True. But I hadn’t fainted. I’d done something this time, something good. Something that kept people safe. Well, almost everyone. “Do you think that those people are okay?”
“People?” Raul asks, forehead scrunched.
“The nons whose cars were overturned.”
His forehead smoothes out. “The moment Zthane or Karl heard those things screaming outside of the building and discovered you’d sealed the doors shut, a whole herd of Guards were most likely called in to track us. None of those people probably remember anything, Chloe. I’m sure that they are all healthy and wherever they need to be at this moment.”
“And . . . our friends?”
“Well,” Raul muses, “they are out looking for us. That’s a given. Thus our need to call before panic sets them on fire.”
I don’t know this Zthane they’re talking about, so he’s not the one I’d call. I don’t want to call Karl—he’ll rip my head off straightaway. They’re right about that. And while I want with all my heart to call Jonah and hear for myself that he’s safe, our first contact shouldn’t be like this. He deserves more.
“I’ll make the call.” Both men watch in surprise as I dial a number.
I hope I’m making the right choice over who to contact first.
“Yes?” I hear from the receiver.
“It’s me,” I say.
“Chloe!” Kellan yells. “Where are you? Are you okay?”
Raul turns off the television set. “I’m in San Francisco—”
“San Francisco!” he repeats. And then, “Please tell me you’re all right.”
“I’m fine, I swear I’m fine.”
“Okay, okay,” he says, and for the first time, I can hear the anxiety below his forced calm. “Where specifically in San Francisco?”
Kellan and Giules show up forty minutes later. There’s a portal in San Francisco, down on Pier 49 in one of those shops that overlook where the sea lions like to hang out. I guess California is one of those rare places on our plane that has a number of portals. Some states, even countries, don’t have a single portal. California alone has four. Some previous Creator must have really liked it here to make so many portals.
Raul doesn’t question me about why I choose to call Kellan. I think he might’ve even been a little glad that I hadn’t called Karl. Giules, both he and Kopano figure, is an acceptable substitute to acquire our location and status. She oversees the Whitecombs and often is tasked with overseeing me. In their minds, that practically makes her Karl.
That doesn’t stop Kopano, however, from telling me right before they showed up, “Expect Kellan to get completely reamed by the brass for not informing them about your location.”
“He’s not in the Guard yet,” I insist. “They can’t punish him if he’s not officially part of the Guard.”
His answer is a set of raised eyebrows and troubled dark eyes.
I’d questioned them earlier on why we needed any more Guard to come and get us. After all, there’s a portal in town—why couldn’t we just use it to go home? But neither felt that was an acceptable option. They figured the Elders would be hot and bothered by this point about our evasion tactics. Four Guard, they insisted, would be a safer bet than two.
I feel this slam of relief at seeing Kellan, like somehow all of the stresses of the day evaporate in his presence. I launch myself at him, almost knocking us both over.
“Well,” Giuliana says, shutting the door behind her. “I am relieved to find you three safe and sound. You should have heard the panic alarms sounding when Chloe closed that gym up. You’d have thought that a nuclear war was commencing outside.”
“Just how did you guys get out?” Raul asks, ushering his friend to a chair.
I tug Kellan down on the bed next to me. He’s thankfully not saying anything—no reprimands for stupid choices. I figure he wants to, though, but he’s sweet enough not to do it in front of everyone else.
Giules laughs. “Karl, of course. Split the wall in half. I guess an earthquake isn’t unheard of here in Northern California, is it?”
I squeeze Kellan’s hand and look into his eyes. Disappointment’s there, yes. The strain of worry is evident, too. But he’s also relieved, so I figure I can live with the other things.
The guys tell Giules and Kellan all about our race to San Francisco, sparing no details. I progressively lose feeling in my fingers as Kellan’s grip grows tighter with each detail. I finally tell him during the bridge story that if he doesn’t loosen up, I’ll lose the use of my hand permanently.
“We’ll stay here tonight,” Giules says afterwards. “Maybe the Elders will not suspect we’d remain in the same place they last saw you. But I do need to check in.”
