Matter of Truth, A (27 page)

Afterwards, the unbelievable happens—Astrid and Cameron
encourage us
kids
to go get ice cream. I’m not kidding. They said
ice
cream
in unison and passed over money to us twenty-somethings, which forced
another round of tear-worthy laughter from me and Kellan and confusion and
annoyance on behalf of Will and Callie.

Halfway down the block, as we trail behind the constantly
bickering pair, Kellan says to me, “Astrid is really glad to have Cameron back
in her life.”

Which makes me so very glad. Nothing inappropriate had
happened tonight—I don’t think I saw them touch once, but the joy I saw in both
Astrid and Cameron’s eyes when they spoke to one another was so sweet. “They’re
cute, don’t you think?”

“Like puppies.” He fails at keeping his face straight.
“Actually, they are. Ridiculously so. FYI, Cameron is pretty happy, too. I
tried not to pry too much into their feelings, though. I mean, Astrid’s my mom.
I may be twenty years old, but I still don’t want to know if my mother is
digging on some guy or not, you know?”

I kick at a stray rock on the sidewalk. “Isn’t it weird
though? I run all the way to Alaska, and I end up hooking up with Astrid’s old
boyfriend of all people.”

Kellan lifts up an eyebrow, his lips curving in a smirk. I
burst out in another round of laughter and swat at his arm. Which . . . was a
mistake, because touching leads to longing and . . . no. Don’t go there, Chloe.
“Gods, no! EW! Not
hooking up
, you skeevy perv.”

“You’re the one who said it. Not me.”

“You know what I meant.”

He shoves his hands in his pockets and gives me that half
smile of his. Will I ever become immune to it? “It is pretty crazy, though.”

What’s crazier yet is that we’re going to go get ice cream,
and we’re laughing and joking and things feel so easy between us. And it makes
me feel like anything is possible.

“You realize,” he says, “that if these two hook up, we will
officially win the prize for most incestuous family ever.”

I can’t stop laughing with him tonight.

He taps his chin playfully, pretending to be deep in
thought. “Let’s see. My mom—well, you know what I mean—and your dad (again, you
know what I mean) are hooking up. Pardon me. I mean, getting reacquainted,
although I’d lay money down that they go on an official date within the next
few months. It’ll take them awhile, you know. There are a lot of strong
feelings in their history, some very hurtful ones, too. A lot of water under
their bridges that they need to cross. Yet I digress. J and Callie dated, even
though they were, in essence, brother and sister (at least that’s how Astrid
sees us, anyway). Cal is lusting after her mom’s old boyfriend’s son, who is
virtually your brother, although she’d rather stab him than admit that out
loud. He’s pretty hot for her, too. You dated both me and J.”

My lips twitch. “Anything between you and Callie to admit?”

“Believe it or not,” he says slyly, “we made out once. And I
can attest it was like kissing my sister. How Jonah managed it for years is
beyond me. I had to gargle with mouthwash afterwards.”

I resist the urge to ask if he ever felt like he was kissing
his sister when his mouth was on mine. And then I have to resist the flood of
memories of kisses we shared that were so hot I nearly lost my mind. “What
about you and Will? C’mon, C. You can tell me the truth. It’ll make the
incestuousness complete. Did you two hook up in Alaska?”

He’s calling me C again, which warms my heart considerably.
“Nope. Not a single kiss. Not once.”

He’s skeptical, but jokingly so.

“I mean, he’s kissed me on the head or cheek before, but
that’s hardly romantic.” I clear my throat. “You and Callie actually kissed?
When was this?”

He wags a finger at me and tsk-tsks, purposely ignoring my
question. “I’m disappointed in you. You’ve let me down here. Our circle is incomplete.
You must go up to Will right now and lay a big, wet one right on his lips.”

Yeah, right. I kiss Will in front of Kellan, and there’s no
doubt a fight would break out, even though they’ve begun to be friends. Just
like I think would happen with Callie if I ever witness another kiss between
her and either Jonah or Kellan, even though I love her. Still, I find myself
shaking my head, grinning like I’m drunk or something.

