A Matter of Fate (53 page)

“Because,” she says fiercely, “I love him. He’s so miserable right now, and it’s partially my fault. And while I’d be the happiest girl in all the worlds if you two were really done and over, I’m not a completely selfish bitch who’ll manipulate things so the person I love is in pain.”

Great. Now I’m crying in front of
her
. And blubbering about how, if he was truly upset, he’d have gotten ahold of me by now.

“Hasn’t anybody told you what’s been going on with him?” she demands incredulously.

I can’t believe I just broke down in front of her. My spiral into breakup hell knows no boundaries, apparently. I shake my head and wipe at my nose.

“After you blew all that shit up and nearly killed him,” she says, her voice cold, “and then ran to his brother and refused to speak to him, Jonah lost it. And girl, I’ve never,
ever
seen Jonah lose it—not during the entire time we’ve known each other. A nuclear war could break out and he’d be just as calm as could be. But when you caught us kissing and then disappeared? It was . . . .”

As she
tsks-tsks
at me, my lungs tighten. I can’t breathe. I grip the table so tightly I worry I might break it in half. Because . . . if she’s telling me the truth . . . .

“You were gone, and you took his heart with you. He was . . . I don’t even know how to describe it. Inconsolable, frantic, angry at himself, devastated, and in the end, I think, numb. When Kellan answered your phone . . . it was like watching him talk to a complete stranger. I don’t think you understand how hard those two work at containing their personal feelings. Being Emotionals, they have to if they ever have any hope at using their craft effectively in the worlds. But Jonah . . . it was like there was a large crack in the wall, and the emotions were seeping out without rhyme or reason. The whole area around him was chaotic; any person who came near was an emotional wreck.”

That’s . . . that’s not Jonah. He’s always so in control. Everything in me is screaming that I need to get to him as quickly as possible.

“Giuliana finally called Cora over to attempt to help. She had to sedate him.”

“She was there because I broke his fingers,” I croak, the tablecloth tearing under my grip.

“Yeah,” Callie says, her lip curling in a sneer. “You
did.
”

I can’t breathe. I just can’t. “You stayed with him,” I rasp.

“Why should I apologize for that? He’s messed up right now, and somehow or other, you got his brother and one of his best friends threatening to kick his ass, and he’s emotionally alone—so yeah, I stayed. Because even if he doesn’t want me that way, I will still be there for him when needed.”

The little voice murmurs,
I know it sounds ludicrous, but you ought to thank her for being there for him when no one else was.

“By the way. When you had Kellan come with to Annar? Wow. If things had been bad for Jonah, knowing you’d run to Kellan afterwards, they went straight to worse when he found out you two were together here. Me and Giules, Cora even, tried to rationalize with him—telling him you needed time and space to deal with things—but nothing helped. It was like someone sucked the life and soul out of him. We took his phone away—he wanted to call you, you know, despite what he’d been warned, but we all thought it’d only make things worse. And I’m sorry, but I didn’t believe Jonah needed worse.” She sighs through her nose. “When you called yesterday, I answered, because he was asleep. He’s been sleeping a lot, which has me really worried. It’s like he’s here one moment and then gone for hours and hours, sleeping. Cora told me yesterday that you were doing the same thing. She said it was some kind of stupid Connection thing.”

Wait. Jonah’s going through it, too?

“I realized I needed to talk to you, to explain how things went down. So I called my mom, had her override Karl’s orders, and we brought Jonah to Annar.”

“He’s . . . here?” I manage to whisper.

She nods, back to drinking tea.

“Was he there . . . last night?”

“No,” she says. “He was at my mom’s, asleep. And thank gods for that, because if he’d seen how you and Kellan were acting . . . .”

I swallow the rather large lump in my throat.

Her voice drops and wobbles a little. “Jonah and I are not together, and even if you kick him to the curb like he fears you’ve done, he will never give me a shot again, because he’s in love with you.”

I desperately want to believe her.

“If you’re stupid enough to give him up, then you don’t deserve him in the first place. But it’s up to you. I’m telling you where he is, and I’m strongly suggesting you go talk to him.”

“Why?” I ask quietly, wiping at my tears.

