by Kristie Cook
“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.
chapter 55
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?!”
“Hey now,” I say, on my feet, too. “Don’t you go getting on your high horse, here, Jonah!”
“You … you …” He points at me. “You and my brother found yourselves in a hotel room, together, remembering that just hours before you’d been …” He chokes on the words.
“How dare you,” I hiss. “Hypocrite, much?”
He flinches as if I’d slapped him.
“I was hurt,” I continue hotly, “and I’d been teetering between blacking out and crying so much that people probably thought I ought to be stuck in a padded room, and yeah, I got drunk, and your brother was with me, and we ended up kissing. And you know what? I have no idea if we were waxing nostalgic like you and your girlfriend—”
“Ex,” he snaps.
“Or,” I continue, nearly shouting now, “if it just happened, but it did. And notice that I’m not hiding it from you! I’m telling you about it!”
“Oh, that’s all well and good,” he shouts back, “considering it comes after the fact!”
“Are you forgetting why I ended up here in the first place?” I shriek. “You kissed someone first!”
“Someone,” he seethes, “that I am not in love with. Can you claim the same?”
I am breathing hard now, so furious that the knick-knacks on the dresser are trembling. You need to calm down, the little voice urges. Blowing up this apartment will NOT make things better. I clamp my hands down by my sides. “I forgave you.”
“I did not end up in bed with someone,” Jonah counters, just as angry.
At the little voice’s urging, I count to ten—and then to twenty—before answering. “Callie loves you. And you, yourself, just admitted to having feelings for her. Bed or no, you were kissing her like your life depended on it!”
“I told you the difference! Gods, Chloe! How many times do I have to say it? I am not in love with Callie! But you can’t give me that assurance, can you? Don’t bother lying! I can feel it in you!”
“The difference,” I say, fists clinched, “is that I am here, with you.”
He blinks a few times and then takes a step back. A myriad of rare, visible emotions flash across his face—rage, confusion, shame, and then understanding.
“I am here,” I say again, not so angrily now. “Not with him. Here. With you.”
Jonah falters in his anger. And then forgiveness fills him up, just as it did for me.
Just like his brother predicted.
We spend the next few hours talking about what’s happened between us over the last week. We take turns telling the other exactly what we went through, leaving nothing out. He admits everything to me. I admit everything to him. We leave out no gory details. It is a contest to see who was worse off.
We tie.
We make promises to one another, ones we mean to keep. Apparently, the reason both of us had fallen into such dark places, succumbed to abysses, is because of our Connection. It’s Fate’s twisted way of letting soul mates know how impossible it is to be away from each other. Astrid explained this to Jonah the night before, telling him that all of the aches, the wild mood swings, the difficulty breathing—they’re all signs a body is in withdrawal from their Connection. Which is troubling and difficult to accept, because it appears it’s yet another way Fate controls me. It’s chosen my vocation and my love, and although I would never give Jonah up, it’s disheartening to learn that I’d never really have a choice if I ever wanted to.
“It’s a good thing I love you,” I tell him as we pack his things up. It’s been decided that he will not stay at Astrid’s for the night, even though she’s his surrogate mother. Because Callie will be here, too, and our wounds are too fresh.
He loops an arm around me and pulls me close. I take a moment to breathe his scent in, to relax in his arms and know that I’m home. “You don’t know how thankful I am for that fact,” he says, kissing me. “Because I am hopelessly, endlessly in love with you.”
This is enough. I’m scarred and bruised, but sometimes, when you’re in love, there are risks you have to take. It’s not all sunshine and roses. Gods know how great everything would be, how the worlds would function, if love was that easy. But it’s not. Because there are times when it’s hard, and others when it’s scary. Risk is like that. When you take a gamble, and love is always a gamble, there are two outcomes: fulfillment or heartbreak.
Sometimes all you can do is pray for the best and hope it turns out.
chapter 56
Life can be funny. Sometimes things go as planned, exactly the way you expect. This is the normal path for a Magical. At birth, a Seer tells you who you are, where you’re going, what you’re going to do. And you live your life accordingly.
Then there are the events and experiences that go so against expectations that they alter your road, deviate you off course and into a different direction. Sometimes it’s a good thing. Sometimes it’s bad. But it’s really all in the perspective you choose to take.
You finally are starting to get it, the little voice calls out. I think you’re ready to learn the truth about who I am.
I pause, the cup of tea I’ve been drinking on Karl’s balcony halfway to my lips. Aren’t I … me?
Absolutely. See … Huh. This is harder than I thought it would be. Maybe I ought to just use my real voice with you. I think you can handle it now. The little voice deepens, alters from my familiar tones into something else familiar: Hey there, Chloe.
I blink a few times, the cup still halfway up. Caleb?
Yeah, babe. It’s me.
WHAT?!
Calm down, will ya? Let me explain this to you.
The cup shakes in my hand. Is this like what Jonah and Kellan can do? How can you be in my head?
I said, calm down! Let. Me. Explain.
I’ve been to hell and back in the course of a week. Yet this seems like the biggest shock of all. MY FRIEND CALEB IS IN MY HEAD.
First off, set that cup down. We don’t want you breaking anything, right?
I am so blown away. How are you here, Caleb?
Well, for all intents and purposes, I’m your Conscience. With a capital C. It’s a Magical craft. I’m not actually a Watcher, like I’ve told you all these years.
Why is this the first time I’ve ever heard of a Conscience?
Because no one with a Conscie
nce is allowed to tell anyone else that they have one. We are assigned to certain people at the time of our birth, even if that person isn’t born yet. So, it’s like we wait our lives until you come around. That’s why I moved to the Human plane—you knew I wasn’t born there, right?
I guess I’ve never thought about that before. Does everyone have a Conscience?
I have no idea since we’re not allowed to talk about it with others, but I’m thinking no. But what I do know is that we’re able to link minds with our wards.
Okay … and the point of all this … ?
I’m your sounding board. DUH. What have we always done? I talk to you, you talk to me. We ask each other questions, get you thinking about things. I point out the big stuff you sometimes overlook. Stuff like that. We’ve always been good friends—why do you think that is? You’ve always instinctively known I was your buddy, that I would be your confidant. Even when we go days—weeks—without physically seeing each other, our friendship is always tight.
I can’t believe this. It’s just … crazy! Do you know everything in my mind?
Ummm … he murmurs. And then I hear a little sigh. Yeah. I pretty much know everything there is to know about Chloe Lilywhite.
Are you telling me that all these years, you’ve been able to hear what I’m thinking? Every time that little voice perked up in my mind, bossed me around, that was you?
That’s about the gist of it, yes.
So, what—am I able to get ahold of you whenever I want?
Yeah. But Chloe, don’t you go abusing that privilege. Faeries have to sleep, too! Man, all of those years of Jonah dreams. I know it sounds rotten of me to admit, but I was glad when the door was lost. I was tired of not getting a lot of sleep. You two used to be so cheesy to watch. Oh, look, the perfect guy, the perfect girl, can you believe they’re so meant for each other that they meet in their dreams? Please.
Wait. You saw all those?
Sure did.
Did you know he was real?
Yeah, I knew. I also knew you two had to figure it out on your own. Figures that he did first. He always has been a little more aware of things than you.
