A Matter of Heart (21 page)

Jonah sits down on the
coffee table in front of where I’m lounging on the couch. “We’ve got to start
sometime, right?”

There is a sadness around
his eyes that makes my heart constrict. I take his hands in mine and ask the
question that’s weighing heavy in my chest: “Are you really okay with all of
this?”

He watches my finger moving
over his. “I have to be, don’t I?”

I shake my head slowly.

“I do,” he murmurs. “If I
want to keep you, and him, too.”

It’s unbearable to know that
this is hurting him like it is. “You have me,” I insist. I put all my love for
him behind these words. “You’ll always have me.”

“You know what I mean.” He
won’t meet my eyes, though. “Will you do something for me, though?”

“Of course.”

“I know you’re Connected to
him, and I can’t always be with you two when you interact. For one, it wouldn’t
be fair if I were, because then it’d be like I was chaperoning you. And you two
are adults who don’t need chaperoning. So I know I’m going to have to trust you
both, and I know that sometimes it’s hard for you to think straight when he’s
around, and vice versa—”

“Jonah—”

“But if you can, if it’s
okay, I mean, if it’s me you want to be with—”

I can’t do this after all. I
thought maybe I could, but I don’t know anymore. “It is, Jonah! We don’t have
to do this.”

“No, Chloe. Let me finish.
If it’s me, then, like I said, I’ve got to trust you two.” He brings my hand up
and kisses it gently. “So, if it’s me you want to be with, please . . .” He
sighs. “Please don’t break my heart.”

It’s funny, because I’m
pretty sure mine just broke hearing him say that to me.

“I mean, I can tolerate some
stuff. Hand holding . . . I think I can handle that. Hugging, too. Friends do
that.” He’s so quiet I can barely hear him. “But, kissing . . . I’m sorry, I
just don’t think . . . I mean, that’s selfish of me, but kissing is a hard
one.”

What must it have cost him
to say such things? Could I ever be so unselfish to agree to such behavior
between him and Callie? No—I don’t think so. I may like her now, but even
still, I don’t think I could ever handle seeing Jonah holding hands with
somebody other than me. I fully recognize the ugliness coloring my insides. I
don’t know how he does it.

There’s a knock on the door;
Jonah lets go of my hands so he can answer it. Caleb encourages me to count to
ten and take a deep breath, and I know these things ought to center me, but
they don’t. There are just too many variables today, too many things to stress
over. I stand up, search for something to say to welcome Kellan here, but it’s
not him that enters the room. It’s Callie.

Two large shopping bags drop
at her feet so she can root around in her purse. A small white bottle is
extracted and held out to me. “Eye drops are helpful in these sorts of situation.”

Translation: I must look as
crappy as I feel. I take the bottle and murmur an awkward thanks.

I try not to squirm under
her critical gaze. It ought to be pointed out that she looks as amazing as
always. “You probably haven’t eaten, either, have you?”

Why didn’t I bother to get
dressed this morning? I’m still in one of Jonah’s t-shirts and flannel shorts.
“Uh—”

She grabs the bags and then
one of my arms. I’m steered toward my bedroom in the back; how she knows where
it is boggles the mind. “Let’s get you dressed. Mom always tells me that, no
matter what kind of morning you wake up to, one needs to get dressed and face
it like it’s going to be the best day of your life. You can’t do that
pretending you’re homeless.”

She did warn me she doesn’t
censure herself much. She waits until my bedroom door is closed behind us
before dumping out the contents of the bags. Clothes spill across my bed. “I
brought you some things.” I must let my surprise show, because she prods in
that husky voice of hers, “Remember? Shopping. It’s my thing. There was a sale
at a boutique we passed on the way over here, and I couldn’t restrain myself.”

Before I can say anything,
she holds up a bright yellow dress with turquoise needlework on the hem.
“Perfect. I knew it’d work for you. Put it on. Yellow will make you feel
better.”

I hesitate, even though it’s
absolutely adorable. “Callie, I . . .”

