A Matter of Fate

by Heather Lyons

  “So lame,” she mutters, pouring herself another cup of tea. “Anyway, Jonah always accepted me from day one. I mean, so did Kellan, but it just wasn’t the same. And everyone knew I crushed on him—even him, although we’d pretend I didn’t. Then in ninth grade, I finally worked up the courage to say something to him.” She laughs ruefully. “He was so surprised. I don’t think he’d ever considered me as an option. Why would he? I’m some weird half-breed, not even Magical. But somehow or other, we started dating.

  “My mother warned me repeatedly that Jonah and I would never work out, not with him being all Council bound and me being a non. He even alluded to this a number of times. I always just assumed he was saying it because he heard it from his father, but, upon reflection . . . .” Callie shifts her eyes away from me. “But I didn’t care. Star-crossed lovers and all, right? And then he went to see some local Seer. Came back restless, distracted . . . and eventually more and more distant. And then came the kicker,”—her voice drops to a pretty fair approximation of Jonah’s—”‘We’re moving to California, and I’m really sorry, but it’s best to break up now.’”

  Good lords, why do I feel sorry for this girl? How is she doing this?

  “It was awful. I initially blamed his father—the Old Man always disapproved of me. And Jonah wouldn’t talk about it, wouldn’t elaborate.” She takes a long sip of her tea. “Kellan didn’t know what was going on, because Jonah wouldn’t talk to him, either. Let’s just say I had a really hard time when they left. I called him, of course. All the time. I cried and cried, and he was so apologetic. But when push came to shove, all he’d say was that things had changed, that it wasn’t me, that he did love me, but he knew his heart belonged elsewhere. I’m sure I don’t have to explain to you how impossible that sounds when you love someone so completely.”

  I don’t answer, mostly because I’m still focusing on the whole love bit.

  “And then came the day he told me he was dating someone. Claimed he’d found the love of his life, and then apologized again for hurting me. Man, I was so pissed off. How was it possible that he’d found the love of his life in such a short time, when I’d been there, more than willing to be such a thing for so many years? What made it worse was when Kellan called, more upset than I’ve ever heard him, claiming J swept in while he was with me in Maine and stole his girlfriend away. That same weekend J had told me about you.”

  So many pieces of the puzzle start to fall into place now.

  “I was furious,” she continues, “just really heartbroken, thinking that Jonah would ever do that to anyone, let alone his best friend and brother. But, of course, there was also Kellan’s claim that you and Jonah had known each other even before I’d even met him, and that Jonah insisted he’d been in love with you his entire life.” She sets her cup down and gives me a look—it’s a combination of many things, but the most obvious is scorn. “I’m sure it’s not beyond your scope of imagination to guess how I reacted. And Jonah didn’t deny anything. I became a masochist of the worst kind. I would call Kellan and demand to know what was going on. Poor Kel, he really struggled . . . . I at least had the gift of distance. I never had to see you and Jonah together. But he did.” Now she gives me a look of abject disapproval.

  I merely stare back, refusing to give her a peek of the shame I’m actually feeling.

  “When Kel told me he’d finally come to grips about you and Jonah, he urged me to also accept there was no changing the situation. I couldn’t. I thought maybe if I showed up and reminded J of what we’d once had, things could go back to the way they once were. So, I came to California. Jonah was stunned, to say the least, when I called to tell him I was in town. He tried explaining how I’d wasted my time coming, that things were never going to change between us, but I didn’t want to listen. Who does when the person they love says stuff like that? And, by this point, I had very little pride left—I mean, I’d basically thrown myself at him—so begging and pleading weren’t beneath me. But nothing would sway him. He was sad, I think, knowing he was hurting me again with his refusals. I mean, I know the guy. He doesn’t get off on hurting people. But, I was being pigheaded and he had to basically slap me in the face—”

  “He slapped you?” I interrupt, aghast.

  She rolls her eyes. “No, Chloe. Not literally. He laid down the law, hard. And then, finally . . . .” She looks down at her teacup, but not quickly enough to hide the unshed tears in her eyes, “I began to comprehend what he was saying. Really accept it. My heart, I think, died a little at that moment.” Then she picks the cup up and busies herself with drinking.

  I don’t know what to think. Here she is, telling me that Jonah forcefully told her it was over, that he’s in love with me, and yet . . . I saw them kissing.

  “Do you know what it’s like,” she says quietly, after clearing her throat a few times, “what it feels like to have to hear, to accept that there is no hope to ever be with the person you’re in love with? It pretty much sucks, Chloe. Because it’s not like I have an on/off switch when it comes to my feelings. I can’t just say, ‘Oh, well, okay then. You don’t love me, so I don’t love you.’ That’s not how I work. See, I love him. I’m in love with Jonah still.”

  Well, duh.

  She shoves her sunglasses on and levels me with a look I wish I could decode. “He knew, of course. He felt all that stuff in me. And . . . I think he took pity on me.”

  Pity. Right. How stupid of me. When one pities another, the obvious solution is to kiss that person senseless.

  If she’s bothered by my lack of participation in this conversation, she doesn’t show it. “He was my boyfriend for three years, Chloe. He may’ve been in love with you all those years, and you two may have some kind of super-Magical Connection that makes you soul mates or whatever, but I’ve known and loved the guy my whole life. So yeah, I asked for one last kiss. And, I’m gonna be selfish and say I’m not sorry for doing so. Because no matter what you may think or feel, you’re not the only person out there who loves him. I just had no idea that it’d be the equivalent of World War III when it came to you, him, and his brother.”

  I have to clear my throat to speak. “You didn’t think that this might upset me?”

  “Frankly, Chloe, you were at the bottom of my care list that afternoon.”

  I jerk into a standing position, having heard more than enough.

  “Oh, sit down,” she snaps. “I’m not done. Gods.”

  “Look, you don’t get to just order me around—”

  “Do you want to hear the rest, or what?”

  Is she for real? “If you mean how you two kissing made him remember what a great thing he had in you, then—”

  She has the audacity to laugh. A nice, long, loud laugh that makes the people around us stare. “Is that what you think happened?”

  I’m taken aback enough I sit back down.

  “I may’ve put my heart and soul into that kiss, but he sure didn’t. In fact, I was just about to break away, because I’d realized that he really wasn’t, and never had been, mine, when we noticed you.”

  “You expect me to believe this?” I ask, hating the fact that it’s done shrilly.

  “Yes,” she says flatly.

  That’s enough. “Why are you here, Callie?”

  “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 ne
arly 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.

  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 smal
l 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?”