Trusting Fletcher (Unexpected Love #4)

Chapter 1

VINCE

“Coming through!” Piper calls over the crowd, carrying a serving tray on her shoulder. Her freshly dyed maroon hair is mostly covered by a floral bandana.

The crowd parts to let her by. Behind her, a group of men circle around an open pool table, and two women laugh about something. A constant rumble of conversation drowns the clink of glass and scrape of chairs against the hardwood floor.

It’s busy tonight at Graham’s Bar. Nothing out of the ordinary, but enough to grate on my nerves and make me restless.

The music thumps low in my chest, every bass note rattling through my bones like they’re hollow. My body aches in that deep, gnawing way that never stops now—sometimes dull, sometimes sharp, always there.

Worse, it’s becoming harder to hide.

The front door swings open, and Pete and Andy walk in, followed by a few people from their mountain biking group. Pete claps me on the shoulder as he passes, grinning wide. “Hey, man.”

I nod silently and turn away, refusing to let anyone see my pain. As soon as I’m alone, I lean against the wall.

I wish I were home where I could kick my feet up or watch some mindless TV.

Maybe play my guitar. The neon lights, the noise, the bodies going in and out of the building—it’s all too damn much after the tiny sliver of peace I managed to carve out for myself on my days off. They went by too fast. They always do.

But it isn’t just the environment that’s bothering me. It’s the goddamn mask. It’s getting heavier every time I come in.

At home, I get to be Vince, the guy who can breathe through the pain without judgment.

But in here? No—in here, there is no room for weakness.

In here, I’m Vince the brick wall—the bouncer who sees all, does all, hears all.

The one who stands for hours on end, who absorbs the bad energy from people without flinching, and who never cracks.

In here, I need to be strong, and my strength is waning.

Some nights, like tonight, I rely on sheer willpower to finish my shift.

In the dark corner by the front door, I roll my neck and stretch my arms, trying to convince myself the motions help. They don’t. Not really. But going home early isn’t an option. I’ve done that too many times already. Declan is starting to ask questions.

No, I need to push through. Keep going. The world doesn’t slow down because my legs are weak or my nerves misfire.

Keep it together, Mercer.

Sighing, I scan the room again—more out of habit than anything else. There are a couple of people I need to keep an eye on, but nothing out of the ordinary. No red flags.

Tonight, it’s the same crowd. The same music. The same endless crawl of time.

I used to live for the familiarity. It used to feel like a safe haven, like I might belong someday. But more and more I’m starting to doubt that. Have I ever really fit in anywhere?

Declan pauses as he walks by, shirt tight and red hair styled perfectly. “Hey. Need anything? A drink or a break or anything?”

I shake my head. “I’m fine.”

Doubt flickers across his face, but he doesn’t push it. He just nods slowly. “Alright. Just signal if you change your mind, though.”

I tug at my shirt, determined to get through another night without incident. But as the hours fade away, so does the calm. The control I’d managed to hold onto begins to crack.

A subtle tension coils through the room, humming just under my skin.

Shortly before eleven, shouts cut through the noise like a broken bottle, sharp and unforgiving.

I turn just in time to see two guys squaring off near the pool tables, their hands balled into fists.

I start that way before Declan can, moving fast—or rather, I try to.

My left leg drags a little, the way it does when the numbness creeps in.

A subtle delay between thought and movement.

Their voices rise the closer I get. The bigger guy jabs a finger into the other man’s chest, his face red with anger. “You’re a damn liar.”

“Oh, shut—” Whatever he says is cut off by more chairs scraping against the hardwood. Half the room has picked up on the tension and is scrambling out of the way. Even the music seems to stall because of it.

I step into the fray, my booming voice demanding attention. “That’s enough!”

The men turn, jaws tense.

“You need to cool it,” I say.

Usually my size is enough to break up a fight, but whatever provoked them must be simmering too hot. They turn back to each other, shoulders squared like they’re still thinking of going for it. The smaller one takes a step closer to his opponent.

I quickly slide between them, putting a hand on each of their chests to push them apart. My right hand tingles immediately—all pins and needles, hot and useless. Not now.

“Back up,” I say in a firm tone. They don’t move. I push harder. “You can finish your drinks, or you can leave. Those are your options. We don’t allow fights here.”

