Page 109 of The Fate Factor

I still think she should have told me, but I can see why she didn’t. Why it was easier to navigate that part without adding my expectations to it. I’ve put a lot of pressure on her even after promising I wouldn’t. And worst of all, I didn’t even protect herwhen she started to crumble from it. Instead, I was immediately defensive.

Maybe I haven’t been the brave one after all.

“I’m a selfish asshole,” I admit with a gust of air.

Em snorts. “Hardly. You just got your feelings hurt, Jamie, and it’s okay to say when something hurts. This whole situation seems like it touched a nerve for both of you, and I’m actually kind of proud of you right now for not pretending it didn’t. I think you’ve leveled up a little bit.”

I laugh quietly, but I’m thinking of what Noel said about growing pains being a sign of growth, and praying that’s what this ache in my chest turns out to be. Em’s right about me being caught up in the future, wanting that futuremeI envisioned to come to fruition, but maybe part of that growth is realizing that it’s the unknown where you find the greatest possibility. God knows teenage me wouldn’t have been able to look into a crystal ball and see my life today. And I can’t see tomorrow, but I can see that everything I accused Noel of—following fate instead of my gut, worrying about what might be instead of what is—I’ve been right there going along with it.

The next morning, I head to the brewery as soon as the sun is up, my head spinning with ideas and a new resolve to focus on the present. There are things I’ve been kicking around for months, waiting to bring up with Wes. Waiting on the right time or the right mood. Waiting to ask permission to do what I want with my own damn company.

I’m here before everyone except for the cleaning crew. Wes’s office is at the taproom, but I kept mine here when we opened that location. The bar is distracting, and some days my brain can’t overcome that, but I also like being around the art of it.Listening to the machines chug, the guys on the floor working and laughing. The smell reminds me of my garage brewing days. I never felt over my head then.

By noon, I’ve filled the white board on my wall with lists, things that have been caught in the wind for months. I write them in columns, give them dates, and color code them by priority. Then I check off the things I can do right now, before I even talk to Wes.

I decide to officially make Em the general manager of the taproom and extract myself from the bar schedule. I want to put my effort into bigger things than pouring beer. I didn’t run it by Wes because I don’t have to. That’s our arrangement, and I’m going to start handling my own side of this.

But I also know this part isn’t a big risk. There’s not a lot of trouble I can get into moving people around. I save the big jump for the afternoon.

Wes lives on the West End of the city in a brownstone that his dad bought him as a college graduation present. Every time I come here, which admittedly isn’t often, it reminds me how deep-seated these differences between us are. Our motivations. What drives us. I just hope this conversation will show me they’re close enough to still work.

I parallel park in front of his door and jog up the moss-covered steps. He answers on the first knock. “I’ve been calling you all morning.”

“I’ve been at the brewery. I wanted to watch today’s malt churn.”

His expression is blank, and I wonder how it is that I’m just now realizing the machines there are as foreign to him as his spreadsheets are to me. I have done a lot of waking up today.

“Why are you here?” he asks.

I push past him, heading to the kitchen. I grab a bottle of our IPA out of his fridge, prying it against his wall mounted opener. “I’ve been thinking about the offer.”

“It’s about time.”

I blow out a breath. “We have a good thing going here, Wes.”

He leans a hip on the granite island. “Of course we do. Corporations like NEBev don’t buy failing businesses, Jameson.”

I shrug. “They’re not going to buy this one either. My answer’s no.”

“Jesus Christ, Jamie.” He pinches the bridge of his nose like I’m exasperating him. “You can’t be serious. You’ve been talking about making something of yourself since I’ve known you. Being bought out by a major corporation is the epitome of success. I put it on a silver platter for you. What the hell are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking it’s not my version of success.” I sink against the wall, running a hand over my face. “Look, Wes, you’re right about the fact that I came into this with a chip on my shoulder. And maybe making the news for being sought out by a corporation like this would have been the gold star I’ve been trying to earn for the last, I don’t know, twenty years. It’s just, I think maybe I’ve moved past wanting to prove something to everyone. At least not at the expense of my own dreams. It’s kind of time I grew out of the wholefuck you, worldthing, you know?”

He lets out a surprise laugh. “This just some epiphany you had overnight?”

I wish. If I had, maybe I wouldn’t have twisted everything up with Noel. “I guess I just realized that proving myself to everyone is worth less than finding the person you don’t have to do that with.”

Someone who believes in my ability to figure it out on my own. I don’t think I need to know the future anymore, as long as she’s in it. If I fucked anything up in all of this, it was not realizing that sooner.

“One can only assume you’re talking about your psychic girlfriend.”

“Stop,” I say. “That’s the end of that shit too. And, yeah, I’m talking about Noel, but I wish I was talking about you too.”

His eyes flash with surprise and he nods once. “Look, I know I can be an asshole—”

“You told Noel I almost failed out of college.”

He throws a hand in the air. “And look what came of it! You got proof she’s not like Becca or any of the others since her.”

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