“Why am I helping?” she clarifies. When I nod, she says, “I already told you. I love him. And sometimes, when you love someone, you have to think beyond yourself. He needs you right now.” She clears her throat. “Not . . . me. So, yeah. We kissed. And maybe I should apologize, but I’m not going to. I’ve apologized to Jonah, though, for messing things up for
him.
You, me . . . that’s different. Because I think you know exactly where I’m coming from.”

There is so much swirling around my head, so many questions, fears, and hopes. But ultimately, Callie and Kellan are right. Only Jonah is going to have the answers I need.

Right or wrong, we need to talk.

I’m finally ready for that conversation.

Forgiveness is a tricky thing. There are those who say it’s easy—to hold onto wrongs is tiring, so forgiveness is a natural thing. And then there are those who think forgiveness is a sign of weakness, that once a wrong has happened, to let that person back in is only asking for more hurt.

Jonah hurt me by kissing his ex-girlfriend. Was it cheating? Probably. Callie makes it sound like no—but then, there are those who’d say kissing is kissing, and therefore cheating.

But then, I kissed someone, too—not first, but does that matter? And can alcohol be an excuse? Should it be?

These are the things I consider as I stand outside of Jonah’s bedroom in Astrid’s luxurious apartment. Giuliana is out in the living room; she’d insisted on being here for Jonah even though Astrid outranks her in every way, shape and form. She’s watching trashy Faerie soap operas, which are thirty times hokier than anything the Human plane has to offer. They’re addictive and ought to keep her thoroughly distracted while Jonah and I have our chance to talk things through.

We’ve both wronged each other. And forgiveness—something so alluring and yet frightening at the same time—isn’t a guarantee, even with a Connection. Because sometimes pain is searing and imprints itself, whether you want it or not, on your soul.

It could be worse. There are women out there, and men, who have been wronged far worse than I. A kiss, to these people, may be nothing. And I know this—but it doesn’t stop the feelings of betrayal. Knowledge is power, but sometimes, even when you
know
something, it doesn’t change anything.

Will things change between me and Jonah today? Do I want them to?

He is asleep, as I’ve been warned, in the middle of a huge bed decorated exclusively in white linens, making his messy black hair a stark, beautiful contrast. There are worry lines on his forehead, a tightness around his eyes that make me wonder if he’s in an abyss like I’d been or in the midst of a nightmare. And even though I’d believed he’d ripped my heart out and damaged it beyond repair this last week, I feel it twinge in sadness at this sight, yearn for him in ways that are incomprehensible, because I shouldn’t want him, shouldn’t crave him when he’s hurt me like he has.

But I do. Because the heart wants what it wants.

I sit down next to him and reach out, not hesitantly, but assuredly, to stroke his hair. He instinctively moves toward me, still asleep, and I suddenly know that forgiveness, as impossibly far away as it can feel, is within my grasp.

Not because I’d kissed Kellan, and therefore am as guilty as him, but because this man here is my love. And that means a lot, and is worth even more, considering how much he’s hurt me. But I know I can forgive him, even if he doesn’t ask, because sometimes that’s what love does. Love isn’t always clean and pretty—sometimes it’s messy, cruel, and confusing. And sometimes, it doesn’t turn out the way you want it to. But then, the beauty of love is that it’s very strong, and when it’s real, it’s worth it.

I don’t know what’s going to happen in our future, long or short as it may be, but it feels right being here with him right now. I’m still angry, still so hurt I want to rage at him and let him know what he’s done, but I’m also more balanced than I have been in almost a week. So I slide into the bed and he turns in his sleep toward me. And this small movement makes me realize that this is just how it is, this is love—this is us knowing, even asleep, that we are Connected.

When I wake up, he’s the one watching me, still so tired and sad looking. I reach out and touch his face gently; he closes his eyes and shifts his head so it’s closer to me. There are no words between us for a long time; we just slowly move until we’re pressed up against each other.

I don’t know how much time passes before he says, his voice barely above a whisper, “I am so sorry, Chloe. Hurting you . . . it makes me sick to my stomach. I can’t believe . . . .Gods. I’m so sorry. So, so sorry.”