The bigger guy opens his mouth to argue, but I tilt my head to get my message across. He takes one final look at the other guy, mutters something under his breath, then steps away. A few of his friends tag along.

His opponent hesitates, still seething.

I step into his line of sight, pulling his attention back to me. “I mean it. Walk away.”

The man’s jaw flexes, like he’s chewing on all the things he wanted to say.

I tip my chin. “Go on. I’ll ban you from the bar if I need to.”

He finally leaves, spitting a few curse words. A few people gawk, murmuring, “That was close,” and “What a jerk.” But they forget the drama as quickly as it had begun. Seconds later, conversations pick right back up.

I let out a breath. Crisis averted. For now, anyway. I’ll need to watch the men for the rest of the night. Looking across the room, I see Declan, Melody, and River watching me. Declan nods appreciatively, then turns back to his customers.

I start to walk away, but my left leg cramps enough to make me stumble. I grip a nearby chair and barely manage to keep myself upright.

A steady hand reaches for me. “Hey, you okay?”

The deep resonant tone hits me square in the chest, but I refuse to look up. All I can focus on is the pain in my thigh and the dull, empty sensation where my foot should be. It’s just… gone.

I stay quiet, skin hot and breath uneven as I wait for the feeling to come back. Pressure builds behind my ribcage as I try to keep the panic contained. Did someone shine a damn light on me or something? It feels like everyone’s watching.

Gingerly, I force myself to walk away. My leg is heavier now, tingling painfully. It’s like a dead weight attached at the hip. Useless. My hand is just as painful, the prickling sensations are almost too much.

I pause by the door and rub my palm against my thigh. A swell of anxiety engulfs me, suffocating me. I look around, hoping no one notices as I brace against the wall for support.

That’s when I see he’s still watching me. Not gawking—just watching, light brows pinched together in worry.

My stomach sinks. Of all people to see me stumble, it had to be him. Fletcher Rhide, one of our most loyal customers. I’ve had my eye on him for as long as I’ve worked here.

I turn away quickly. I can’t let him ask too many questions or see too much. It’s already dangerous as it is, getting this much attention,. Just a matter of time before Declan demands answers. And then what? Will he throw me out? Tell me I’m incapable of my job?

If he does, I’ll be in trouble.

The truth burns hot under my skin. I need to get my shit together. Next time, I might not be fast enough to break up the fight. Not strong enough. Not in control enough. And I don’t know what I’ll do if that happens.

Maybe I need to add browsing for jobs to my nightly tasks, right along with browsing for apartments.

Fuck my life.

Panic crawls in, swift and unforgiving. I peek outside.

The parking lot is empty of incoming customers for now, so I duck into the storage closet around the corner, letting the door swing shut behind me.

The noise muffles instantly, the music fading, replaced by the faint hum of the vent and the steady thud of my heart.

I stare down at my hand, as if the tingling is evidence I’m falling apart.

Shaking it out, I clench and unclench my fingers, wishing the numbness would go away.

I even rub it against the rough brick wall, hoping the gritty texture will coax some feeling back.

But it doesn’t. It just shifts deeper, like my nerves are disappearing under my skin.

“God damn it,” I mutter, leaning against the wall.

Closing my eyes, I breathe through it. It’ll pass. It always does.

I just need it to pass faster. I don’t have time to wait.

“Get it together, Mercer,” I say quietly.

The words take me back to another time, when hot Louisiana winds swirled around me and another voice scolded me.

Push through, Mercer. You don’t stop because you’re tired. You don’t stop because it hurts. You stop when you’re done and not a second before! Grit your teeth and do your job.

I hated my drill sergeant for pushing us past the point of exhaustion, yet his words branded themselves into my bones and carved me into exactly the soldier they needed me to be.

It’s been my mindset ever since: push through and don’t stop.

Whether it’s on the battlefield or in my job, I keep going. Always.

But it’s becoming harder and harder to live by.

This isn’t another training mission or another battlefield. This isn’t some wound I can tape up or a cramp I can run off. This battle is inside me—my own body turning into my enemy.

The tingling. The weakness. The unpredictability. It’s all I know now. All I can focus on.

