“Hangovers suck.”

Jonah hands over a mug of tea. We’re back in our apartments, having left the hospital shortly after he’d found Callie and me in the bar. He’d had to wrestle me into bed last night, insisting what I needed was a good night’s sleep when all I wanted was to party. Unfortunately for me, I can remember every detail of last night’s drinking fiasco. “You and Callie seem to be getting along.”

I have to sip slowly, fearful of my stomach rejecting it. I am never drinking again. What was I thinking? “She’s nice. We have a lot in common.”

He raises his eyebrows, so I clarify, “Well, not a lot. You, mainly. And your brother. But I can see why you guys like her.” His eyebrows go even higher. “You know what I mean. She’s actually sort of fun.”

But Jonah doesn’t look like the idea of me and Callie being friends is fun.

I set my mug down. “Are we going to talk about what happened yesterday or what?”

“I think I’ve got the gist of it. You and Callie got blitzed and fantasized repeatedly about superheroes and leather pants.”

Shoot me now. “I, uh, meant about what happened between you all and Jens Belladonna.”

That sobers him quickly. “Chloe, there are some things that I need to tell you, some things that I don’t want you to have to worry over because they’re absolutely ridiculous, but you still have a right to know about—”

I decide to spare him the awkward attempt at explaining how there are people who think I’m a murderer. “I already know he thinks I killed the missing Guard.”

He studies me for a long moment before chuckling. “That laptop. It was a listening device, wasn’t it?” When I nod, he says more seriously, “Kate was pretty explicit with me about not upsetting you. I didn’t want to hide from you that Jens Belladonna lost his mind and started accusing you of murder with no evidence, but I also didn’t want to risk upsetting your recovery. So I took care of it.”

I think about the conversation that I’d overheard. “You got him fired.”

He sips my tea. “Yeah, I did. And I’m not sorry for doing so.” He sets the mug down and takes my hands. “I couldn’t stand by and let somebody go after you, especially when you were at your most vulnerable.”

“This is all just so . . . I just can’t believe it,” I say quietly. “Why would he think these things? He doesn’t even know me.”

Jonah sighs. “Shortly after you and Kel were brought back, Jens came to me asking for my brother’s memories of the events so they could start searching for the three missing Guard. I was able to hand over everything pertinent, but Jens was upset over the gaps.”

It makes my already queasy stomach even more tremulous to ask, “Did you leave stuff out because of what me and Kellan did?”

Surprise fills his blue eyes. “What? No. Honey, I have to be honest, that wasn’t even a thought at the time. There legitimately were gaps in Kellan’s memory that were either blank due to black-outs or filled with really intense hallucinations.” He pauses, squeezes my hands. “There’s something about Jens you need to know. Something about his family past.” His words are cautious and quiet. “One of his ancestors was murdered by a Creator. I don’t know all the details yet, but I guess it’s stuck with the Belladonna family for a long time.”

I don’t even know how to address this other than to say, “But I’m not whoever that other Creator was!”

“I know. So when he started accusing you right away, especially in light of Kel’s hallucinations—”

“Wait. What about Kellan’s hallucinations? Was I in them or something?”

He squeezes my hands again. “Are you sure you want to know?” I am impatient with my answer, but he takes his time telling me. “Please remember this was a hallucination and nothing more. My brother was, as you are well aware of, extremely tired, over-taxed Magically, and dangerously dehydrated and hungry.”

“Jonah. Just tell me!”

He closes his eyes for a good second before opening them to look right into mine. “He thought you stabbed him in the heart at one point, with some kind of red sword you created while he wasn’t looking.”

WHAT? “He . . . he . . .!” is all I can manage.

“If it’s any consolation, the next thing he hallucinated was that he was surfing in Idaho, and the waves were bigger than any we’d ever seen before.” He shakes his head. “There were potatoes in the water.”

STILL!

“He honestly doesn’t remember any of that, so it isn’t fair to be angry at him for things that were beyond his control. You thought you were best friends with a rabbit—”

And the hits just keep coming. “I what?”