“Look,” she says, shoving
the dress at me. She’s much more subdued sober. “I know you could probably whip
up a hundred of these without even taking a breath, but this is what I do. I
like to shop for people. I shopped for you. Don’t do this whole, ‘I can’t
accept it’ crap, because if I hadn’t wanted to do it, I wouldn’t have. I think
you probably have enough of an understanding of my character by now to know
that about me.”

It’s surprisingly sweet and
thoughtful from a girl I never thought I’d be friends with. “Thanks.”

She nods once, clearly
uncomfortable as she gazes back down on the clothes on the bed. I use the
opportunity to shuck off my pajamas and slip the dress over my head. “I don’t
know if the boys have ever told you or not, but I really don’t have many
girlfriends. Maggie, yeah,” she says, mentioned the girl who apparently was
fighting with her boyfriend over sushi, “but . . . I don’t know. Me and the
other girls in high school didn’t get on too well.”

Well, it’s no surprise. Most
of them were probably seething in jealousy over her beauty. “Oh,” I begin, but
she keeps going.

“Last night was kind of . .
. fun, I guess. You know? Other than me puking my guts out once I got home and
enduring a whopper of a lecture from Mom and then another from Kellan, not to
mention waking up to a couple of messages from Steve the bartender. But, it was
nice hanging out with . . .” She sort of motions toward me at the same time as
she picks up a shrug. “You know.”

“Yeah,” I tell her,
smoothing the dress. It fits perfectly. “It was fun for me, too.”

She gives me a wry smile,
like she somehow knows I threw up this morning, too, and passes over a
turquoise shrug. “Are you upset you have to stay behind again today?”

I’m not too surprised she
knows the details, although I wonder if it was Kellan or Astrid who told her.
“A little,” I admit. The shrug also fits perfectly. “It’s weird knowing the
Council will be . . .”

“Discussing your homicidal
tendencies?” Even her chuckle is all throaty and sexy, which makes me more than
a wee bit jealous, considering my laughter can rival a hyena’s at times.

“I just can’t wrap my mind
around it.” I shake my head, like it’ll somehow clear and these accusations
will just be nothing more than a figment of my overactive imagination.

“Mom says Jens Belladonna is
a royal prick. She also says that if you focus too much on what others say
about you, you lose sight of what you ought to be thinking about yourself.”

I laugh at the thought of
Astrid—prim, proper and ladylike Astrid—calling someone a prick. “Your mom is a
smart woman.”

“That she is.” Callie lines
a pair of red flats up. “Another thing Mom drilled into my head is that a girl
should always have a pair of cute red shoes. It’s an Elvin thing. Didn’t know
if you had a pair or not, so I got these for you. I guessed on your size.”

I pick a shoe up and flip it
over. Damn, she’s good. “You should open a boutique yourself,” I say. “You’d be
good at helping girls find the right things.”

Something akin to sadness
flickers in her eyes right before a knock sounds.

“I need to get going,” Jonah
says, stepping into the room. His pea coat’s already on, his hands stuffed into
the pockets.

Callie murmurs something
about needing to find Kellan; Jonah steps aside so she can slip through the
door. He motions first to my outfit and then to the rest of the clothes lying
on the bed. “She’s gone shopping for you.”

I tug on the dress. “Look
okay?”

He nods and comes closer.
“It means she likes you.” His head tilts to the side, and there’s concern in
the blue of his eyes. “Are you . . . is this okay? Her doing this for you?” He
swallows, and it’s then I notice just how uncomfortable he is with this. With
her. “I didn’t know she’d be coming with Kellan today.”

And the weird thing is, I
actually am okay with it all. Probably more so than him at the moment. “I like
her,” I tell him. “I can see why you do, too.”

Panic replaces the concern.
“You can’t think—”

I laugh and lean in to kiss
him quickly, then put him at ease. “No, silly. I mean—I get why she’s been your
friend for a long time. She’s sort of harsh, but I think it comes from a good
place. She reminds me of Cora, in a way.”

