“You look like crap.”

None of my other friends have the balls to say this to me nowadays. Not even Cora. They skirt around the issue, especially since I pretend that everything is okay. That I’m okay. That my life is perfect and fine and I’m definitely not drowning when I know my air supply as I sink to the bottom of the ocean I’m trapped in is miniscule, at best. And they accept this because I don’t give anyone the option to do anything but accept that I’m fine.

I sip my tea, but it tastes bad. Everything tastes bad. I tell Callie, “Gee, thanks.”

“You’re wasting away.” Her eyes flit towards a plate of scones, untouched, by my cup.

Has she been talking to her Aunt Kate? “I’m not hungry,” I tell her. But I sip my tea again and hope that it’ll be enough to satisfy her curiosity.

I’ve been unable to stem the weight loss tide, despite Kate Blackthorn’s warnings. And I’ve tried reducing my stress levels—yoga, meditation, calming music, you name it, I’ve tried it, but nothing seems to work. Sleep is becoming increasingly elusive. I’m so exhausted I can barely remain standing most days, but when night rolls around, my brain won’t let me rest. I keep thinking about what I’ve done, what I keep doing—of yet another cycle I’m trapped in, where I love two people so much I’m falling apart. About how I can’t seem to let Kellan go. About how I still haven’t told Jonah about what happened between Kellan and me in Costa Rica. About how I’m beyond terrified of losing him. About what it’ll do to the twins’ increasingly rocky relationship. About how I’m too much of a chickenshit to actually ask someone to translate those newspaper articles. About how I’m an utter failure at learning the language they’re written in. How I’m hiding this from Jonah. How I hide too much from Jonah nowadays.

Despite constantly blocking my increasingly out-of-control emotions, Jonah’s worried about me. It seems I can’t quite pretend very well around him. Why aren’t you eating? Is there anything I can get you? Did you have a bad dream? Is there anything you’re not telling me? What are you not telling me, Chloe? You know that you can tell me anything, right? Let me help you. Please let me in.

And Kellan . . . well, Kellan knows the answer to some of these questions. He doesn’t bother asking me anything, but our times together are filled with a sense of quiet helplessness. And the times when I think he might start asking things I’m not able to handle, he’ll shut up the moment I touch his belt. Fresh notches are materializing at an alarming rate. I can’t breathe when I see them.

I’m kicking so hard to stay afloat, but it seems the harder I kick, the further from shore, into deeper water, I get.

Callie sets her teacup down; her eyes narrow and look me up and down as best they can while seated at a table. “Do you have an eating disorder?”

I choke on the tiny sip I’ve just taken. She goes to smack me on the back, but I think she’s afraid of hitting me too hard. Like she’s afraid I’ll break. She ends up rubbing my back instead before she settles back into her chair. “NO. Callie, c’mon. It’s nothing.”

“Yeah. Skinny girls like you just drop weight and become lollipops for no reason.”

I scoff. “Whatever that means.”

“You know. Where your body is way smaller than your head.” She shakes a finger at me. “What’s going on with you lately?”

I stare out of the window. It’s raining, and the streets are filled with colorful umbrellas. I give her my pat answer that I give everyone. “Nothing.”

Nothing is a safe answer, mostly because it’s what people really want to hear. No one actually wants to hear the truth.

“Bullshit,” she says. When I don’t acknowledge this, she adds, “Chloe. You don’t have to hide anything from me.” I feel her hand on mine all of a sudden. It’s cold. I can’t help but think of the phrase a teacher once told me: cold hands, warm hearts, when I told her my mom’s hands were cold. But my mom’s heart . . . it was never warm towards me. Or, maybe it was, but only when it was too late. It’s been months and she and my dad have been good to their word—no contact. Nada. Zilch. “We’re . . . friends,” Callie continues, wincing like it’s painful for her to admit. Which, actually knowing her, is hard because she hates opening up to anybody about anything. “And . . . friends are there for each other. Right? So, talk to me.”

