I gasp. "Oh my God. . ." Filled with instant pride, I smile at him in awe. "You're a real-life hero. . . I always thought-" I clear my throat. "Sorry, I presumed it had something to do with, ya know, working for Max."
He moves over to the kitchen, sitting back down on the stool. "Most of the people in the neighbourhood lost something or someone over those months. As a community, we were on fire. And it was arson that started it."
I can't believe I didn't know about this. "Did they catch him?"
"They did." He nods once. "He got ten years but was out on parole after four."
My ears burn. "Four!"
"Yes," he confirms calmly, but his eyes lose a bit of vibrancy. A strange kind of detachment moves over him. And while this whole time he's been fixed on me, now Carter is suddenly missing from inside his own gaze.
I swallow hard and take a step towards him. "How many people died?"
"One hundred and thirty"
I exhale loudly. "God. . ." Words clog up my throat, making both breathing and speaking hard. I have to force the question out, choking on the fact that I shouldn't ask but doing it anyway. "Anyone you knew?"
For a split second he gazes past me. "My wife and son."
My heart aches.
No.
Smiling at me sadly, Carter appears to be back inside his eyes. Beneath his burnt skin. That strong resilient muscle. "Don't cry for me, Miss Slater. It was a long time ago."
It doesn’t matter how long ago it was; I cry for him. Covering my face, I let more tears fall through the gaps between my fingers. Tears for my friend and the family he lost while protecting others.
After spending every day with him for weeks, I wish he would resign. Wish he would stop protecting people and find love again. Wish he would - could - move on. It is like he's stalling; caught in a gear he can't get out of. Unable to let go of the past. He's so locked in his need to protect and serve. . . Oh my God. . . He helped raise little Xander. My heart crumbles all over again as realisation takes hold of me. A surrogate son, I imagine. A little man he could watch over, watch grow. . .
I fight back more tears.
"Carter." I lower my hands and look at him through pooling irises and wet lashes. "Thank you for looking out for me."
His smile widens. "There is no greater honour."
Feeling Carter's story deep in my bones, in my marrow, in my heart, I decide to offer him an alternative story. It is the ending that I want for him. For Max and me. For the boys.
The fairy-tale.
It isn’t mysterious. Or dark. Carter doesn’t need to see my interpretation of his pain or fury - he's lived it. So instead, my dance is full of hope for his future - for all of ours - for love, contentment, peace, and placemats.
It is full of upbeat swooping movements that culminate in a happy ending.
The dance we all deserve.
Cassidy
I make my way upstairs to my dad's office, leaving Carter to make a few phone calls - which I think means he needs to check in with Max. I hope my dad isn't swamped with work and he's in a talkative kind of mood.
As I move through the second storey corridor, I have to admit to myself that I somewhat miss my family home. It's still a huge house just like Max's, but it was built in the 19th-Century, and while it's been renovated a few times, it still holds its old-world charm.
When I walk past Konnor's room, something catches the corner of my eye. Taking a step backwards so that I am in the open-door jam, my face lights up at the sight of my beautiful big brother on the bed. With his deep emerald eyes downcast and focused on something in his hand, he hasn't noticed me. As I study him, a smile plays with my lips. With those eyes, the double dimples he often throws my way, and the strong lean physique of an athletic, he's just such a beautiful man.
Troubled at times, though. Despite being on the path to recovery from alcoholism, Konnor still seems to be suffering from a kind of post-traumatic stress disorder, although never clinically diagnosed.
"I never received a congratulations from you," I say with a knowing smirk because it's no secret that my brother does not like The Butcher Boys and most definitely doesn't approve of Max Butcher sweeping his little sister away.
His head shoots up. "Pipsqueak. I wasn't expecting to see you." He holds a hand up. "I'm happy to see you though."
I grin. "You're the one who lives hours away, not me. You should have told me you were in town; I would have come to see you." I glance around, squinting at him as he lowers his gaze to the small photo in his hand. "Where is Blesk?" I ask.
"She's shopping with Elise." His gaze rises to mine. "You remember Blesk's best friend Elise?"
Chuckling at that, I say, "Who could forget Elise? She's like my spirit animal."
"Yeah," he mutters, moving his attention back to the photo, an action that might be rude coming from anyone else, but Konnor gets lost in his thoughts more than anyone I've ever met.
"What is it?" I make my way towards him and sit on the edge of his bed. Leaning closer, I stare down at an old photo of some people about my age. "Who are they?" I ask just as my eyes snag on the handsome face of our father. "Oh my God! Look at him. He's so cute."
"I'll take your word for it."
"What are you doing with this?"
He points to a pretty girl with light-brown hair. Offering me his attention, I stare into perfect green