Jonah chuckles. “All I’m saying is: cut the guy some slack. He had no control over what he saw, just like you didn’t. And he certainly couldn’t ever know that Jens would take a couple of minutes worth of hallucinations as some kind of proof that all Creators are inherently evil. But to answer your earlier questions, when I put my foot down and insisted Jens cease his ridiculous accusations, he dug his own grave by going against protocol and defying a Council member’s orders. That’s why he sent Karl in, hoping that I’d somehow back down and let Karl take your memories.”

“And the meeting you went to?”

“I’d warned Belladonna that if he continued, I’d make sure he paid. Astrid and Kate called a special Council session to discuss Jens’ breaking of Guard protocols. When he dared to accuse you of murder on the floor, I had him stripped of his position.”

I have to close my eyes. Everyone knows. All of my colleagues heard this lunatic accuse me of who knows what, and I wasn’t even there to defend myself.

“I won’t apologize for trying to protect you,” Jonah says flatly. And it’s almost funny, because normally he is so good at reading the nuances in my emotions.

“I’m not upset about that.” I open my eyes. “I would’ve done the same for you.”

“I know you would,” he says, and it makes me really happy to know he truly believes that.

“Those people,” I tell him, and it hurts to even think about them. “Earle. Nividita. Harou. They’re still missing, and I feel awful—guilty, I guess. Because here I am, sitting at home with you, safe, and they’re not doing the same with their loved ones. I couldn’t protect them, Jonah.” I swallow the large lump in my throat so I can admit the horrible truth to him. “When push came to shove, I made sure Kellan was safe. Nobody else.”

“It wasn’t your job to protect them. It was their job to protect you. And they did, Chloe. Those three made it so Kellan could get you out of there.”

My eyes sting. He can think that, say that, but the truth is, three people are missing because of me. And I may not have been the person who did the actual deed, but if in fact something did happen to them, I am the reason why.

Maybe Jens has a point after all.

Later, Jonah tells me that there is a last minute Council meeting scheduled to select a new person to run the Guard. “It’s not the entire assembly,” he explains as he gets ready to go. And then I’m given a meaningful look, one far too easy to interpret.

“You don’t think I should go.”

He bites his lip. “No.”

“Why not?”

“Jens will be there; he’s appealing the process, even though he has nowhere to go. I’ve made sure of it. Also . . .” He looks apologetic. “The subcommittee meeting requested you not attend out of fear your presence might incite more accusations and distract others from the task at hand.”

Oh. So it’s not just Jonah who doesn’t want me to go. I feel oddly numb by all this.

He shoves his wallet in his back pocket and pulls a coat out of the hall closet. “Besides, Kellan is on his way over here so you two can hang out. Which, you’ve got to admit, is more fun that Council business, right?”

“I’m sorry, what?” I say, positive I’ve misheard him. Because, I know we all agreed that Kellan and I were going to be friends, but . . . But am I ready for this? Are either of them?

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.”

I pick at the embroidery at the hem of my skirt. “What about you? Is your place big?”

“I’m taking it yours is about the same size as J’s?” I nod, and he continues, “Then yes. Mine is bigger.”

It bothers me, this lack of knowledge about him. “Is it nice?”

He finally sits down, in the chair opposite the couch. “I guess.” And then, like he’s in a confessional, “Callie did all the decorating. I really didn’t care what it looked like, because it’s really just a place to sleep. And it made her happy, so I let her.”

Huh. “Did she pick out the place?”

He stares at his hands in his lap. “Yeah, I let her do that, too.”

Inappropriately disturbed that Callie’s given so much freedom with Kellan’s life when I have to fight for every scrap I can get, I snipe, “How do all your dates like the fact that there is some girl who pretty much controls how your apartment looks and how you dress?”

Slapping my hand over my mouth does not make the words disappear. They’re out there for him to hear, and I want to die in shame. Because I’m learning to like Callie. And I don’t want to go down this road with him, where I’m a bitch about things I have no right to be bitchy about.

His head tilts to the side and he studies me for what feels like a century but in reality is three seconds before chuckling. “I don’t tell them about Cal, so they have no opinion on the matter.”