This is what Kellan does to me.

“How about Cal, then?” He motions towards our friends,
clearly arguing, yet walking mere inches away from one another. “Willing to go
kiss her?”

“Ha! You wish.”

The light in his eyes is impish. “I do, actually. It would
be incredibly hot; the memory might just get me through many a lonely night.”

“Oh my gods.
Kellan
.”

He breaks down in boyish giggles, and I swear, I once
thought Will’s laughter was pure, addictive happiness. I was wrong. Kellan’s
is, and there’s no comparison.

Exhausted from the third Elders mission I’ve been on since
coming back to Annar, I practically collapse onto my bed. Ever since Russia,
we’ve failed to take any of the Elders out; it’s like, once these Magical
ancestors see I’m there, they disappear without a trace. After today’s failure,
Zthane put a temporary halt to our missions until the Elders Subcommittee can
reconvene to discuss the situation. Until then, the Guard’s attention has
switched to implementing protective measures for the identified Métis colonies
on the various planes.

Erik and Cameron are down at Guard Headquarters nearly every
day discussing the situation. A new Council Subcommittee is currently forming
to help build and strengthen diplomatic ties. It’s a slow start—there is
unfortunately deep-rooted bias on both sides, but conversations are taking
place. It certainly helps that Karl has thrown his full support behind Zthane
and Erik’s initiatives.

I’ve offered my support, too, but as I’m still on an
unofficial time out from the Council, it doesn’t mean much yet. Every day I
work toward changing that. I may not be going to Council meetings yet, but I
faithfully read the minutes (even when they nearly put me to sleep). I vote,
even though it’s via computer. And I strategize with Zthane and the rest of the
Guard about the best ways I can be used to get the Elder problem under control.

As for right now, I’m almost too
tired to even change into my pajamas. I debate even leaving my muddy shoes on
as my eyes drift shut. It’s much nicer to lay here, reminiscing about this one
time Jonah and I went hiking on the outskirts on Annar and I ended up wimping
out halfway up the trail because, no matter what I like to think about myself,
I am not a natural hiker nor am I inclined toward outdoor sports. We ended up
resting near a really beautiful waterfall, and we’d really talked about our
future that day—not the future he saw for us, or the one that I imagined, but
the one we wanted together. It wasn’t an exciting day, nor an overly romantic
one in our history as a couple, but I hold on to it now because of its
simplicity. How it made me feel normal, like I was just a girl and he was a
boy, and we were in love and it all just was, rather than us being Council
members who dabbled in the worlds’ affairs when we were still teenagers.

The ache I feel for him is so tangible that I am positive I
can stick my finger in it and swirl it around until my chest constricts once
more.

I roll onto my back and stare up at the ceiling, sleep no
longer claiming me as its own. Now it’s just sadness that presses me against
the sheets—sadness and a knowledge that I and I alone am responsible for
messing up what I had with the best guy I’ve ever known.

Sometimes, a girl doesn’t need a bad boy like so many
stories tell her she does. She doesn’t need to redeem him, and he doesn’t need
to redeem her. Sometimes a girl doesn’t need a tortured artist or the
recovering playboy, but somebody who helps balance her out, someone who makes
sure her feet stay on the ground when life is tough and lift up into the air
when her lips find his. She needs somebody smart and funny and comfortable and
exciting all at the same time. She needs somebody to go to sleep with who makes
her feel secure enough not to care that she snores or drools, and somebody to
wake up with who won’t judge her when her hair sticks up and pillowcase lines
crease her face. Sometimes a girl needs somebody who she’s content talking
about deep things with, or small talk, or sometimes nothing at all.

Sometimes a girl just needs a partner who will help her grow
rather than explode.

I had that. I had that and now I kick myself over and over
again because I was stupid enough to let it go.

My phone beeps to let me know a text message awaits me. I
sigh heavily, debating whether or not to leave it be until morning. It’s
probably Zthane or Karl with yet another idea about why we’re striking out so
much with our missions lately. Or maybe Caleb, checking in with me to see if I
contacted the University of Alaska about online classes yet. But ignoring it
would be the Old Chloe thing to do. Even still, I’m annoyed when I roll over to
grab my phone.

