A Matter of Truth (Fate Series 3)

by Heather Lyons

  I failed them.

  I thought only of myself, and I left.

  I glance around the Moose, at all the customers I’ve come to know in these six months, of the people I call friends who I work with, and I think—could I have abandoned my responsibilities to them so easily? Because, even on my darkest, most self-loathing day, I still put on my apron and came to work. And this job—this job I love, this job I made mine—isn’t the one I really ought to be doing. Not because I’m above it, not because it’s not worthy of a Creator, but . . . I’m a Creator. It’s the simple truth. I need to start acting like one.

  I have a lot of mea culpas, I think. And a hell of a lot of growing up to do.

  “Cut them some slack,” Paul is saying. “I’m sure both Zoe and Will would much prefer going home and relaxing than going to the bowling alley tonight.”

  “Losers,” is Frieda’s endearing reply to us. She kisses me quickly on the cheek, slaps Will on his ass, and then saunters out of the diner.

  Paul scratches his head. “Ginny’s bringing her new boyfriend around. I think it makes Frieda a bit—”

  “Bitchy?” Will offers. He’s grinning, though.

  Paul sighs. “I was going to say insecure. You sure you two are up for closing, being banged up the way you are and all?”

  We assure him we are, and then he leaves. Will heads back into the kitchen; I trail after him minutes later, a cleaning bottle and a rag in my hands. “Want to talk about it?”

  Several pans bang together as he puts them away. “What’s there to talk about?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. You finding out who I am? What you are? That your parents have kept secrets from you your whole life? I have some experience with that myself.”

  The look he gives me nearly shrinks my spine, but I remind myself, he’s been through a lot over the last forty hours.

  The bell over the door chimes, and we both roll our eyes. Paul must’ve forgotten to flip the closed sign on his way out. “We’re closed,” Will yells, and then winces as his lungs press against his ribs.

  “Well that sucks, as there are a couple customers waiting out here for some orders,” comes Frieda’s response.

  Well, crap. There goes going home early and sleeping. And also, what is she doing back?

  Will bends down to put another pot away. “Give us a moment, yeah?”

  Her voice drifts closer. “Ooh, is that a grunt I hear, William? Is there some sexual healing going on in the kitchen tonight?”

  She just doesn’t give up. I don’t even bother arguing the point. Why should I? It’s likely to go in one ear and out the other. “You know it,” I call out. “We’re attempting to break health codes left and right.”

  Will laughs, but puts a hand on his wrapped chest, wincing.

  Frieda appears in the doorway. “Well, this is a disappointment. Why are your clothes still on?”

  “What are you doing here?” Will leans back against the sink, crossing his arms around his waist, like he’s trying to hold the pain in.

  She disappears into Paul’s office and reemerges seconds later, jingling keys in her fingers. “Somebody forgot his house keys. I’m being generous and fetching them.”

  “Miracles never cease,” Will mutters. But he’s smiling.

  Frieda grimaces. “Honestly, I had to get away from Ginny and her boy toy in the car. Jesus. They’re disgusting. They’re slobbering all over one another. I won’t be surprised if she’s already knocked up.”

  This comment cuts a little too close to home for Will, who turns back toward the sink.

  Frieda swirls the keys in a circles. “Now, you two . . . mama wouldn’t mind seeing some action there.”

  I sigh. “You said there are customers?”

  “One is that greasy dude who has been stalking Zo here lately,” Frieda says. “The pancake obsessed one?”

  Great. Just . . . great. Like I need another go around with the Tracker.

  Will’s pissed. “I’ll go tell him to bugger off. I’m not reopening the kitchen tonight.”

  “No, I’ll do it.” I rub the spot in between my eyes.

  Frieda smiles sweetly, like she’s just enjoyed stirring the hornet’s nest. “On that note, I’ll leave you two,”—she walks out of the room, raising her voice—“to that sweet, sweet love making you were just starting in on.”

  I wait until the doorbell jingles before saying, “She’s tenacious.”

