Matter of Truth, A (21 page)

He stands up. My legs jerk me up, too, but then refuse to
move anywhere else. And all I can think is, oh my gods, oh my gods, this is not
happening.

Now that I know what I want,
this cannot be happening
.

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. His hand must be
cramping by now. And then he takes my heart out of my chest. “I can’t do this
anymore. I’m . . .” He swallows hard, and then, voice barely loud enough to
hear, “Done.” Louder, “I—I have to go.”

The urge to scream, plead, fall to his feet and beg for
forgiveness, another chance, anything at all, clamors against my skull and rib
cage. But in the end, I simply nod, because if he needs to go, I have to let
him. All I’ve ever done is take from him. It’s time to give. If he needs me to
let him go, I must do it, even though it’s the absolute last thing I want.

When he passes me, he slows down, the pull between us
vicious and unforgiving. He must feel the love I have for him. It’s impossible
to hide any longer. But his feet are better than mine, stronger, too, because
they keep moving. Down the hallway, out the front door.

Out of my life.

Will and Cameron, accompanied by
Erik, come home from their walk to find me still standing exactly where Jonah
left me. I’m not sure if I’m still crying. I don’t know how much time has
passed. I vaguely hear Erik telling Cameron words like
shock
and
time
,
and then Will pushes me toward my bedroom and gets me into bed. He offers to
stay with me, but I send him away. I need to be by myself right now.

I lie here for the entire night, awake, thinking about what
I’ve done. I want to fight for Jonah, for us, but if he’s done with me, would I
be only prolonging the festering wounds I’ve inflicted upon his soul? They need
to heal. All of the injuries we’ve developed this last year need to heal. Scar
tissue needs to develop. But it’s hard to give him that room now that I know
what I want.

I don’t know what to do and it terrifies me. I won’t run,
though. I’ll never run again. I’ve got to prove to him that I’ve changed. That
I understand things better now. Running doesn’t solve anything.

But I’m helpless right now. There’s nothing I can create
that will fix this. Only time, and time is the most brutal of all solutions,
because there is no way to manipulate it in your favor.

Kellan shows up the next morning as I listlessly roam around
the apartment. Dark purplish smudges under his eyes tell me right away how his
mission went, and old habits die hard, because guilt festers in the bit of my
belly for asking him to come over so I can explain why I abandoned him last
year when he clearly ought to be resting. Nothing says loving support like
breaking someone’s heart after a grueling day at work.

We linger at the door for several minutes, him right outside
the threshold, me right inside. Our awkward conversation goes like this:

Me:
“You look tired.”

Him:
“I’m fine.”

Me:
“We can do this tomorrow, if you want to go sleep
first.”

Him:
“I said I’m fine.”

Me:
“Want to come in?”

Him:
“Who the hell owns this place anyway?”

Me:
“Cameron. It’s—I guess it was his wife’s. And
his. I mean, they were married, so—”

Him:
“I can’t believe you’re living with these guys.
Why are you living here? You have an apartment of you own. It’s still there.
Everything’s still there.”

Me:
“Oh. I’d wondered. Want to come in?”

Him:
“Fine. Whatever.”

And now we’re in the kitchen, me making him a cup of coffee
because I genuinely fear he’s going to pass out from exhaustion and him leaning
against the counter, watching me.

The thing is, as I study him, I can’t help but acknowledge
just how much I love him. But now that I’m here—
we’re
here—and after
everything that went down yesterday, it crushes me to know that, despite
everything, despite my feelings for him, his for me, how good we are with one
another, and how I still dream at times of a life we could have together, I
need his brother more.

And I don’t hide it from him. Maybe that makes me a bitch,
but I can’t do this anymore. I have to be honest.
We
have to be honest.

“I fucked up,” is what I tell him first. Thankfully, with
him here, with at least this Connection being satisfied by being around its
match, I’m no longer the zombie I was just minutes before.

“No shit.”

He’s got every right to be angry, and I know it. I try not
to let it get to me. “I’m sorry I left without saying anything.”

Will chooses this moment to come into the kitchen. And, just
my luck, he’s shirtless, with a towel hanging from his neck. “Chloe, you’ve got
to—” He stops when he sees Kellan. “Oh. Apologies. I didn’t know you had
company.”

Kellan glares at my friend, no doubt remembering the
antagonism between them yesterday during the worlds’ most awkward Family
Secrets Reveal Day.

“Yeah, um,” I move a hand between them. “Will, this is
Kellan. Kellan, this is Will. You guys didn’t get to formally meet yesterday.”

