Two of a Kind (Fool's Gold #11)

He twisted in his seat as he fired several more times. His shooting style was inefficient, she noted. He wasted a lot of energy and had less than fifty percent accuracy. Not that she was going to give him tips right now.

“Carter,” she repeated. “I need to speak with you.”

He sighed heavily, paused the game and turned to face her. His feet hit the floor with a thunk.

“What?”

She hadn’t realized so much information could be contained in a single word. Not that any of it was good.

For a second she felt as if she’d intruded, that she should apologize and leave him alone. The sense of being uncomfortable, of not fitting in, nearly had her backing away. Then she remembered the kitchen.

“You made a peanut butter sandwich a little while ago.”

“So? I was hungry. Are you saying I shouldn’t eat? Do you want to starve me?”

Felicia processed the words twice and still found no linkage between her comments and his. “I’m saying you left a mess in the kitchen.”

“Oh. That.”

He turned back to his computer screen and picked up the controller.

“Carter.”

“What?”

He didn’t bother turning around.

Frustration joined confusion. “Carter, I’m speaking to you.”

“We’re the only two people in the room. I get that. Unless you want to have a meaningful conversation with the bed.” He chuckled.

“I have no reason to speak to the bed,” she began, only to realize he’d distracted her again. An excellent ploy, she thought with some respect. So this was what it meant to deal with a teenager. Carter had been so easygoing and polite that she’d assumed he wasn’t going to ever be difficult. A mistake on her part. Perhaps he’d just been settling in. Now he was more comfortable and could act like a regular thirteen-year-old.

“Please put down the controller and face me.”

There was another very heavy sigh, but he did as she requested. He raised both eyebrows. “What?”

“You left a mess in the kitchen.”

“Didn’t we already have this conversation?”

“We didn’t finish it. You need to go clean up everything.”

“Sure.” He turned back to the game.

“Now. You need to do it now.”

He spun back to her so quickly, she half expected to see him go flying off the chair.

“You don’t tell me what to do,” he yelled. “You’re not my mother.”

He stood and moved toward her. Nothing about the move was threatening, yet she sensed he meant it to be.

“I don’t have to do what you say,” he said, his voice still loud, his posture aggressive. “You’re not my mother!”

Felicia took a step back. Not because she was afraid, but because she felt as if he’d slapped her. She and Carter had gotten along from the first day. They hugged before he went to bed. They hung out together. She cared about him.

Had it all been an act? A way to gain her trust? If so, what was there to achieve from a pretense of affection?

“Repeating a fact we both already know won’t increase its significance,” she said quietly. “Our relationship has little bearing on how you conduct yourself in this house. We are a family unit, however loosely formed. Each of us has responsibilities for the greater good. There are rules and considerations. One of them is that you don’t leave a mess in the kitchen. You will clean it up now.”

He glared at her, his dark eyes bright with emotion. She wasn’t sure what he was going to do, but after a few seconds, he stalked past her. She heard his heavy footsteps in the kitchen, then the slam of cupboards and the refrigerator door.

She had no explanation for his harsh words, his attitude. Her chest was tight, and she suddenly knew she was only a few seconds from crying. Something she instinctively guessed she couldn’t let him see or know about.

She hurried down the hall. The master was on the other side of the house. She sank onto the bed and tried to steady her breathing. But it was too late to stop the tears. They filled her eyes and spilled down her cheeks. The pain in her heart overwhelmed her. She felt betrayed and hurt and so very small. As if she could no longer protect herself.

Even though she couldn’t say from what, she knew that Carter was somehow at the root of it all.

* * *

GIDEON KNEW SOMETHING was wrong the second he stepped into the house. There was a change in the energy. If he were on the other side of the world, he would be pulling his gun and bracing for an ambush. As it was, he could only move quietly and be prepared for whatever happened next.

He walked through the kitchen, but all seemed well there. A few crumbs on the counters, but nothing out of place. He paused, not sure which way to go next. He started toward Carter’s room, then changed his mind and went into the master.

Felicia sat on the bed. At first he didn’t understand her posture. The slumped shoulders were at odds with her usual upright, take-charge self. Then she looked up, and he saw tears in her eyes.

He found himself pulling her to her feet and holding her tight. She clung to him, her pain as raw and open as a wound.