And then a pair of hummingbirds take flight in my chest.
Because the text isn’t from Zthane, Karl, or Caleb. It’s not even from Kellan,
whose texts I practically live for when we’re not talking on the phone or
hanging out with one another.

It’s from Jonah.

It’s been nearly a month since he walked out of this
apartment. Three weeks, four days, ten hours, seventeen minutes, and . . .
well, I’m not too good with seconds. But he’s been gone that long, and we’ve
had radio silence, and now, there’s a text, and it’s from him.

It says:
You called me from Alaska on your birthday and
hung up. Yes or no?

I’m laughing maniacally, muddy boots streaking my comforter
as I surge up on my knees. Three weeks of separation, and this is what he
chooses to say when he finally reaches out? And seriously—how does he even
remember? It was a teeny call that had him saying hello twice and me hanging up
immediately. A standard wrong number type call that devastated me but should
have meant absolutely nothing to him.

There’s no way he could know about it. I didn’t tell Kellan
or Callie—the only people who know about that call and the idiotic aftereffects
are Will and Cameron, and they would never break confidence.

My hands shake hard when I type back:
Yes.

Ten agonizing minutes pass.
Why?

I retype my message back at least a dozen times.
I missed
you and needed to hear your voice so I could get through the day.

Another five minutes pass. I’m going to die. Just die right
here on my bed. But then:
Did you call my brother, too?

I’m clutching the phone like it’s the embodiment of our
Connection. No—not our Connection. Our past. Our bond that we forged together,
Connection or no.
No. Just you.

Three minutes this time.
Why?

I don’t hesitate.
Because I missed YOU.

He’s faster with his replies now.
Why did you hang up?

I was afraid.
It’s honest.

He doesn’t text back, but when I fall asleep hours later,
hope has officially found its way back into my soul.

Over the next week, I get sporadic
texts from Jonah. Sometimes it’ll be in the middle of the night, and say
something like:
Why a diner?
Or while I’m in one of the never-ending
meetings at Guard HQ, and I’ll stop paying attention to Zthane so I can read:
Who’s
Frieda and why is she turning down Paul? (also, who’s Paul?)
One came in
during a dinner out with Cameron and Will, and Will ripped the phone out of my
hand and read aloud:
Why blonde?
Which made Will tease me mercilessly
about how he first thought I was a stereotypical California girl for being all
blonde and blue-eyed.

None of the texts are personal—at least, not in concern to
Jonah and his feelings—but all are questions about my life in Alaska. Why
Cameron? Why Will? What’s up with the pancake thing? Why blue contacts? Where
did I live before Cameron’s house? Did I have a car? Friends? Did I really
bowl? (I have no idea where he learned that bit). Most the time, he doesn’t
reply further after I answer the question. But the hope in me has continued to
grow, because if he were well and truly done with me, he wouldn’t be texting.
He wouldn’t care about these things.

At least, that’s what I’m choosing to hold onto.

I slam my phone down on the coffee
table. “I cannot get ahold of Cora. It’s been weeks and . . . nada.”

Callie looks at me over the rim of her cup of tea. “You’re
kidding me, right?”

I dramatically flop onto the couch. “No! I try calling her
every day, but—”

She sets her cup down. “Nobody’s talked to you about Cora
yet? None of those people you call Cousins?”

I’m alarmed. “No! Is she okay?”

She sighs. “Cora and Raul got married two days before you
came back to Annar. They’re on their honeymoon—a month long safari in Africa.
One of her stipulations was to go technology free. She didn’t want the Guard
calling Raul in for a mission.”

It feels like I’ve been punched in the gut. Cora’s
married
?
And nobody thought to
tell
me?

“It was a nice wedding,” she says calmly, like she hasn’t
just dropped a bomb on my existence. “Big, too, in Madrid. Cora wanted it here,
but Raul’s mom was pretty insistent he do it at their local cathedral. I was
supposed to go as Kellan’s date, but as you well know, he was in Kuergal at the
time. So I was Mom’s wingman. Speaking of—where’s Will?”