At Kellan’s name, Will’s eyebrows shoot up. He knows how
devastated I am with what happened with Jonah. I can see the question in his
eyes, and how he wonders if I’m sliding back into bad habits.

And it kind of hurts, coming from him of all people.

But Will sticks his hand out, because he’s that kind of guy.
I hold my breath, waiting to see if Kellan will reciprocate in kind, and it
takes a good three seconds, but he finally does. And I let the breath go,
relieved that I’m not going to have to referee a fight between these two today.

“You were saying?” I prompt Will as he pours himself a cup
of coffee. Nell comes trotting into the kitchen; it warms my heart to watch
Kellan automatically bend down and pet her satiny head.

“Right. I need you to call Frieda when you have a moment and
tell her to take her head out of her ass. Obviously you haven’t been checking
your messages this morning. She’s called me a good five times, the last two
asking where you are and whether or not I’ve lost you in Glasgow already.”

My eyes slide over to where Kellan is. He’s sipping his
coffee, watching us curiously, which is admittedly a much better turn of events
than searing anger and disappointment. “Frieda is a friend I used to work with
in Alaska.”

This surprises him. “You had a job?”

His incredulity makes me do one of those breathy exhales of
a laugh. Talk about a surreal situation. “Yes, Kellan. How do you think I
afforded to buy food? Pay rent?”

Well, okay. I don’t quite tell him everything, because I’m
holding back that I afforded a lot of things thanks to the money I stole from
him and his brother.

Some of the old easiness between us resurfaces, though.
“Just what kind of job did you have?”

“She was a waitress,” Will supplies. “With a vicious
cleaning fetish. We had the cleanest diner in all of Anchorage.”

My cheeks burn. Kellan laughs, though—it’s quiet and small,
but it’s a laugh. “I never pictured in my wildest dreams that you would ever be
a waitress, let alone one with a cleaning fetish.”

My lips tug up at the corners. “Why am I calling Frieda,
Will?”

He pulls a box of crackers out of the cupboard. “Paul
proposed.”

“Shut. UP.” My cup slams onto the counter.

“I know this will come as a shock, but Frieda is outraged.
I’m tired of her bloody rants. If I have to listen to them one more time, I’ll
be doing more than telling her to bugger off.” Will grabs a jar of Marmite out
of the fridge; he’d found a small grocery store last night that actually
carried it. “It’s your turn.”

“Why isn’t Ginny dealing with the fallout?”

He points his knife at me. “Our dearest Gin has already
planned out the entire wedding. Frieda has disavowed her as a traitor. She
somehow thinks you or I will talk sense into Paul. I’ll be honest, I sent Paul
a text and told him to insist he was joking and find a nice girl who’ll
appreciate him, but you know Paul. Said he sees loads in her the rest of us are
blind to or whatever.”

I pass him a plate. “Turn off your phone. It’s an easy
solution.”

And . . . he looks so sad. Lost. Which means only one thing.
I snatch the plate back. “Will—”

Now he feigns innocence. “Give me back my plate. Do you want
me to starve?”

“Of course not. It’s just—”

Will rips the plate out of my fingers and glances at Kellan,
who is not hiding his amused interest in this conversation. “This is neither
the time nor place for such a conversation. Don’t you have a
mea culpa
to commence with?”

I’m a dog with a bone. “Will—”

“Chloe,” he mimics in falsetto.

We have a stare-off for a good five seconds before I relent.
Finally, “I refuse to apologize for caring.”

“I don’t expect you to.” He nods toward Kellan. “It was good
to finally make your proper acquaintance. And now, I’m off to go watch the
hockey game I taped, because at least that will be normalcy in this madhouse of
family horrors.”

When he’s gone, Kellan asks, “What was that about?”

“It’s a long story.” I rub the spot between my eyes, leaning
a hip against the counter and trying desperately not to remember in vivid
detail us being in another kitchen during another lifetime. “I’m sorry, Kellan.
I really am.”

He sighs, setting his coffee cup down.

I tell him what I told Jonah—about how I hated hurting them,
how I didn’t know if I could live with it, about the weight of work, about
being sick all the time. And then I tell him I told Jonah about the two of us
and what we did behind Jonah’s back.

“He knew,” is what Kellan finally says.

It’s my turn to sigh. Oddly, I’m not on the verge of tears,
and I’m not sure if it’s because I’m numb or in denial or because if I let
myself go, I’m afraid I’ll be right back to where I was.