I’ve tried really hard lately to not unload myself on anyone, not even Caleb, who’s put himself on a time-out of sorts. But in this moment, the weight of everything is so heavy I don’t even know if I can stand. And here’s Callie, with genuine worry on her face and sincerity in her eyes.

She’s probably the worst person to tell this to. She’s still in love with Jonah, I think. She’s Kellan’s best friend. She’s their family. Yet still, the words trickle out. “It’s hard. Having two Connections is really, really . . .” Impossible. Crushing. “Hard.”

She doesn’t even blink. This doesn’t faze her one iota. “No shit? I thought it’d be a picnic. There goes that dream.”

She blurs in and out of focus. I refuse to let myself cry, especially here in public. I cannot give anyone else good reason to think that their Creator isn’t who they need her to be.

“Look. I talked to my mom about this before, when I was trying to understand the whole Connection thing. Before you and I became . . .” She waves a hand between us. “You know. Anyway, there was always a small hope that I couldn’t let go of, that maybe Jonah and I still had a chance. But—” She sees the surprise in my eyes and holds her hands up. “No. Don’t worry. That hope is dead now. I swear. What I’m saying is, I thought about what Mom said. A lot.” Her thin hand finds and squeezes mine. “I thought about you. What it must be like for you to have not only one, but two Connections. And how it must suck to holy hell.”

A violent sense of relief strikes me. This girl—the one nobody, myself included, would have ever guessed to get it, does.

“I’ll fall out of love with Jonah someday. I’ve got that luxury. But you don’t, do you? I mean, with Kellan. You’re always gonna have feelings for him. But Chloe—” She pauses, squeezes my hand again. “Don’t take this the wrong way, because I don’t mean it as an insult. I’m just saying, after I thought about how crappy the situation is for you, I got to thinking about J and Kel, too. And how they also have two Connections apiece. Their Connection to one another isn’t a romantic one,”—she snorts a laugh, but then sobers—“but it’s still valid. So, not only are you constantly feeling torn apart, but they are, too. They’re not only fighting for the girl they love, but doing it against their best friend. Their other half.” She shakes her head. Smirks ruefully. “I used to be so jealous of you. It used to eat me up, even when I was growing to love you as a friend. But nowadays . . .” One last squeeze before her hand leaves mine. “You couldn’t pay me to be in your shoes.”

I twist the ring on my finger. “Anyone ever tell you your pep talks suck?”

She’s not insulted in the slightest. “Constantly.”

I sniff, wishing I had a tissue to blow my nose She needs to stop being so understanding right now.

Callie studies me over her teacup for a long moment before standing up. “You need a vacation. A girls’ weekend.”

I also stand, yet hesitate. “It’s Tuesday.”

“It’s the weekend somewhere in the worlds. Let’s go where there are no boys, no Connections, no broken hearts. Let’s go where there are lots of great stores to shop our misery away in, or at least serve as expensive Band-Aids before we have to face the cold, harsh light of reality again. But by then, we’ll look fabulous doing it.”

Go, Caleb whispers. It’s his first word to me in days.

So I do.

It was a toss-up between New York and Paris, Callie’s two favorite cities on the Human plane, but, as “Paris is the City of Love,” and “We aren’t in the market for that shit,” we end up heading to the Big Apple.

Jonah wasn’t thrilled with me going, but I think he knew I needed to. He had to go on a mission in Southeast Asia anyway for two days, so Callie’s plan worked out well.

“We used to come here for weekends all the time when I was little,” she tells me as we stroll down Fifth Avenue. A well-dressed man in an impeccable suit whistles at her; she returns his appreciation with a look that could cut through flesh. “Mom loves New York. Says it reminds her of the city she grew up in.” We linger at a stoplight, alongside dozens of other people. “I thought about moving here, after high school. I didn’t know if Annar would be the right place for me, since I’m technically a non and all.” She sighs slowly. “I guess I still don’t know, if that makes any sense. But Mom talked me into coming with her, said she’d miss me too much.”