  “That’s a kind way of putting it,” Will muses. “Now, let’s go get rid of that bloke, shall we?”

  We enter the dining room together, only to be met with, “WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE?”

  When you haven’t seen someone in a long time, it’s rather easy for a mind to assume they’re a ghost. Or a figment of a very overactive imagination. But I don’t think I can pawn off this incredibly uncomfortable moment, in which I’m standing with an extremely handsome man whose arm instinctively goes around my shoulders, while facing one of the most important people from my past.

  Honestly? I have no idea what to do. Not one. Single. Idea.

  Will snaps, “Pardon?”

  Karl Graystone removes his burning hot eyes that have been cooking me inside out to laser in on Will. And then Will’s arm. His hands curl into fists and I legitimately begin to worry about this situation, already rapidly spiraling out of control, going nuclear. The weasel of a Tracker sits down at the counter and lazily smiles at me, like he knows he’s the cat who caught the canary.

  Bastard.

  I finally find my voice. “This—this isn’t what it looks like.”

  Karl’s focus whips back to me, nearly cutting me off at the knees. “Really? REALLY? Then maybe you can explain this all to me in explicit detail. Starting with WHY THIS SONOFABITCH HAS HIS ARM AROUND YOU. And then move on to how you’re apparently trying to break health code violations by making, and I quote, ‘sweet, sweet, love!’ Wrap it all up why you look like you’ve been in a car accident!”

  He makes a good point.

  Most people would drop their arm and move away when faced with a furious giant of a man. But not Will. If anything, he moves a bit closer to me and says, “Look, I don’t know who the hell you think you are, but you do not get to just come in here and start throwing around orders. You can either calm down on your own, or I’ll help you do so.”

  The Tracker, who’s been watching in fascination, actually sniggers. Karl, on the other hand, flushes scarlet, he’s so pissed. But it’s not his words that scare me. No—I’m more afraid of his hands and what they could do to Will. So I take a deep breath and say as evenly as I can, “I will gladly tell you everything, but you have to first promise me you won’t hurt Will.”

  Will protests at the same time Karl barks, “Why should I?”

  I can do this, I think. It’s going to sound prima donna-y and awful, especially in light of what I’ve done, but it’s necessary. “Because I’m ordering you to.”

  The Tracker stops laughing. Karl stands there, staring at me like I’m a stranger, and it hurts. Just flat out hurts to see this disappointment in his eyes. But then, I’m good at disappointing people. You’d think I’d be used to it by now.

  “Lee,” he bites out after a long moment, “go outside and keep watch.”

  So I was right about his name. The Tracker gets up and exits the door without another word.

  Will waits until the door’s firmly closed before rounding on Karl. “Have you been siccing that prat on Chloe?”

  I slide out from underneath his arm and move myself in between the two men. “Will, stop. Just—just let me—”

  “Is this wanker your fiancé?” Will growls. “Because if he is, I can totally see why you got the hell out of Dodge.”

  This takes both Karl and me by surprise. My Guard friend yelps, “What?!” as I throw out, “Oh my gods, NO!” And then, realizing how I might have come off as inappropriately disgusted with my vehement denial, I quickly add, “I mean, no—this is Karl. Um, Karl Graystone. He’s . . .�
�

  One of my closest friends. My mentor. My protector. My goddaughter’s father. One of the few people in Annar that I felt was family. And I’d left him just as easily as I left everyone else.

  I can’t even begin to imagine what he thinks of me.

  But I try for optimism. “He’s my friend.” I thank all the gods when Karl doesn’t contradict this. “And Will, you know—” I wave my hands between us, like it somehow tells my story again, “you know why I left.”

  Will tugs on my arm until I face him. “Promise me right now that this person isn’t here to hurt you.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I watch Karl’s outrage bloom into epic proportions. But it isn’t lying when I easily make that promise. To Karl, I say, “This is Will Dane.”

