Free Matter of Truth, A by Heather Lyons Page B

I cheated. And I did it anyway.” My nails curve to dig into my
palms in an effort to stave off extra tears. “It wasn’t—we didn’t have sex, if
that’s what you’re thinking.” Which is a humiliating admission in front of a
man you consider to be a father figure and another man who’s your best friend.
And I don’t know if it was a lucky thing I didn’t have sex or not, but there
are times I wish so badly I could have had just that one experience with Jonah
to help carry me through the years.
    “So you two broke up?” Will asks. He’s staring at me like
I’m a stranger, which I probably am to him, now that I’ve shown him the real
me. “And you didn’t end up with the other bloke?”
    I draw both lips inward, biting down hard before I slowly
shake my head no.
    “No to . . .?”
    I am truly an awful, awful person. It’ll be a miracle if
either Dane can even hear my words, my voice drops so low. “We didn’t break
up.”
    Silence. These two are excellent at waiting a girl out.
    “I . . .” Am a coward. Selfish. “I left. Just left. No note,
not . . . nothing.”
    Will’s eyes widen. “You just fucking left? No goodbye? No,
‘We’re done?’ No nothing ?”
    I wouldn’t blame them if they’re judging me now, Cameron
included.
    “That’s fucked up, Zo— Chloe .” Will’s frustration is
tangible. “How long were you two together?”
    Officially? Nearly two years. Unofficially? “I’ve known and
loved him my entire life.”
    Cameron lets out a melancholy sigh. Because he is another
person who found true love at a young age, and he’d give anything to have his
wife back. Here I am, admitting I’m a total whore who cheated on her lifelong
love and then left him without a word.
    Will’s long, slow whistle fills the living room. “You
cheated on this bloke that you claim you loved your entire life, and then just
. . . left. Without the decency of a goodbye. Jesus, Chloe. I don’t even know
what to say to that.”
    I can’t even look at Cameron. There’s got to be more
disappointment there than I know I can handle.
    And yet, I’ve dug my grave, I might as well lie down in it.
“It was with his brother,” I tell my best friend. Tell the man who has treated
me better than my own biological father. “I cheated on my fiancé with his own
twin brother. And they . . . they fought a lot. Because of me. I hated it,
couldn’t stand being the reason they weren’t close, so . . . I thought the best
thing to do was just leave.”
    I think I’ve stunned them both into an even more horrified
silence. I can’t look up. I can’t.
    “I don’t expect you to understand,” I ramble on. I’m so
nervous I feel like my limbs, my hair, my eyelashes—everything is just going to
drop off with the next breath. “But I made the best choice I could at the time.
Work was unbearable. They were fighting. I . . . I got sick. I didn’t know how
to handle the mess I’d made. I lost a lot of weight from the stress. Got a
bleeding ulcer that kept coming back. Had constant headaches. Couldn’t sleep.
Couldn’t eat. They fought, and stopped talking to each other, and I hated
hurting them, hated knowing I was the reason they were unhappy, and all I could
think was—was—if I weren’t there, they wouldn’t have a reason to fight. And
work was—I couldn’t deal with what I was being asked to do, so I left, and I
did it in a way that they can’t find me, or work, or anyone from my old life,
and I’ve tried to build myself a life that has more to do with what I want to
do than what other people tell me I have to do. And . . . yes. I miss him. Them .
I miss a lot of things, and it eats me up inside, and I break sometimes, and I
want to give up or give in, and that’s why I called Jonah. But right now, I’m
not sorry I left. I’m sorry that I hurt them, and I’m sorry if I hurt anybody else,
but I’m not going to apologize for doing what I thought was best. Because I
will do anything in my power to make