“You’re lucky.” I slip on my sunglasses. “Remember how you said you were jealous of me? Well, I’m envious of you and the relationship you have with your mom. I’d kill to have that.”

Her green eyes zero in on me. “Yeah. Your parents are douches, aren’t they?”

Gods, it still stings to think about them. Why can’t I let go? “Did you know they refuse to talk to me nowadays?”

“Yeah, Mom told me. She’s so pissed off about it. I guess she wanted to go tell your dad off, but Kellan talked her down off that ledge. Said that you were the kind of girl who liked to fight her own battles.”

This surprises me. “He did?”

“You were off on a mission, and Jonah had come over for dinner because Mom fears he’ll starve when he’s alone, or worse yet, eat junk food that will,”—she mimics her mother’s tone and accent—“reduce the quality of his life.” She chuckles. “Anyway, Mom knew that your dad was banging the Jens Belladonna drum, and she asked J about it. He told her—well, not really told, because you know that getting information out of that boy is damn near impossible at times—but mentioned that you two had a dispute with your folks, and that there wasn’t much communication going on. Mom drug the rest of the story out of Kel when J left.” She chuckles. “She’s a dog with a bone, you know. Wanted to go and spank your dad and all. Knowing Mom, she probably still will.”

It’s so unattractive, but I’m even more jealous than before. “She’s protective of you guys. Like I said. You’re lucky.”

She sighs through her nose. “Sure, she was mad your dad was hating on Jonah. But, Chloe—she wanted to go to war because of you.”

My eyes widen and then sting. Must not cry. Not in public. Not in front of Callie.

“Mom already thinks of you like you’re one of her own.” Callie tucks an arm through mine. “Some Magicals are barren, unfortunately. Doesn’t happen often, but it does happen all the same. That’s Mom.” She steers us toward a luxe store that I never, ever would’ve thought of stepping into before today. “But she’s got a mother’s heart. She took care of me and those boys when nobody else gave a damn. Loved us, nurtured us, and protected us. None of us share her blood, but it doesn’t matter. She’s our mother all the same. And you . . . she loves you, too, Chloe.”

Please gods, do not let me break down sobbing in this store. “It’s because she doesn’t know how awful I am, how I’m tearing Jonah and Kellan apart.”

Callie positions us in front of a rack of dresses, effectively hiding me from the salesgirls. “Sure she does. She doesn’t blame you. She knows this isn’t your fault. It’s not like on the day they were passing out Connections, you decided to hog two for yourself because you’re a greedy bitch.”

But what would Astrid think, knowing I cheated on Jonah? “Still. They hurt because of me. They fight because of me. I break their hearts every day.” My carefully nurtured control is rapidly unraveling, forcing me to sniffle unattractively. “I don’t know how I can do this anymore.”

My truth is out there at last.

Callie whips out a tissue for me. Like her mom, she’s always prepared. I blow my nose and wipe at my eyes. Goddammit, I’m actually crying.

“Can I help you?”

The salesgirl looks both annoyed and concerned. Callie doesn’t even bat an eyelash when she answers. “She’s distraught that you guys don’t have the latest collection in here. Where are we? Podunk? For Christ’s sake, we’re in New York. Go over to your desk and get on the phone. I want the green bias in silk in a size . . .” She pauses, looks me over. “Two.” When the girl doesn’t move, she barks, “Am I speaking to myself?”

The salesgirl scurries away.

The Lotus ladies own a pretty amazing condo in Manhattan that’s within spitting distance of a number of famous eateries. I don’t go to any of them, nor does Callie urge me to eat. She orders Chinese for herself and we settle in for the night, rather than going out exploring.

“There’s always time to explore New York,” she tells me, dipping her egg roll into a special sauce she claims only can be found at the restaurant she ordered from. “We can come back any time. Or, you know—you and J can come back and stay here whenever you like. I’m surprised Mom hasn’t shoved a copy of each of her keys at you guys yet.”

