Chapter 4
Chapter Four
FLETCHER
Something is burning. And God, it’s hot.
Something pounds in the distance—what is that tapping noise?
I roll over in bed and try to kick off the sheets sticking to my sweaty legs. Where the fuck is the air-conditioning?
Joan probably forgot to pay the bills again.
My lungs itch and constrict, and I cough, but the sensation doesn’t subside.
“Fletcher! Fletcher, please ,” a small voice wails somewhere near my ear.
I sit up straight in bed, my hand shooting up to clutch my chest as I gasp in a breath. The air is clean, but the ghost of that suffocating feeling lingers behind.
I throw my legs over the side of the bed and shove myself out of the room as if I can physically leave the nightmare behind. It’s still dark through the windows as I stumble down to the kitchen.
4:25 AM blinks at me from the stove, and I sigh as I turn on the coffeepot.
Same time as always.
Once I pour a cup, I head out to the single chair sitting on the newly finished deck, my breaths still coming in a little too hard. I hang my head between my shoulders for a second, waiting for my brain to catch up with my actual body temperature and realize we’re not burning up. The morning air brushes across my chest, cooling the sweat clinging to me.
But it’s the voice that won’t stop echoing in my mind.
That voice .
It hasn’t faded with time at all. Or maybe it has. Maybe I have it all wrong now and can’t tell the difference.
I shake my head, forcing myself to focus on the yard in front of me. It’s an absolute mess.
I don’t even think twenty-four hours had passed since I wrapped up the renovations on the house before Mom showed up with a truck full of gardening supplies and a wide smile, eager to get to work—her idea of a housewarming gift. There was only so much she could do when I lived in an apartment, and now she’s making up for lost time, I guess.
If there’s a method to where she left everything, I can’t see it. Bags of mulch, fertilizer, a wheelbarrow, shovels, pots, stones. I’m a little afraid to see what she plans to do with all of it. In the places she and Dad have flipped in the past, she’s always done something elaborate and high-end. I don’t know if she even knows how to rein herself in.
Coffee still untouched, I head inside to hunt down my phone. I can’t remember what time she said she’d be back today. She’s always been an early riser though, and it’s probably best to start before it gets to the hotter parts of the day.
The phone’s plugged in on the kitchen island where I left it yesterday afternoon. A dozen or so notifications wait for me on the screen, and I quickly scroll through to make sure there’s nothing important. An invite to hang out from my best friends Liam and Leo, a reminder from one of my bosses about the schedule this week. A smirk pulls at my lips as I realize half are from my mother. One to let me know she’ll swing by at seven, and the rest are links to house listings she thinks I should look into.
I text her that maybe she should look into them.
She responds immediately. Your dad and I wanted to give you first dibs!
I smile a little and shake my head. A single solo flip under my belt, and now she thinks she’s convinced me to follow in their footsteps.
I enjoy working on houses, I do. And I’ll probably do another at some point, and help them out when they need some extra hands. I know she sees it as better money—a way for me to quit working my other jobs. But I’m not so sure that I want to.
I frown when I remember what time it is and text her again. What are you even doing up so early??
She sends me a string of emojis that’s impossible to decode, followed by: Early bird gets the worm!!!
She, thankfully, doesn’t ask me the same question.
She already knows the answer.
I shower then tidy up the house before Mom gets here, because if I don’t, she’ll feel the need to. I’ve barely finished unloading the clean dishes from the wash when there’s a knock on the door. I glance at the clock.
6:30 AM.
Should’ve known she wouldn’t make it until seven.
I swing the front door open, and my mother smiles sheepishly at me from the other side, two coffee cups and a brown paper bag in hand…and a dog at her feet.
“Mom…”
It’s a beast of a dog. It’s half as tall as Mom sitting down, and judging by the gray around its snout, it’s a senior. No leash, no collar. Just big brown eyes staring up at me.
“Oh, that’s Charlie,” she says as if this is perfectly normal, then juts her chin. “Can we come in?”
I step aside, eyes still on Charlie , and he politely waits for my mom to go inside before slowly pushing to his feet and ambling after her.
“I brought you some coffee cake!” she calls as she unloads onto the kitchen counter, then glances around the room with her hands on her hips as if searching for a cleaning task.
Finding none, she sighs a little and sips her coffee. I smirk and take the second cup she offers. The one I made earlier is sitting cold and untouched on the counter.
“Where’s Dad?”
She waves a hand and paces to the windows to peek outside. “On-site today. They’re working on electrical stuff. You know I always like to skip that part. I see you haven’t gotten any more furniture out there yet.”
“In the two days since you last suggested it? No, I haven’t.”
She squints at me and lowers her voice as she asks, “How have you been sleeping?”
“Fine. I’m fine.” I look away so she can’t see the bags under my eyes, and find Charlie leaned against the island, staring at me like he can see into my soul. “So what’s the deal with the dog?”
“Charlie,” she corrects me.
“What’s the deal with Charlie ?”
She lifts her chin indignantly. “Are you saying I’m too old to try something new?”
“I—” I sputter and shake my head. This woman. “Are you telling me you adopted him?” I saw her less than twenty-four hours ago and there was no mention of a dog. What could have possibly changed since then?
She shrugs and digs around in the paper bag for the coffee cake that was supposedly for me. “We’re fostering him.”
I can’t help but laugh. “What? I scarred you so badly that you can’t do kids anymore and had to move on to animals?”
She gives me an unamused smile. “He’s a sweetheart, and he needed a home. What was I supposed to do? Say no? You haven’t even said hi to him properly.”
Sighing, I squat to get on his level. I swear the beast doesn’t blink. I think he has a lazy eye.
“Hi, Charlie. I’m Fletcher. I was the first stray they took in. Guess that makes us kindred spirits or something. Nice to meet you.”
Charlie cocks his head like he’s taking this all in.
Mom scoffs as I scratch Charlie between the ears. “Fletcher Conway.”
I grin, rise back to my feet, and plant a kiss on her cheek before stealing what remains of the coffee cake. “You gonna put me to work or what?”
The corners of her lips turn down in a now that you mention it way as she turns to peer out the windows again. “I hope you’re still good with a shovel.”