I cannot look at him straight on. I mean, he can feel everything in me for the most part, but it’s worse when I know he can see the emotions on my face, too. I feel fully exposed, helpless to do anything. I focus on the embroidery like it’s the most important thing in the worlds. And then I find myself asking another question I probably shouldn’t. “Did he make you come here?”

There’s that quiet laugh again. “He asked, but he didn’t make me. You should know me better than that.”

Why does that make me so happy to hear? But I clearly have little control over my mouth, because I continue on, “You don’t have to be here if you don’t want to be. I mean, if it’s babysitting. I’m sure you have better things to do than babysit me. If, uh, that’s what it is.” His forehead crinkles so I add, “Uh. Babysitting, I mean.”

His fingers drum against the arm of the chair. “I’m not here to babysit you, C.”

It makes no sense, but all of the weight saturating the room dissipates. “I’m glad,” I tell him, and smiles overtake both our faces.

We sit and talk.

And talk.

And talk.

At least half an hour of pure words and questions dart between us. Things we haven’t been able to ask each other in eight months are now said freely.

It’s exhilarating.

“I’m glad you’re here,” I say.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“I thought about leaving, you know. Once.”

“What?” I ask. “When was this?”

“When Jonah left, when he got to the lobby downstairs.”

“Why?”

“He was freaking out, leaving me here. With you. Alone.”

“No,” I gasp.

“Yeah.”

“No!”

Kellan tries not to laugh. “Yes?”

“He said he was okay with this.”

“He is, for the most part.”

“What part isn’t?”

“I know he’s easy going and all,” Kellan says, shaking his head like he can’t believe I don’t get it, “but even Jonah has his limits.”

“Let me guess. He thinks we’re having sex.”

Kellan chokes on the water he’s sipping. “Urgh?”

“He’s predictable, you know.”

He sets his glass down. “Well, in his mind, I mean, it’s a valid question.”

“What, because of last year? In the hotel?”

“Yeah. Wouldn’t it be for you?”

I ignore that. “So, how’d Callie feel about you coming here?”

Blank look. “Callie?”

I nod.

“Ambivalent, I guess?”

“She likes me,” I tell him.

“I know. She bought you crap. That’s like her stamp of approval.”

I finger the edge of my dress again. “But even Callie has her limits.”

One of his eyebrows quirks up. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Do you think, even though she likes me, she hates me too?”

He gives me a blank look.

“You know, I’ve got my grubby mitts on her two favorite boys.”

“Oh. Well, I don’t know. No?”

I wag my finger at him. He’s an Emotional. He knows better. “Yes.”

“Okay then. Yes?”

I laugh.

“I’m told you will take me to lunch.”

I am inordinately pleased that he’s visibly more relaxed. And amused. “We can do that, if you like.”

“I don’t cook,” I admit, like this will somehow shock him, despite our history. “I try, but I fail miserably every time. Just last month, I wanted to cook some pasta, thinking I’d be all Betty Crocker for your brother, and I put a pot of water on, right? And then I went and took a shower and got dressed and when I came back into the kitchen, there was no more water. I ruined water, Kellan. It was all gone.”

He tries not to laugh, but it’s obvious he’s struggling. “How long was that shower anyway?”

I try to arch an eyebrow up, but I probably look like I’m having a muscle spasm. “The point being, everything I have here is prepackaged food, which isn’t good for me, or so I’m told. I have to smuggle in tasty food.”

He’s clearly perplexed. “Why smuggle?”

“My mother hates junk food.”

He glances around the apartment. “Your mother doesn’t live here.”

I will myself to ignore the twinge that comes with this. “Old habits die hard, I guess.”

He catches my sadness, though, and diverts me quickly. “So, tell me what kind of food is smuggle-worthy.”

I tick off the items on my fingers: “Candy, sugary cereals, white bread . . . hot dogs! I love hot dogs. There’s a little stand, run by Gnomes down by the campus. Do you know it?” He nods, so I confess, “I hit that up probably three times a week.”

“And you smuggle these hot dogs home?”

I roll my eyes. He’s clearly egging me on with the overuse of smuggle. “No. I stuff those in my mouth on the way home. They never actually make it through my door.” He laughs now, and it’s so beautiful to hear that I get goosebumps. Which I really shouldn’t be getting. “Jonah doesn’t like hot dogs,” I continue, like he doesn’t know his twin’s tastes.

