Page 78 of Click of Fate

That one hits deeper than I want it to.

“She saw Claire at the gym,” I add after a moment. “Didn’t say much at the time. But when she blew up, she mentioned her.”

Wade nods slowly. “So she thinks you’ve got unfinished business.”

“There is no business,” I say. “Claire’s not the one I want.”

Alex snorts. “Yeah, well, sometimes it’s not about facts. It’s about timing and triggers and whatever twisted little movie is playing in someone’s head.”

Wade looks at me. “What do you want?”

I hesitate. “I don’t want to let her go. But I also don’t want to chase someone who keeps running.”

Wade sips his beer. “That’s the line, isn’t it? Between patience and pride.”

Alex, in classic Alex fashion, drains his glass. “Or, more importantly, between sanity and complete emotional collapse.”

Wade laughs. “Bernie ran from me too, in her own way. Hell, I ran from her, too. I didn’t see it then, but we were both pushing each other too hard, trying to force a picture neither was ready to live in yet. I had to stop putting Dex’s feelings over my own. That was a hard pill to swallow. Nearly ruined it.”

“And now you’re disgustingly in love,” Alex mutters.

Wade grins. “Exactly.”

They fall into teasing each other again, but I only half hear it. My mind is already spinning back to Stella’s face. Her walls. Her fear.

She told me over and over she wasn’t going to stay, but she never told me why.

Maybe my mistake was that I never got to the root cause of her running. And maybe now I never will.

I drain what’s left of my beer and gesture to the waitress for another.

Wade leans back, balancing his chair on two legs like he’s testing gravity. “So, Alex—you ever going to fix that back wall or just keep blaming supply chain delays?”

Alex smirks, raising his new beer. “It’s called ambiance, Wade. That wall’s got character.”

Wade snorts. “It’s got termites.”

Alex shrugs. “Artisanal ones.”

I finally crack a small smile.

“Maybe we should go climbing tomorrow,” Wade says, turning to me. “You know, to distract you from your tragic love life and Alex’s tragic design choices.”

Alex raises an eyebrow. “I’ll go, but I’m not climbing. I’ll belay and critique.”

“Please,” Wade says, “You climb like a drunk possum. No one should take a thing you say at face value.”

Alex grins. “Still beat you last time.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“Did too. Ask Bernie. She filmed it.”

Wade groans and scrubs a hand down his face. “She did film it, didn’t she?”

Their banter is stupid and light and ridiculous—but for the first time in days, the weight pressing down on my chest lifts just a little.

I let myself sit back, beer in hand, and breathe.

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