I blink a few times. “Um . . .”

“I came home last night and found Cameron over. He and Mom were
drinking wine and laughing.” A beat passes before she stands up and clenches
her fists. Then she shoves both hands into her hair, a strangling groan coming
out of her pursed lips, before she drops back down into the chair. “Okay.
Here’s the deal. Shit. I can’t believe I’m even going to—” She slides down in
the chair, all askew yet dressed impeccably. “Fine. FINE. What’s the deal with
Will, Chloe?”

I try not to show my amusement. “You mean between him and
me? Because—”

“No.
Gods
. I already know there’s nothing between the
two of you. Kellan would have torn him apart with his bare hands had he sensed
anything between you guys; you know this. No, I’m asking what . . .” She sighs
through her nose. “I can’t get a good bead on him, Chloe, and it’s driving me insane.”

“Well, if you’re asking if he’s some kind of sketchy guy,
then—”

Her glare nearly cuts me in half. “You’re going to make me
say it, aren’t you?”

I cut her some slack. “Kellan already told me how you have
the hots for Will.”

Her skin goes from porcelain to cherry red in approximately
one second. “That
asshole
.” She pounds a fist against her palm. I do not
envy the phone call Kellan will be getting shortly.

“So if you’re asking me whether or not he’s dating anybody
right now,” I say, “then I can answer that one. He’s single.”

Her mouth opens then snaps shut.

“That said,” I say, making sure to tread carefully, “Will’s
situation is . . . complicated.”

She covers her eyes with a hand. “Of course it is, because
apparently I am only attracted to complicated men. Is he gay?”

I assure her that he’s not, but then I apologize for not
being able to go further, since I do not want to break his confidence. She
stews moodily about this until the man in question comes through the front
door, appearing as if he’s been on a thirty-six hour bender.

I want to ask him if he’s okay, because I know this must
stem from a Becca call, but from the look he gives me, I hold the question in.
Instead, I say, “I thought you and Kellan were going to go surfing today?”

True to his word, Kellan has taken Will out a few times to
show him the ropes. I haven’t tagged along, though. I’ve had enough shame on a
surfboard, thank you very much.

“Yeah, yeah,” he says, running a hand across the stubble
decorating his chin. “We went this morning. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to
travel by portals. Seems too surreal, you know?” He drops onto the couch next
to me; a whiff of saltwater nearly undoes me. I love that smell. I particularly
love that smell on a certain person whose text messages from last night have
been read and dissected probably a hundred times now.

Will nudges me. “Guess who came along?”

My breath catches in my throat.

“I have to admit,” he says casually, “that I rather like
your Jonah. He seems like a good bloke. Quiet, but we got on well.”

“Well, well,” Callie murmurs. “Color me shocked that J
crawled out of his hole to socialize. Surfing lately has been a solitary thing
for him.”

It takes just about every last ounce in me not to inquire
whether or not Jonah asked about me.

But then Will hands me a gift, wrapped up shiny and pretty
with a ribbon when he says, “Thought you might like to know that while we were
waiting for Kellan to come in, he asked me how you were doing.”

I’m speechless. Hopeful and ecstatic and speechless all at the
same time.

“What did you tell him?” Callie asks.

Will ruffles my hair. “I told him the truth, that you’re
busy with work and keeping your head down.”

As if on cue, my phone beeps. My heart flies into my mouth
as I reach for it. Sure enough, it’s Jonah.

You should talk to Will. I think he needs you today.

I didn’t think it was possible to love Jonah any more than I
already do. I was wrong. Him caring about my best friend like this only makes
me love him all the more.

One week, four days of texts, and I finally
get something other than a question from Jonah. I’m out jogging through the
park in central Annar, dripping sweat and cursing my need to get fit so I can
take down the Elders, when my phone beeps in my sock. I immediately come to a
halt, breathing hard, and search for a nearby rock to collapse onto.