  To my relief, Karl does not accept Will’s outstretched hand. Will’s got enough ailments going on right now—he doesn’t need a broken hand to add to the litany of injuries he’s racking up. Instead, he nods his head, just barely, but it’s enough of an acknowledgement for me to continue on.

  Only, I really don’t know how to approach everything I need to say to Karl. So I ask weakly, “Was it the Tracker that gave me away?”

  Karl’s head drops slightly to the side in amazement at the same time his forehead furrows. Okay, he’s right. That was incredibly asinine for me to start with.

  So I say the thing that I’ve said far too often in my life. I offer an all-encompassing, “I’m sorry.”

  Another uncomfortable moment passes before Will breaks it. “I suppose I should make some coffee, as you two apparently only utter sentences to one another after minutes have passed. At this rate, we will be here all night. Why don’t you two go have a seat in one of the booths? D’ya like pancakes, Karl? Chloe hasn’t had dinner yet and she needs something to eat with her pain meds.”

  Karl grunts, which Will takes as an assent before heading back to the kitchen. And then my Guard friend stalks over to one of the booths and crams himself in. I follow, sliding in across from him.

  “You’re blonde,” he spits out. “With a horrible haircut and—are those contacts? Which is ridiculous, because it makes it seem like you’re in hiding, but Chloe Lilywhite, lead Creator and first tier Councilwoman, would not run away like a coward.”

  Something bangs in the kitchen, and I jump in my seat. My nerves are completely frayed. But this is a situation of my own making, so I inhale slowly to center myself. “I did run away.”

  He sucks in a breath, like this surprises him, despite us sitting in a restaurant a zillion miles away from Annar, with me wearing a nametag that says, Hi! I’m Zoe, while in disguise. “Why? Why would you do such a thing?”

  I straighten my wrapped silverware so it aligns perfectly on the table. “It’s—”

  But he cuts me off. “Did you know that there have been people searching for you for months? That there are people worried out of their mind back in Annar, not knowing where you are or how you are? Did that even matter to you when you left? Did you ever stop to think, ‘Oh, hey, maybe me running away without even a note was, I don’t know, a HORRIBLE IDEA?”

  His anger is fully warranted. I nod slowly. Yes, I did know those things—or at least suspected them.

  He jerks back in the booth, like I’d slapped him in the face.

  “Karl, I . . .” I shake my head. But then I decide to lay it all out there. No more hiding. “I guess I should start at the beginning. I’ll answer your first concern you voiced. You asked what I was doing here with Will. Well, I work here with him. Obviously, he knows who I am, but to everyone else, I’m Zoe. Whatever you heard us saying about,”—I swallow hard—“us being together or whatnot, well . . . that was a joke. The other waitress likes to tease us. But he and I are only friends. He’s . . .” I smile sadly. “He’s my best friend. And I’d prefer if you didn’t beat the crap out of him simply because he chose to be friends with me.”

  Karl’s lips flatten. “You hooked up with an Elf.”

  Was it so obvious to everyone but me? “Half,” I clarify. “His mother was a Magical.” I lower my voice. “He only just learned about that, so I’d appreciate it if you didn’t poke that bear with a stick.”

  Karl’s eyebrows shoot up.

  I count to ten and pray I get this right. “You’re right, though. I was a coward. I ran away, and I didn’t leave a note, and here I am, in Alaska, working at a cheesy moose themed diner, hanging out with a half-Elf, all while in disguise, but Karl—I honestly didn’t feel like I had a choice.” I close my eyes and try not to cry. I count to ten again before opening them, only to see the confusion on his dear face. “There’s something I should’ve told you a long time ago, but I never could. Part of why I left is because I couldn’t live with . . .” Attempting to swallow the huge lump in my throat is futile, but I have to own this. Have to take these steps toward making things right. “What was happening with Jonah . . . and with Kellan . . . it was breaking me. Breaking them.”