“But—” I begin.
“No buts,” she insists. “The search must be called off. There are a lot of people vulnerable right now because they are out looking for you. You would not wish them harm just because you do not want to be yelled at by an angry papa bear.”
Jonah is still out there, of course. So I relent and don’t complain any further.
All of us hear Karl shouting through the phone. Giules holds it out for the majority of the conversation, but man, she does me a favor. She tells Karl that I’m tired, but fine, and he can talk to me all he wants tomorrow when we come home, but he needs to leave me be for the night.
Kellan stays silent until we get to the ice machine down the hall. Once there, and out of earshot of our friends, he leans back against it and crosses his arms. “You will not do that again, Chloe.”
His heart is in the right place. Even still, I bristle at the words. “I had to.”
“I know you think you did, but I’m telling you that you didn’t. Chloe, it’s not worth it. You getting hurt is completely unacceptable.”
“I’m not hurt,” I protest, but he reaches out and turns my palms over gently. Fresh scabs riddle them from falling on the roof earlier. His eyes then track down to my scabbed knees and a good number of bruises blooming from slamming into cars as we raced across the bridge. “Those,” I say quietly, “are all circumstantial.”
“Notice I’m not injured,” he says, and I nod vigorously.
“Exactly my point!” I say.
“I’m not injured,” he stresses, “because I was stuck in that building.”
“Exactly!”
“I’ve never been so scared in my life,” he admits in a low, husky voice. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if you’d been seriously hurt.” Then I’m in his arms, and I can feel his breath in my hair, his heart against my chest. It’s comforting. Safe.
I made the right choice.
Chapter 27
You’d have thought I’d murdered someone by the reactions I get once home. My mother and Cousins all take turns chastising me during back-to-back strike attacks. Karl reams me during a special one-on-one. I honestly stress that he’s going to have a stroke when the veins in his face and neck bulge as he gasps, shouts, and yanks at his hair. Even Iolani has her turn, albeit sounding like a kinder, quieter female Karl.
Coward that he is, my father chooses to ignore the whole affair. It stings, but I can deal with his apathy.
What I can’t deal with is Jonah’s reaction during a follow-up Guard meeting. I’m twisting my hands in my lap while everyone bickers (hooray for Kiah for seeing the logic in what we did!) like a family reunion on “Jerry Springer” when he catches and holds my attention. He makes no attempts at ignoring me like usual. He’s flat out staring, brows furrowed and body stiff with tension. A heavy mix of disapproval, disappointment and worry rolls off of him in dark, thick waves. It’s hard not to cringe.
Kellan, on the other hand, defends me as Karl howls over my perceived stupidity. This nearly sends Karl back into seizure mode. While several people try in vain to calm him down, Jonah shakes his head slowly at me, all the while holding my eyes.
His disapproval is the worst. It’s beyond painful. I’m not sorry for doing what I did, but I want the chance to explain my logic
to him. For the bulk of my life he’s been my sounding board. Now he’s an angry, silent presence that haunts me.
After the meeting, he refuses to look at me, let alone give me an opportunity to talk. I think about this while Kellan and I sit on my couch, reading for English class a few days after the attack. Well, he’s reading. I’m staring at the words, willing them to give me answers.
Fact: I’ve come to the point where, if I don’t talk to Jonah soon, I’ll go batshit crazy.
Fact: I miss Jonah; even when he’s standing five feet away.
Fact: I’m still in love with Jonah. There’s no mistaking this.
Fact: I’m in love with his brother, too.
I peek over my book and watch Kellan. He does this cute thing when he reads, where he gently bites his lower lip and his brows squish down in super concentration. He reads with his knees propped up to balance his book. He loves to read. I love that he loves this.
The weirdest thing is that I want to talk to him about everything. I consider Kellan to be the person whom I trust the most at present. I tell him almost everything. We have no secrets, save one. And that’s on me, not him.
It’s sick how I want to talk to Kellan about Jonah because, of all the opinions out there, and of all the advice I can seek, I want his. How wrong is that?