We go out into the living
room, where Callie and Kellan are talking quietly to one another. She’s got a
hand on his arm, and he keeps shaking his head. It makes me think maybe he’s
just as uncomfortable as the rest of us.

That easiness between us in
the hospital has sadly disappeared now that we’re all in the apartments Jonah
and I share.

“I should go,” Callie says,
her hand dropping from Kellan’s arm. She gives him a quick hug, tells him
she’ll call him later, and then says to me, “The dress looks good on you,
Chloe.”

When she leaves, it’s Kellan’s
turn to stuff his hands into his pockets. He looks worn-out, like he hasn’t
been asleep for the better part of a week. “Rumor has Paavo Battletracker
getting the job today,” he says to his brother.

Jonah does this half sigh,
half laugh. “I’ll try for Zthane, but Paavo has his fans. Not that I can
understand why, since he’s basically Jens Belladonna Lite. One would think
they’d want to move away from rewarding Belladonna’s henchman after everything
that’s gone down.”

Kellan mimics the half sigh,
half laugh. They’ve never appeared to me so identical as they do at this
moment. “The Guard wants Zthane, FYI.”

Jonah grins. “I’ll do my
best. If he doesn’t get lead, he’ll be number two. Don’t worry, though. Sooner
or later, Zthane will get the job. Things tend to go my way when I want them
to.”

The humor slips right off of
Kellan’s face. “They usually do, J.”

What I’d already thought was
an uncomfortable situation just got pushed to the brink of unbearable. Jonah
looks so sad when he tells me, “I’ll be back in about four hours.”

This meeting must be much
more serious than I thought. “Maybe I ought to come.”

Kellan steps away, fiddling
with his phone. Jonah murmurs, “I promise I’ll tell you everything that happens
tonight when I get home. Just . . . try to relax today. It’s your first day
home from the hospital. Nobody expects you to run a marathon.” His fingers
trail down my cheek. “Get my brother to take you out to lunch. Go and do
something fun together.”

Before I can protest, he
kisses me goodbye, whispering sweet things in my ear. When he leaves, part of
me goes with him, as it always does. And then I’m left standing at the door,
wondering how exactly to handle the person in my living room.

I’m nervous, which is
ridiculous. Because it’s Kellan, and I know him. Even after eight months of no
contact, there isn’t anyone who knows me better, save Jonah.

I find him in front of one
of my bookcases, no longer on his phone and looking at the titles. He touches
the spine of my favorite book, read so many times that the creases are thick
and mountainous along the spine. “You love
Siddhartha.
You and my
brother.”

It’s a relief to not have to
talk about us at the moment. Books are so much safer. “Not you?” I wonder,
because oddly enough, in the two years I’ve known him, I’ve never asked this.

He moves his hand away from
the book. “I’ve never read it,” he tells me, and I think back to the first book
I saw him read.
On the Road.

I’ve picked up that book
probably a hundred times since that day, wanting to read it and understand its
allure for Kellan, but there’s always something in me that puts it back down.
Because mysteries, people’s ticks and quirks, are sometimes best left marveled
at rather than deciphered.

“You can sit down, you
know,” I offer hesitantly, as he’s still standing.

“I know. I guess I’m just
getting a feel for this place.”

I drop onto the couch, legs
curled under me. “Is it what you expected?”

“I didn’t really have any
expectations.” He turns from the books, toward me. “I didn’t allow myself to
think about this sort of stuff.”

Ouch. “Have you ever been to
Jonah’s apartment?”

He smiles faintly. “Yeah.”

I didn’t know that.

I clear my throat. “Do you
want a tour? It’s not very big. We just sort of assumed that we would get . .
.” I hesitate, afraid to finish the sentence. But he does so for me. “You’ll
buy a bigger one once you two get married.”

“Yeah.” I try not to squirm
in my seat. It feels so wrong to talk about my upcoming marriage with Jonah.
Like I’m cheating.

“That makes sense,” he says,
seemingly unconcerned with my discomfort. “But no, I don’t need a tour.”