  Karl briefly closes his own eyes, sighing through his nose, in a way that shows his belief that I’m just over reacting. “Chloe, I appreciate that you worry about whether or not you’re hurting Kellan, but the fact is, you’re Connected to Jonah. Case closed.”

  I bite my lip and stare up at him. I wish it were so simple. And then I shake my head slowly. I can barely get the words out. “Not just Jonah.”

  He stares at me hard. Another bang comes from the kitchen, startling us both.

  “What does that mean?”

  So I tell him the truth. He listens to me fall apart without a single word until Will appears with a tray filled with pancakes and coffee.

  “Ah,” Will says quietly, setting the tray on a stand next to the table. “She told you.”

  Karl’s wide eyes go even wider before Will’s words snap him back to attention. “Uh . . .”

  I pass Karl a plate of pancakes, eggs and bacon. He takes it, still staring at me like I’ve got two heads.

  I sip my coffee, wishing I had some of Cameron’s whiskey to strengthen my nerves.

  Karl clears his throat as Will slides into the booth next to me. “Let me see if I’ve gotten this right. You—you claim that you’re not only Connected to Jonah, but to Kellan, too?”

  Hearing their names from a shared friend is so, so bittersweetly difficult.

  Will answers for me when it’s obvious I’m about three seconds away from going either catatonic or hysterical. It’s a toss-up, really. “That’s the gist of it.”

  “Nobody has two Connections,” is what comes out of Karl’s mouth.

  Will sets his coffee cup down. “She told me that these blokes do, too—to each other. Is that correct?”

  “Well, yes, but—they’re twins. It makes sense why they’d have a Connection to one another, albeit not a romantic one.” Karl’s not touching his food. He’s still staring at me, confused as all hell.

  “I’m no expert in the matter,” Will says smoothly, “but one could assume that since identical twins share DNA and whatnot, they just might share one of these Connection things.”

  Karl’s features soften into something I despise. His anger, so tangible fifteen minutes ago, has been replaced by pity. I think I prefer his anger, especially now. “Is this true, Chloe?”

  I viciously tear apart my pancakes with my fork. “Confirmed by several Seers.”

  He’s still confused. “But you—you and Jonah. You guys are like me and Moira. You had a doorway. You shared dreams.”

  I’ve begun sniffling. Dammit. I do not want to break down crying tonight. Will passes his napkin over but I ignore it. “Exactly. Can you now see why things were a little difficult between the three of us?” I hate that my voice just cracked while saying that. I focus on the plate below me. Do not break down, Chloe. Not now. Not in front of them. I close my eyes and count to twenty. When I open them, I say, thankful my voice is more even, “You’ve got a Connection, Karl. You know how overwhelming it is. Just imagine having two. Imagine being torn between two peopl
e. Imagine knowing that you’re constantly causing somebody you love more than life unbearable pain at all times. And it wasn’t just Kellan I was hurting. Jonah suffered from my actions, too.” I allow myself a sad smile. “Did you know that, by the end, the only talking they’d do with one another was during fighting?”

  “Chloe, I—I can’t believe all of this,” is what Karl says.

  “You knew them growing up. They were best friends. When I came into the picture, all of that changed.” I force myself to breath in and out. In and out. “What would you have done? What if it’d been you and Moira and,”—it’s a low blow, but I say it anyway—“Kiah? You’d have done the same. Had I left a note, they would have still come after me. They’d have tried, like they always did, to rationalize things. Offer more promises that they’d find ways to fix everything, even when those and others couldn’t be kept and they’d beat themselves up over it. So, yeah. I’m selfish. I left. I left without a note, and I know I’ve hurt them, but it was the best I could do.”

  He rubs his forehead and shakes his head slowly.

  I’m indignant, which is so much better in this moment than weepy. “I’m not lying about the double Connections.”

  “I know,” he says quietly. Then he laughs under his breath. “I’m a really shitty friend, aren’t I? For never noticing any of this before?”

  What? There is no way he has any reason to feel guilty right now. That’s all on me. “That’s ridiculous! How could you—”