“If you were attacked by hot dogs when you were ten, you wouldn’t like them either.” And then I giggle so much when he tells me how there was a hot dog eating contest they entered at a local fair, and Jonah made himself sick from eating too many. He threw up for hours and has sworn off them ever since.

A big grin stretches across my face as I lean back into the couch. “I didn’t know that.”

“Why would he tell you this? I mean, it’s a story about him puking after overeating. That’s not the sort of impressive thing to share, especially with a girl.”

“You told me!”

“I told you,” he says slyly, “that Jonah was the one throwing up. I haven’t shared any of my own embarrassments.”

I try my best puppy dog face, the one that cracks Jonah in less than five seconds flat. “Tell me one.”

But he’s no dummy. “Nope. I like my pride, thank you very much.”

Fine. “I have to hide the hot dogs from Cora, too. Because she gives me crap for eating them.”

Kellan sighs, all amusement gone. “I wish she’d take that stick out of her ass already.”

Whoa. “What’s this?” I ask, sitting up.

“What’s what?”

“You sound, I dunno, anti-Cora.”

He’s thoughtful for a moment. “Do I?”

“Yes?”

“Well,” he says, looking down at the cuff on his wrist, “you can’t really blame me, can you?”

Caleb cautions me to tread carefully. “Why no love for Cora?”

He’s staring at me like I’ve somehow missed the boat. “Honestly?”

“Obviously.”

And it comes at me so quietly that I’m not even sure the words are real. “If you recall, she’s the reason we broke up.”

“Oh.” Pause. “Oh.” Caleb no longer has to flash his warning signals. I already know that I need to back off, and do it fast, even if the real reason we broke up had to do more with my feelings toward Jonah and less with Cora’s big mouth.

But Kellan is already backing off himself. He picks up a picture off of the coffee table, one of Jonah and me at the beach on a day in which Jonah’s efforts to teach me to surf once again failed miserably.

Kellan taps at the image of the surfboard I’m holding. “Still having trouble?” I nod, and he continues, “You should’ve let me try teaching you when you had the chance. Jonah’s great at a lot of things, but he’s not exactly the best instructor. Joey always said he was too much of an introvert for it. Poor Cal finally gave up on his attempts to help after a really miserable month that barely had her standing up in baby waves.” He grins, like we’d never talked about Cora and her machinations at all. “I got her comfortable in five footers in less than a week.”

“Do you and Callie go surfing a lot?”

“Sometimes.” He thinks about it. “We went to Hawaii a few months back.”

“Hawaii?”

“Yes, C.” He’s amused. “Hawaii is famous for surfing.”

“The bar was decorated like Maui,” I tell him. “You know, when Callie and I were drinking toxic Mai Tai’s. It was nice.”

“The toxic part or the Maui part?”

I give him a look. “Maui. Duh.”

“Speaking of . . . have you guys island hopped over there yet?”

“Kellan. Callie and I hung out for the first time ever last night.”

He puts the picture back on the table. “You know I meant you and J. Or do you two stick to Kauai?”

I stare at him for a long moment. And then—“Huh?”

It’s his turn to look confused. “You guys have gone to Hawaii, haven’t you?”

I’m suddenly so lost in this conversation. “No?”

His forehead creases. “Why not? Don’t you like the islands?”

“I’m sure I would adore the islands if I could go there. Or anywhere, really. Remember? I fantasize about traveling.”

“Are you telling me,” he asks slowly, “that Jonah hasn’t taken you to our house in Hawaii yet?”

It takes a moment for his words to make sense to me. By then, imaginary hands have wrapped around my throat. “You . . . he . . . house in Hawaii?!”

It’s his turn to lean forward. “Okay. This is definitely not something for you to get worked up—”

I slice my hand through the air. “Since when? How long have you two . . .?” My mind just can’t wrap around this. Because, wouldn’t I have heard about this by now? Me? Jonah’s FRICKING FIANCÉE? My words are auditory bullets. “Owned! A house! IN HAWAII!”

He’s the one to tread carefully now. “Um, three years now?”