I think of the keys I had to leave on the entryway table as I left my parents’ months back. Did they throw them in a drawer? Give them to someone else?

I tug a chenille blanket over my lap and snuggle down into the luxurious leather couch eerily similar to the one in Kellan’s living room. “Did you decorate this place?”

“This is an Astrid Lotus special.” She swallows a bite of noodles. “Ah. You’re thinking of Kel’s place, no? That was my attempt at interior design. Tryin’ to live up to Mom and all. I think I did okay. It’s very Kellan, right?”

Not at all. “Yes.”

“Liar.” She laughs. “It’s basically a knock-off of this apartment. He likes it here, even though he rarely comes anymore.” She picks up another egg roll with her chopsticks. “Can I be honest with you?”

“I thought that was our thing,” I tell her, grinning ever so slightly. “Abject honesty.”

She nods and chews. And then, slowly, like she’s testing the waters, “He’s a train wreck lately.”

My stomach twists and burns as acidic guilt fills me up.

She presses on, albeit gingerly. “Did . . . did something happen between you two?” Panic tears through me, which she must notice, because she quickly adds, “He hasn’t told me anything, if that’s what you’re thinking. If something did happen and all. It’s just . . . I’m worried about him.”

“Me too,” I croak.

She sets her chopsticks down. “I’m gonna tell you something that’ll probably make him disown me, but . . . I figure if anyone is going to get through to him, it’s gonna be you or J. And as I know he’s blocking J on a regular basis nowadays, that leaves you.” She presses her palms against her eyes for a long moment. “He’s upped the whole adrenaline junkie shit up to a whole ‘nother level. Like, at least once or twice a week nowadays.”

I think I’m going to throw up. Seriously throw up right here, right now, all over this beautiful coach and blanket. “He does it because of me.” My stomach churns and cramps. The headache I’ve cultivated for the better part of a day and a half intensifies.

“It’s because of the Connection,” she says, like there’s a difference. “And because he’s a Magical and knows he can. He’s friends with some stupid bitch of a Shaman who totally enables him and a group of guys he hangs out with who are running from their problems.” She moves closer, like she’s going to hug me, but she doesn’t. I think she knows that touching me might set off my perilously fragile reflexes. She stares down at her hands. They’re shaking. “Back when he first admitted the truth about you two to me, I encouraged him to find something to help distract him. I knew some guys . . .” She chews on her upper lip. “After Jonah and I broke up, and Kel was in California, I hooked up with a bunch of adrenaline junkies in hopes of distracting myself. So, when he said he was desperate to find distractions, I . . . I introduced him to some of these guys. I thought he’d just—” She laughs bitterly under her breath. “I figured it’d be short lived, as Kel is pretty damn good at keeping his feelings locked down tight. But, I was wrong. And when it started to become a regular occurrence, I tried talking to him about maybe taking a step back, but he’d go nuclear and we’d not speak for days. So now . . .” She blinks rapidly. “Now I don’t say anything at all, even when I’m in the hospital watching Kate put him back together. Which is far too often nowadays. I don’t know what to do anymore. He won’t listen to me.”

Breathe, Chloe. Breathe.

“You say it’s you who’s to blame, but one could also argue that I am, too. Even more so than you.” Her chopsticks slide together, the sound deafening compared to her voice.

She’s wrong, though. If there were no me, he’d be fine.

They’d all be fine.

She wipes at her eyes angrily, like her showing her pain is the worst thing in the worlds. “Christ, I suck at the whole friend thing. I’m sorry. I brought you here so you could have a girls’ weekend, and what do I do? I unload a whole pile of crap on you that you don’t deserve.”

But I do.

She hugs me now. Warily, like she’s afraid I’ll bolt. Or maybe, she’s afraid she’ll bolt from the close contact. And we sit there, two broken girls, bound together by our love for two broken boys, forced into silence out of fear of losing them.