How the hell am I supposed to push through when the minutes feel like hours and the hours feel like torture? Will it really be three months before I find some relief? Or longer? If I find any relief at all.

If my primary doctor was right about my symptoms, if his initial diagnosis is true… then there won’t be a cure. The pain won’t go away.

I want to deny that reality. Reject it with every cell in my being. It can’t be real. This can’t be my life now.

Voices echo on the other side of the door, snapping me to attention. I force myself to straighten up and shake out my arm. I can do this. I’ve trained for this. No one needs to see me break. Not Declan. Not Piper. Certainly not our customers.

Not anyone.

I just need to keep pushing through.

Taking a deep breath, I return to my post by the front door and flinch when I find River there checking IDs as people enter—doing my job. When he locks eyes with me, his expression is full of something I can’t read.

Shame curls in my stomach as I take his place.

River steps aside but doesn’t leave. He looks over my shoulder, at the storage closet, then raises a brow as if to say, “What was that about?”

I pretend not to notice.

He waits, blue eyes piercing, like he thinks he’s earned some sort of explanation. This isn’t the first time he’s covered for me.

When I don’t give him one, he frowns. “Look, I’m not the prying type—”

“Then don’t,” I cut in, louder than I intended. “I’m fine, okay? I can do my job.”

His gaze never wavers. “Can you, though? This is the second time I’ve covered for you tonight.”

His blunt observation only agitates me further.

“Look, I know we don’t know each other since I’m the new guy and all, but clearly something’s going on with you. And if I can see it, you better believe our boss sees it.”

My attention flicks to the bar, where Declan is talking to a customer. A sharp, cold sensation trickles down my back.

“I’m fine,” I say again, through gritted teeth.

“Then get it together, Vince,” River mutters before walking away.

I tug at my shirt, skin hot. Once again, it feels like I’m under a spotlight. So many people have commented on my behavior lately—customers and co-workers alike.

The mask is slipping.

My stomach sinks when I see River walking straight toward Declan. Shit. Is he going to say something? I don’t know the guy at all. He’s worked here all of what, four days? He might not have patience for flailing co-workers.

I hold my breath as I watch the two men talk, waiting for my boss to turn in my direction. But to my surprise, he never does. After five minutes, Declan throws his head back in a laugh and claps River on the shoulder before walking away.

River sees me staring. He points to me, then to Declan, delivering a clear message. Next time, I’ll tell him.

My shame intensifies, quickly followed by anger. Who does he think he is? Threatening me like that? I’ve been here a year and a half; he’s been here less than a week.

Besides, it’s not like I’m ignoring this. I’ve already seen a doctor. It’s just a waiting game for more results.

A brutally painful waiting game.

There’s no need to tell Declan until I know more. No need to tell anyone.

I glance at the clock and suck in a breath.

Two more hours, Vince. Push through.

Fletcher is still standing at a small table nearby. He’s alone, nursing a cold beer, and watching me carefully. Had he seen the exchange between River and me? Heard what River said? He’s certainly close enough to. His gaze doesn’t have the hard edge to it like I’m used to.

“Long day?” he asks in that calm, resonant tone he always has. The guy could steady an earthquake, I swear.

I huff. “Yeah. Something like that.”

“Believe me, I get it.” He steps forward, offering his hand. “I don’t think we’ve officially met. I’m Fletcher Rhide. I come here often.”

I nod at him. “I know who you are.” I’ve caught myself staring at you too many times. His dark blond hair and thick, well-groomed beard are exactly my type. “You gave this place a makeover a few months ago.”

His smile is immediate and full of well-deserved pride. “Indeed, I did.”

I reach for his hand. “Vince Mercer.”

“Nice to officially meet you, Vince.”

He looks like he’s going to say something, but the front door opens, so I turn to welcome the next group of people into the bar. Fletcher waves at them, like he’d been waiting for them. One by one, they pass with a fresh stamp on their hands.

The cool air is heaven on my heated skin, so I prop the door open with a kickstand and step outside. The moon catches my attention.

Swiping a hand across my forehead, it comes away slick with sweat, but the cooler air is helping. I’m so damn tired of this. All of it.

Two more hours, Vince.

Two more miserable hours, then I can go home.