Page 86 of Click of Fate

I’ll have to put her in her cage before I fall asleep, but I needed puppy snuggles.

The dim glow of the streetlight leaks in through the window blinds, painting soft stripes across the ceiling. I stare at them, my arms wrapped around my knees, the ache in my chest refusing to ease.

I keep replaying Harper’s words.

You’re the one who keeps running away.

Maybe she’s right.

Maybe I’ve gotten so good at running, I don’t even recognize when I’m doing it anymore.

Maple shifts, kicking in her sleep, and I reach down to stroke her soft, short fur. She leans into the touch immediately, as if even in dreams, she knows where she’s safe.

I envy that. Because right now, I don’t know where I feel safe.

Not in the past. Not in the future.

Not even inside my own heart.

I press my forehead to my knees. Breathe in. Breathe out.

I wanted to believe love wasn’t for me. That staying would only lead to breaking. But what if staying could also mean building?

Maple lets out a little huff and noses my hand again, blinking sleepy brown eyes up at me like she’s silently urging me not to give up.

Tears burn my eyes, and this time, I don’t blink them away.

I let them fall. Because maybe breaking down isn’t the worst thing. Maybe it’s the first step toward building something real.

I bury my face in Maple’s warm fur, whispering into the quiet.

“I don’t want to run anymore.” The words are soft, raw. A promise to myself.

And for the first time since Luke walked out my door, I believe I might actually keep it.

Chapter 20

DON’T BE DENSE

LUKE

If tonight’sanything to go by, I get the feeling Ruth Ann James doesn’t really ask for things—she arranges them.

One second, she’s handing me a flyer for this networking event like it’s no big deal, and the next, I’m finding myself double-checking the address and wondering when exactly I agreed to this.

The ArtHouse Gallery stands like a warm beacon against the cold, late fall night.

I park a few blocks away, stuffing my hands in my jacket pockets as the wind slices through the city streets. Maddie definitely faked being sick. No way was it a coincidence she bailed last-minute, citing a "sudden stomach bug" right after Ruth swung by the gym.

Inside, the event is already buzzing—low acoustic music weaving through laughter, business cards exchanging hands like candy, the scent of catered food heavy in the air.

It's stylish, but not stuffy. Comfortable enough that you can tell Ruth had her fingerprints all over it.

I spot her right away—almost six feet, a riot of white curls, and a sharp crimson dress that somehow makes her look both regal and dangerous at the same time.

She’s weaving through clusters of people like she owns the place, wearing pearl earrings that catch the light every time she tips her head to listen to someone.

I can’t help but grin a little. She’s a force, that one. The kind of woman you probably don’t say no to twice. The kind of woman who, if she decides you need a little fate on your side, will personally wrestle it into submission. Which is probably why I'm here tonight.

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