“How’s the book?” I ask him, taking a deep breath.
He glances up. “Interesting. You?”
The words below me laugh. They know they don’t have my attention. “Can I ask you something?”
He lowers his book, sticking his finger in to mark his place. “Of course.”
Two words jump out on the page. Ask him. I’m not kidding. They’re there. “I . . . uh . . . want to ask about . . . your brother.”
There’s no reaction. I might as well be asking about the weather. “Yeah?”
I stare at the words some more. Words on a page seem safe. Words in the air are temperamental, fragile. You can erase a word on a page. There’s no way to erase something once it leaves your lips. Words like that can make or break someone.
I scratch my head. Itchy scalps, my mother once said, are a sure sign of guilt. “Do you . . . No. What I mean is . . . does he, uh, hate me?”
Whatever Kellan might have thought I’d ask, it wasn’t that. “Huh?”
“I mean,” I say, scratching harder now, “he never talks to me. Why?”
“Sure he does.”
“No,” I insist quietly. “He doesn’t.”
The book in his lap slides down some. “He doesn’t hate you.”
I’ve drawn blood. Gross. “How do you know?”
His head cocks to the side, searching. I scratch harder. “Chloe,” he says slowly, “has Jonah said something to you?”
“No. That’s the point! He must hate me. He hates me, doesn’t he? You can tell me. Has he told you that? That he hates me?”
He must. I mean, if I was Jonah, I’d hate me, too. He’s probably come up with a list of nasty words to refer to me: bitch, traitor, whore—no, he wouldn’t call me whore. He knows me better than that, what with me being a virgin and all. But bitch and traitor, yeah. And others that I don’t want to think about because I’ll probably cry.
Kellan reaches out and grabs my hand before I can completely shred my scalp. “Why would he hate you? He barely knows you.”
He hates me, I think, because he knows me all too well.
Cora rarely ever sounds apologetic. She does now, though, as I struggle through math homework the next day. “You ought to know that I did something this afternoon that you’re going to be super pissed about.”
Honestly? This sadly doesn’t seem like news. “What now?”
She mumbles incoherently over the phone before asking, “Have you heard from Kellan since school got out?”
“Not yet.” And then, suspicion sets in. “Why?”
“I ran into him after school,” she rushes out, “before he and Jonah left. We got to talking a little, and, well . . . .”
“Well, what?”
“Listen, believe it or not, I actually respect Kellan. But, I know that even though you care about him, he’s not Jonah—”
My back straightens like a board. “What did you do, Cora?”
“Ehhhh . . . .” she dawdles. “Oh, hell. I told him the truth.”
“WHAT?” I shriek, my legs thrusting me upright.
“I told him the truth about you and Jonah!” she says, having the audacity to sound outraged herself. “He didn’t believe me, though. I thought maybe he’d go straight to you, but I guess not.”
“When was this?” Kellan knows? And if he’s confronting Jonah, then Jonah knows, too.
I can barely think straight as my mind explodes. During all the times I’ve role-played in my head what I’d say to Kellan when I finally admit the truth, I never imagined it would come from another person first.
He absolutely does not deserve that.
“About an hour and a half ago. I didn’t want to call you right away, just in case it was you he went to.”
“WHY did you do this?”
“Because it was the truth! And I’ve been thinking about it. Kellan deserves better. He deserves someone who’s going to put him first, not pine for his brother constantly!”
“Who says I do that?” I hiss. She doesn’t understand the first thing I feel toward Kellan—or Jonah for that matter. Since I’m not able to clearly understand it myself, how can she?
“Me! How Kellan can’t tell is beyond me. What kind of Emotional is he, anyway?”
My palms are sweating, I’m so upset. “Did you do this out of spite?”
“No! I told you, I did this for you. To help you.”
I pick up a lamp and throw it hard against the wall. It clips a framed picture of Cora and me, shattering the glass. Ceramic shards ricochet into a million directions. It’s a satisfying feeling, smashing things.
