Page 79 of Click of Fate

Just for a minute.

By the time I leave The Trading Post, the sky’s gone that rich, navy blue that only shows up after midnight—when the streets start to settle and the city exhales.

Alex stayed to talk business with the kitchen manager. Wade promised to text me tomorrow about climbing but made me swear to make Alex wear those ridiculous neon shoes we have in stock if we get him on a wall.

I told him no promises.

Wade used to teach a few beginner classes back at the Chicago location when we were short-staffed, back before Squeaky Bum had a real training protocol. He was surprisingly good at it; patient, upbeat, the kind of guy new climbers felt safe with. It’s actually how I met Bernie—when he asked for some time to himself on one of the walls so he could teach her how to climb. I knew the minute I met Bernie that she was gonna wreck his life in the best way.

Alex, on the other hand? Claims to hate climbing. Says it’s unnatural to willingly hang from walls. But the guy secretly loves it, he just talks so much trash while doing it, no one takes him seriously. And he’s terrible. Really, objectively terrible.

But he always shows up. And somehow, that makes it worse. Or better. I haven’t decided.

Now it’s just me and the walk to my truck, the buzz of laughter fading behind me, and the weight of Stella’s absence pressing back in.

The thing about being around Wade and Alex is they make it easier to forget. For a few hours, I let myself laugh, let the ache soften around the edges.

But now?

Now the quiet creeps back in.

I climb into my truck and sit there for a minute before turning the key. My hand rests on the wheel, but I don’t move. I just stare at the empty passenger seat and wonder how someone who said she didn’t want to stay could make everything else feel like standing still.

I miss her.

Not in theI want to text you at 2 a.m.kind of way.

But in theyou shifted something in me, and I don’t know how to un-feel itkind of way.

And maybe that’s the part that scares me most.

I thought I could handle it. I thought I could take her as she was, walls and all, and wait her out.

But maybe I waited too long to say what I really felt. Maybe she needed something I didn’t know how to give.

Or maybe she was never going to stay.

Still… I’m not ready to let go.

Not yet.

The end-of-month check-in with Ray is usually a ten-minute numbers rundown followed by a twenty-minute rant about gym gear trends and his refusal to sell anything with a neon zipper. Today, we’re only five minutes in when the door to my office swings open and Claire strolls in like she’s still got keys to the place.

I don’t even get a chance to wave her off.

She starts talking before I can mute Ray. “Hey, so I was thinking if we loop in that branding firm I mentioned, we could run a summer promo and…”

“Claire,” Ray says.

She freezes, eyes widening when she sees his face on the screen.

“Hi, Ray.” Her voice goes bright and fake. “Didn’t realize we were on a call.”

“Clearly.” Ray’s tone is casual, but his eyes have that dry, don't-push-me glint I know too well. “I heard your little pitch.”

She smooths her hand over her hair, regrouping. “I’m just trying to help. You know Luke and I have history building Squeaky Bumb. I care about its success.”

Ray leans forward slightly. “And I care about Luke. So let me be clear—because I think you’re hearing what you want, not what’s being said.”

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