Why wouldn’t Jonah tell me about such a thing? Is it a secret? “How do you have a house?” I demand, irrationally irritated at Kellan, too. Because, obviously, he could’ve mentioned this at some point as well.

“Joey left it to us. Was his, now ours.” He says this almost exactly like the time he told me he’d—no, they’d—inherited surfboards from their honorary uncle. How easy would it have been to further the sentence: “We inherited a bunch of surfboards from Uncle Joey, plus a house in Hawaii.” So easy, right?

WHY DIDN’T I KNOW THIS?

More importantly, Caleb muses, why are you so upset about it?

Irrelevant, I throw back at my Conscience. But no—way relevant. This is stuff people share with one another. What more has Jonah not told me? I force myself to sound calm, even though there’s a loud rush in my ears. “Has Jonah been there?”

As the cuff is back in rotation, I’m going to go out on a limb and say that Kellan is pretty uncomfortable with all of this. “Of course, C. We spent a lot of time there as kids. And, you know—Maine isn’t great for surfing, so we tended to go there to get our fix. It’s basically our home break.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Has he—you guys? Gone there recently?”

There is a defined moment of guilty silence before he admits, “Maybe two months ago. Just for a couple hours, though. Just to surf.”

I cannot count the times that Jonah and I have discussed my desire to travel. That I’ve rhapsodized over dreams of tropical beaches, European cities and antiquities, and African safaris. I comb my memory for any instance he might’ve said something about this—having a house near a tropical beach, but no. There is nothing. Nothing more than, “We’ll have to go there someday together,” and “Let’s plan some trips after the wedding.”

I nearly died recently, and this thought slays me: the one that reminds me that I could’ve died without ever travelling to Hawaii. Or anywhere that wasn’t for work. I stand up, facing Kellan. “Let’s go.”

He stays where he is. “Go where?”

“Hawaii. This house of yours. Now.”

A slow blink proceeds, “I’m sorry?”

Sand. Tropical flowers. Salt water. Ocean breezes. I want these things, and I want them now. “Is there a portal by your house?”

“Yeah, but—”

“You said you’d take me to lunch. Let’s go.”

Now he stands up; a look of intense relief sweeps across his face. “Wanna hit up that hot dog stand you were talking about?”

Poor, deluded man. “Hawaii, Kellan. We’ll eat there.”

“Chloe,” he murmurs, the cuff practically spinning against his wrist, “I highly doubt this is what Jonah wanted when he suggested me taking you out to lunch.”

He’s kidding, right? And, honestly, Jonah’s opinion on the matter is the least of my concerns right now. I mean, if he can keep this from me, what’s me going to lunch in Hawaii? Nothing, that’s what. “What’s the problem with eating in Hawaii? You said there’s a portal near your house. It’ll take us, what? Half an hour at most to get there? How’s that any different than eating downtown?”

His lips press together; he’s mercifully let the cuff go and has now stuffed his hands into his pockets. I cannot let him dissuade me. Hawaii. I’ve always wanted to go there, go anywhere.

“Please, Kellan.” I move closer and look up into his eyes. “Just for a couple of hours. I’ve never been anywhere. You know that. I used to complain to you all the time about that in high school. You said you and Callie went there together. You two are just friends. Why can’t we go?”

He studies me, but I do not back down. Finally, “Okay. But, I won’t keep it from Jonah, no matter how angry you are with him right now.”

I heave a sigh in relief. That was surprisingly easier to do than I thought, convincing him to go and all. “I’m not asking you to hide it. Unlike him.”

My face is searched intently, like I have hidden secrets ready to be discovered within my pores. “Are you trying to pick a fight with J? Because I’m not down with that. Not after we all agreed . . .” He trails off, a hand running through his hair.

But I know what he means. I move closer, not close enough to touch, but enough to highlight the Connection’s pull between us. “I just want to go to Hawaii, Kellan.”

“You know, house or no house, you’re capable of going whenever you like, right?” And it’s funny, as often as I use portals, I’ve never considered using them like this. To just escape. To just go and see things, experience what I’ve never known, even just for an hour. “Please,” is all I have to say, and he gives in. I write Jonah a note, and then I close and lock the door behind us.