And, I know he is. I just do. I can feel it in him—not as a Magical, certainly not as an Emotional, but as someone who knows and loves him. “Callie came and saw me today,” I tell him in a rather calm voice, which impresses the hell out of me. I figured I’d probably be raging by this point, but I’m not. At least, not yet.

I can’t exactly see his face, not that it’d matter, because he’d probably look calm anyway, but I do feel his muscles tighten in stress.

“I didn’t want to talk to her,” I continue, still amazed by my control, “but apparently, she likes to get her way. So I heard her out. She told me what went down, at least from her perspective. Care to share?”

He struggles with this, searches for the right words—not so much, I think, for exoneration, but to accurately explain himself to me. I do pull away now, just a little, so I can see his face. And, to my surprise, he doesn’t look calm. He looks, as Callie put it, like he’s losing it. Like he’s ready to cry, which is impossible for me to accept, because Jonah doesn’t cry. “She . . . Callie, I mean . . . called me last week, saying she was in town. And . . . it surprised me, but I thought . . . I thought I could take care of it, just maybe . . . if she heard things, face to face, she’d finally accept that she and I are done. I don’t know why, but I thought . . . I could convince her to go home . . . and then . . . .”

Despite knowing I’ll forgive him, there are still things I want—no,
need
—to know. “Would you have told me?”

“Yes,” he says quickly, and I believe him. “But I didn’t want to worry you . . . so that’s why I didn’t tell you beforehand. I was going to tell you afterwards, later that night, because I really believed she’d leave once I . . . .” He trails off, his hands curling against our chests. “I guess I underestimated her, which . . . which is stupid, because I know how she works, but she . . . .” He gives me a look, a supremely sad one, which makes me realize the level of guilt he has toward this girl. “She started talking about things from our past, and . . . and it’s no excuse, none at all, but . . . it made me remember that, even though I’ve never been in love with her, I do have a lot of feelings that are . . . are . . . .”

“Real,” I offer. “She’s been your friend for a long time.”

He nods, biting his lower lip. “And . . . like I said, it’s no excuse, I just . . . I guess I got carried away with the memories. So, when she asked me to kiss her one last time, I . . . I figured . . . .” He shakes his head. “It didn’t really matter, not when it came to me and you because I knew it would never change how I feel about you. I know that doesn’t make sense . . . .”

“It does,” I say, “in a really odd, sick way.” His eyes widen at my assumed easy acquiescence. But even though I’m fairly calm, I’m not ready to let him off the hook quite so quickly. “But what if I hadn’t been there? How far would things have gone?”

He is genuinely flustered by this question. “I don’t know . . . I’d like to say nowhere, not any further than where we were.”

At least he’s being honest with me. So now it’s my turn. I let him know, both calmly and at times angrily, just how it made me feel, finding him with his ex-girlfriend. He listens to me, genuinely contrite, and when I’m done, and he’s apologized again, forgiveness fills me up.

But this is not the end of our talk, because I have my own confessions I don’t look forward to laying bare for him to see. And he knows there’s something more, because the tension hasn’t left him. I wonder how much Kellan and he have already shared, if they’ve had a talk, too, or if things have remained quiet between them like I’d believed. So I ask the question, and he says, “We didn’t talk for the first twenty-four hours, except by phone and when I came over that night . . . but yeah. We’ve been talking every day since then—at least, when I was awake.”

“Has he told you anything?” I ask, glad that we are now sitting and not lying down anymore. Somehow sitting feels safer, a better position to defend.

“About you?” When I nod, he adds, “No. He said it was your choice whether or not to let me know how things were.” I watch him close his eyes, at how the breath in his chest just barely shudders. “I was so scared, Chloe. I kept hoping that you’d give me a chance to explain, but . . . I hated knowing you were with him. I hated that you went to him. I think it was even worse than when you two were dating. Maybe it’s because our Connection is stronger now . . . .”

I want to remind him that, strong Connection or no, he still managed to kiss his ex-girlfriend, but harping on that particular issue now will get us nowhere. So I tell him, as calmly as I can, which is difficult at best, what happened the night before. “We were drunk,” I conclude. “And that’s not an excuse. But it’s the truth.”

You’d think by his reaction that he hadn’t kissed his ex, because he leaps off the bed, furious. “You did
what
?!”