I’ve only blacked out twice since Jonah walked out
yesterday. I figure that’s a victory of and in itself. But then again, it’s
hasn’t even been twenty-four hours.

“I realize I didn’t ask you ahead of time if I could tell—”

“Chloe.” He takes a step closer, and I can finally smell
him. It’s spicy and warm and sexy and it makes my senses and resolutions go
fuzzy. “It’s not like you needed my permission to tell him.” He swallows. “We
already had that discussion months ago.” His half smile that I love quirks, but
it’s sad. “Technically, we fought and nearly tore each other’s throats out, but
in the end, we talked, and he told me he knew, and I told him the truth.”

“Oh.” I don’t know what else to say. But I force myself to
take a step back.

He runs his hands through his hair and steps away, too.
There’s a space between us now, one that I think we both understand is
necessary, if at least for today, even if it’s becoming increasingly difficult
not to just launch myself into his arms. “I get why you left. It pisses me off
you did it, but I understand.”

We stand in the kitchen in silence for a long time. A lot of
questions circle round my head, but I don’t know if I have a right to ask any
of them. I don’t know where I stand with Kellan at the moment. He’s my
Connection, yes. I still love him, yes. But I abandoned him and hurt him and
have decided, once and for all, that I want to spend my life with his brother,
even if his brother wants nothing to do with me.

And if he’s reading my emotions, he must know that. Right?

“When I was gone,” I finally say. “Did you two . . . were
you close again?”

He’s twisting the cuff on his wrist. “We live under the same
roof nowadays, if that’s what you’re asking.”

I don’t know how to feel about that. I’m glad that they’re
together again, but . . . it also means that Jonah’s no longer living in our
old home. And yet, my apartment is apparently still there waiting for me if I
want it.

“Are you . . .” I wonder if I even have a right to ask. “How
are you?”

He looks over my shoulder. “Part of me wants to not tell you.
Walk right through the door and leave you wondering like you left me for
months. I knew you weren’t dead—being the son of somebody who lost his
Connection due to death, I know what that can do to a person—but I didn’t
know
.
And that’s messed up, Chloe.”

“I know,” I whisper.

“It’s also fucked up because, during those times in which I
was so angry I wanted to break everything in my apartment, I also eventually
came to the realization it’s exactly what I did to you, too. I may not have run
away without a word, but for eight months, I left you in the dark.”

I stretch out a hand—not to touch him, which I ache to, but
because I need him to stop this. “Do not turn this around on yourself. If
anyone is apologizing today, it’s me.”

“You tore me apart when you left,” he says. “It wasn’t the
first time. I doubt it’ll be the last. But here’s the thing. I’ve learned to
live without you in my life over the last few years. You and I, we’ve done this
dance far too often. I hold you at an arm’s length, we come together, and vice
versa. It’s . . .” He shakes his head sadly. “I think if we ever went to see a
shrink, they’d say we’re completely dysfunctional.”

I focus on my breathing. In. Out. In. Out.

“You tore me apart,” he continues, “but you absolutely
gutted my brother.”

The tears that minutes before I thought were gone forever
find their way home after all.

“I’m not saying that to shame you, because I think we all
know that you carry more guilt in you than most people could ever bear.” He
passes me a paper towel so I can mop up my face and blow my nose. “I’m telling
you this because I think you need to know.”

Will breathing ever be an easy task again? I tell Kellan,
“He’s done with me.”

I try not to disintegrate when Kellan doesn’t disagree.

“Earth to Chloe.”

I flinch from Will’s snapping fingers. He sighs and drops
down next to me. “You need to eat.”

“Not hungry,” I say, eyes dropping back to the dossier on my
lap, the one Zthane passed over this afternoon after Kellan left. He forgave me
for not coming in last night, but says we—the both of us—are going out on a
mission soon. Tomorrow, as a matter of fact. I need to be all about the
mission. Find Elders. Kill Elders. Stop Elders from killing more Magicals, both
loved and stranger alike.

I’ve just gotten off the phone with Caleb. It was weird,
calling my former Conscience on the phone, but I figured I owed him an apology
for shutting him out like I did. He was . . . livid. Yelled at me for a good
ten minutes straight before finally relenting and admitting he missed me. And
then we talked, really talked. I told him all about my reasons and my choices,
and the funny thing is, Caleb understood where I was coming from. Before we
hung up, he promised to come and visit me within the week. He also told me
that, once the link between a Conscience and its ward is broken, it’s forever
broken. From here on out, we’re nothing more than friends.

It was yet another hurt to add to my growing list of
How
Chloe Royally Fucked Up This Time.