Page 27 of The Fate Factor

Jamie

“Shit.”Noel’slegsgiveout and she tumbles forward into my chest. I drop my crutch and catch her, crashing painfully against the door frame as I absorb her weight. “Noel? Hey. Can you hear me?”

I’ve got her in a bear hug, trying to keep her feet under her, but she’s pressed against my bruised ribs, making it really hard to breathe.

One of our regulars who happens to be nearby watches me try to maneuver her and rushes over to grab her other elbow, helping her stand. “Is she okay?”

“Can you get her some water?” I jut my chin toward the bar, and he hustles off. Noel’s eyes are open now, blinking wildly at me. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.” She moves to touch her face. When she realizes I still have a hold of her arm, she jerks away so quickly, she almost falls again. “Don’t touch me,please.”

“Okay.” I hold my hands up and step back. I did just keep her from cracking her head on the floor, but I’ll try not to take that personally. “I won’t touch you. Will you please sit down?”

The customer appears again with a glass and hands it to her while I pick my crutch up off the floor. Not an easy task. I give him theall sethead nod and turn to Noel.

“There’s not even a candle,” she says, pressing the condensation from the cool glass on her pulse point.

I don’t know if it’s the lingering concussion or how distracting that bead of water left on her neck is, but it takes me a moment to catch up. When I do, my eyes jerk to hers. Holy shit. I think it happened again.

I try to keep my face from reflecting the fact that I’m ecstatic about this development because she is definitely not. “What did you see?”

She shakes her head. “No.”

“No?”

“It had nothing to do with you.”

I’d be disappointed if she wasn’t such a bad liar. “You said it only happened with me.”

“I know what I said!”

“Okay. Okay. Jeez.” I pull out a chair and step back, hoping that will entice her to sit. The guitar player is overly loud and she’s still rubbing at her temples.

“Don’t ask me,” she says, taking the seat.

I make a zipper motion with my fingers to my lips. But I do take the seat across from her. Three women slide past our table, headed toward the bar, and she scoots her chair in. Our knees brush, and she jerks away again. Her pink cheeks have goneghostly white, and I gesture to the water instead of trying to hand it to her.

Thankfully, she takes it. Once she’s swallowed a long sip she says, “I don’t like this.”

She looks up at me, gorgeous gold eyes rimmed in water, shoulders curled in, and there’s a twist of regret in my stomach for asking her this—solutions to my business problems at the expense of her terror. I do believe it scares the hell out of her, rightfully. But it doesn’t seem either of us have much control over it and desperation is nipping at me. I can’t take Wes on by myself on a good day and now I’m not only bucking his advice, I’m doing it from the sidelines. I feel like the waterboy trying to call plays.

“I know you don’t.” My fingers flex with the urge to touch her, to protect her, maybe, from the part that scares her, but that’s clearly the last thing she wants.

“I don’t even know what it means.”

“We’ll figure it out together.” I push to the edge of my seat. “But you might have to tell me what you saw if you want me to help with that.”

“Not yet,” she says firmly.

I nod and stack my hands in my lap, trying to look as harmless as possible. I think it works because some of the fear slides off of her expression. “I won’t do the candle thing again.”

“Okay.” I’m disappointed but I get it.

She chews her lip. “It doesn’t seem like I need to anyway.”

“Right.”

“We’ll just be friends, like you said. If it happens, it happens.”

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