Page 100 of The Fate Factor

“You would have,” I blurt. Or else I wouldn’t have seen it. That has to be it. She didn’t get the chance for that fate to play out because I saw it in the candle first. “If I didn’t tell Jamie, you would have gone through with it.”

Except I don’t know that for sure, do I? What if it was like the tattoo? Or the scar? What if she really would have changed course if I’d left it alone?

“How on earth would you know what I would or wouldn’t do? I met Jamie when I was just out of high school.” She flicks her eyes toward him again and this time I can’t bear to follow because something is unraveling, and I can’t seem to grasp the end of it to pull it tight again. “Jamie, he’s impulsive, he always has been. He doesn’t think things through.”

I feel that scratchy instinct to defend him like I felt with Wes, but Becca has just put her foot on that same perspective, giving it more weight.

You’re not doing him any favors by coddling that part of him.

Wes must have loved Becca.

“He was talking about getting married and in the same breath talking about quitting his job and brewing beer for a living,” she continues. “And then I started grad school, and I met someone else. He just seemed to have his head on, you know? Nothing happened. I mean, it wasn’t physical.” Her fist tightens around her coffee until I’m afraid the cap will pop off. “God, this issonone of your business. I wouldn’t be telling you any of this if he’d just listen. If I’d gotten to explain, maybe we could have worked it out.” Her voice cracks. “When you love someone the way he and I loved each other, you work things out.”

This feels so much like a shove that I actually take a step back. I feel a sensation in my chest like seams tearing. The fabric that holds us and everything I’ve found here together, coming undone.

This can’t be right.

Your girlfriend, she’s sleeping with someone else.That’s what I told him, and I was wrong.

I think I’m going to be sick. I think maybe Becca can tell and she’s glad for it. She hates me that much. Who can blame her? She had him, and now she doesn’t. Because of me.

My brain fills with nasty images. It’s not from anywhere supernatural, just my own vivid and cruel imagination. Jamieand Becca together. Happy. I picture his smile—the one I love the best—pressed to hers, and I physically recoil. Then I see Becca heartbroken, sobbing, because of a foolish, reckless woman at a party.

A hand lands on my waist, bringing my mind back to this awful interaction, and Jamie’s voice, soft and surprised, comes from somewhere above my head. “Becca?”

Becca looks at Jamie, then back at me. “Are you going to tell him now that we’re all standing here again? Because he’s refused to speak to me for two years.”

“Tell me what?”

“I know who she is, Jamie.”

“Good memory.” He sniffs. He’s playing this off, but I see him. He’s confused and guarded. His jaw is so tight, I want to reach up and massage it. I also want to leave. Now.

“You two should talk.” I put my hand on his chest, then think better of it and pull back.

I turn to go but Jamie cuffs my wrist, his eyes pleading. “Noe, wait.”

Despite every nerve in my body begging me to flee this conflict, my heels sink back onto the floor.

“She lied to you,” Becca says, jabbing a finger in my direction.

“I didn’t.”

“Oh my God. Will you please tell the truth?”

Jamie laughs but it’s not his usual laugh. There’s no warmth. No childlike joy. I think of the expression “If looks could kill” because there’s a dagger in the one he’s giving her now. “And what is the truth in your mind, Bec? Because I thought it was you sleeping with someone else when I had a damnengagementring on hold..”

“That’s what she lied about!”

Jamie shakes his head, and I manage to pry my wrist free from where he’s still clutching it.

Becca doesn’t notice. She’s not looking at me. “If you’d have listened to me, you would know that.”

I picture his face that night, add it to what I know about him now. He was blindsided. He felt stupid. Of course he wouldn’t have listened.

My palms sweat, and each breath I take feels like it’s being dragged over a washboard. Maybe it’s the jagged pieces of my heart. I need to get away from this so I can think.

“I’m going,” I say. It’s a tiny thing, my voice. Shaky and weak, but they both swing their gazes toward me. Panic is rising in my throat along with bile. “I need some air. Jamie, I’ll see you… after.”

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