.

But his eyes are serious. His face. His lips.

Oh My God.
He's
serious
.

"Carter—I . . ."

"Please," he begs, sitting taller. "Hear me out, first."

My jaw smarts, tightening in frustration. I don't
want
to hear him out. I want him to tell me this
isn't real
.

"I watched you guys the whole summer, and, for the sake of being honest, it about killed me. But as much as it hurts to admit this, I saw something you had with him that you never had with me. I know that I am
never
going to replace him. I can't. He . . . he gave you something that I couldn't give you. He helped you figure out who you are. You're
meant
for this, Gee. For some reason. I don't know why, but this is what you're supposed to do, and he gave that to you. He was there for you when I couldn't be—in more ways than I could ever be . . ."