Page 107 of The Fate Factor

I’ve had signs that it could change this whole time. Jamie’s tattoo, the scar. I ignored them. I feared them because I thought they challenged the magic. But maybe they weren’t evidence that the visions were wrong. Maybe they were little bits of accountability. Proof that our choices matter too.

That’s what I told Jamie when he first shocked me with his story about getting the money for his business. He still had to know what to do with it. That’s what I’ve been hoping he’d figure out about himself and his ability to run his business, that it’smore about him than he thinks. But I’ve ignored the way that could also apply to me, to us.

I sit up a little straighter, and Pixie stretches her front paws, trotting back to me.

Mom’s saying Nana saw her having a whole other life, but she chose something else. She made choices and the future changed. Sure, I saw Jamie and me together, but even after he showed up on my porch, I could have refused to see him again like I did the first time. I could have said no to Cara despite the vision, left when I was supposed to and taken Ned’s job. I could have never come here at all.

Every time I tried to turn away from Jamie, the universe lodged him back into my brain, showing me a new version of us—the first vision on the roof, his bar when I tried to walk away, then that night on the beach when Iranaway. But the moment I went all in, the visions stopped.

What if the lesson isn’t that Jamie and I are a destiny that I got a glimpse into? What if it’s to show me what Icouldhave if I stop talking myself out of the things I want and into something safer. If I stop telling myself that loving anything enough that it could wreck me is akin to madness.

When I thought I was following fate, I let myself love harder than I ever have, let Jamie love me back because I thought I couldn’t fail, but he’s not a pawn in my future. He’s been choosing this all along too. He believed in fate but he also figured it out. He’s always been braver than me that way.

I close my eyes and picture him—pushing through the things that he struggles with, terrified he’s going to make a mistake but going after what he wants anyway. Handing me his heart with so much trust in his eyes—and there’s a sudden quiet in my brain, like dipping my head under water and losing the ambient noise. Only one message floats around in there now. It’s not a vision, but a peaceful realization.

I haven’t lost the future I could have with him or this house or this new life. I’m just at the figure it out part.

“This is new,” is all Mom says while I clutch Pixie to my chest and cry so hard I’m snotty and sweaty in this oversized sweatshirt.

“It is,” I choke out.

A moment passes with Mom just staring at me like I’m some sort of bug under a microscope. Then she nods resolutely. “My little hot mess,” she says. “I like it.”

I give her an incredulous sniffle-laugh. Only her.

Then I wipe a hand under my nose and push my shoulders back, chin tipped. “Good,” I say. “Because I put the condo up for sale and I’m moving here. The spare room is only available for visits.”

thirty-five

Jamie

Iwakeuptomyphone buzzing beside my head.

Em: Plan on buying me lunch after we play. I’ll be there in five.

With a groan, I drag myself out of bed. At some point during the launch last night, she took my phone and added a calendar event to shoot hoops at the rec today, claiming I look like shit and exercise might help. I know she’s babysitting me more than seeking out my company, but I suppose it’s better than drowning in self-pity for another day.

I shove my phone in the pocket of my pajama pants just as she knocks. “Thanks for dressing up,” she says when I open it.

“I just need a minute.”

She follows me inside, and I can feel her silent judgment at the mess. My dress shirt from the launch is on the kitchen island. A pizza box and a six pack of empty bottles litter my living room.

I do a quick brush and swish of mouthwash and throw on shorts and a dirty shirt. I’m going to get sweaty again anyway.

Em drives, and I plug my phone into her dash and scroll my music. Five minutes in, her fist hits my bicep. “Cut the shit.”

“Sorry.” She can’t stand when I let a song play for a few beats, then change it. My brain feels like a rubber ball tossed into an empty room, and I can’t focus on anything beyond the basics of feeding myself. Sleeping. Working.

Wes spent the night reminding me that a winter ale launch means the end of the year. Time running out. Not only has my hope for a psychic tip imploded, but it’s a lot harder not to acquiesce to his advice fresh off my latest misread with Noel.

I shut the radio off altogether, suddenly hungover, or car sick, or love sick.

Em pulls to a stop light and stares at me. “Are you going to tell me what the hell is going on?”

It wasnotlost on her that Noel wasn’t there last night celebrating the launch with me. I hid behind the busy night, then left early with an excuse that I’m not on the hourly schedule, so my shift was over when I said it was.

The first time I embraced the boss role Em’s been pushing me toward, and I used it to be a dick.

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