“I hope whatever that was is going to be fixed by the time your mom comes home,” Cora says.
That pisses me off some more, so I pick up what’s left of the frame and throw it against the wall so hard that it disintegrates.
“I know you’re angry, Chloe. But see, everything just kept staying at the status quo. Was it really that wrong for me to try to help?”
“Who made you judge and jury?” I seethe. “How could you do this?”
“What? Set you free? I did it out of love, babe. You’ll thank me someday.”
I hang up on her. In an effort to calm down, I rebuild the lamp and photo frame. And then I call Kellan.
I’m sent directly to voicemail. It’s a bad sign—Kellan never ignores a call from me.
Why are you calling Kellan? Cora practically handed you Jonah on a silver platter. Why not go for it?
Because no matter what, Kellan doesn’t deserve to be blindsided.
I storm downstairs. Karl’s sitting on the couch, watching SportsCenter. “Just where do you think you’re going?” he demands, standing up. He’s still somewhat pissed off at me over the whole San Francisco debacle.
“Out.”
“Where do you want me to take you?”
“Nowhere!” I snatch my bag from the basket by the door. “I’m going by myself!”
He deftly blocks the door. “If you think I’m going to let you run off by yourself again, think again.”
I practically choke on the words. “Cora told Kellan the truth!”
He raises his eyebrows. “Well, well. The shit just hit the fan, didn’t it?”
“Oh, thank you, Mr. State-the-Obvious,” I snap. And then I stop. “You know?”
“Please,” he says, rolling his eyes. “Why do you keep underestimating me?”
“Er . . . what exactly do you know?”
He motions toward the couch. “Let me tell you a story.”
“I don’t have time for a story!”
“You have time for this one. Sit.” And rather than allow me to do so, he steers me toward the couch and sits down next to me.
“Alright. You already know I have a Connection—to my wife Moira.”
I nod impatiently.
“Connections are . . . complex. Well—in many regards, they are extremely simple. You and the person you’re Connected to are soul mates, bound for life. But Connections are tempestuous things, apt to make people act in ways they might normally not act. Everything is heightened—love, pain, anger, joy. It can be scary and overwhelming because it’s so instantaneous and strong. Some people don’t know how to deal with that sort of overload on their system.” He scrubs at his hair, tired.
“Karl—”
“I was one of those people, Chloe.”
I let go of my purse straps and sit a bit straighter. Everything I’ve ever heard about Karl and Moira is the stuff of legends: they’re absolutely, unequivocally in love, perfect together in every, disgusting way. “Pardon?”
“I met Moira when I was really little in my dreams.”
Now this is interesting.
“And that first look, that first moment we spoke—I was a goner. I adored her. She was the most perfect girl alive. No one else could live up to even half of her standards. But she was a dream, and that made me crazy, right?”
It’s like listening to myself talk.
“I spent a lot of time in Annar as a kid. I even did an entire year of high school in Annar. I met someone there, my junior year of high school. And . . . it wasn’t Moira. But this girl and I were friends, and . . . the friendship was good. Better than good, even. And I kept thinking I was insane for being in love with someone not real, so I let things happen with this girl, because I was fond of her.” He sighs. “Sometimes, I even thought maybe . . . maybe there was something more than just fondness. Love, I guess—I never felt like I was in love with her, but yeah . . . there was a kind of love. But I was young, and confused, and completely overwhelmed by my feelings. By my Connection.”
My purse slides to the floor. I leave it there.
“I moved to Annar right after high school, and the first day there, I saw Moira in the street. She was talking to another girl, and it was like a bolt of lightning struck me. She was real, she was there, and everything in me became almost too much to bear. I ran straight back to my girlfriend. She knew something was up, but I was freaking out. And then whenever I ran into Moira for another month after that, and when we talked—or, hell, touched—so many things flooded through me that I thought I was going to explode. It was too much, Chloe. Emotionally, I wasn’t ready. So I clung onto my girlfriend, refused to talk to Moira much, and . . . even avoided her, much to my shame.”
A Matter of Fate Page 21
