Chapter 5 Vince
VINCE
Fletcher turns down a narrow side street lined with a dozen oak trees. Their branches arch overhead like a tunnel, creating an eerie illusion in the dark.
It makes me shudder.
A dozen modern homes line each side of the road, their windows glowing from within. Most of them have some kind of Halloween yard decor.
“This is me,” Fletcher says, pulling into the house on the end.
A ten-foot skeleton stands in the center of the front lawn, arms outstretched and holding a rope like a leash attached to a large skeleton dog.
Two raven skeletons rest on the porch railing, wrapped in orange and white lights.
Four pumpkins line either side of the stairs leading to the door.
The house is simple yet elegant. The kind of place that makes you want to kick your boots off and stay awhile.
I shouldn’t be here.
Fletcher pulls onto a gravel path next to the driveway, then hits a button on the remote clipped to his visor. It unlocks a gate, and he pulls through to the back. The backyard is bigger than I expected, with a brick fireplace near a stone path.
He drives to the back corner of the property, parking in front of what I can only describe as a small house. A motion light flicks on as we get out. This can’t be what he was talking about?
I was prepared for a glorified shed—four walls, a cot, maybe a mini-fridge that Fletcher jokingly called the “kitchenette.” But this… no, this is a tiny cottage right in his backyard, complete with two egg-shaped chairs hanging near the door.
“We built this for my parents to use when they visited,” Fletcher says, a little sheepishly. “But they’re dead now and—anyway, it’s yours now, for as long as you need it. Oh, here.” He opens his hand, holding the remote that unlocks the gate. “You’ll need this too.”
“Won’t you need it?”
He shakes his head. “We have a spare inside. Plus, Georgie and I know the code.”
A strange feeling settles over me as I pocket the remote. I can’t look at him. This is more than I expected—so much more. Honestly, picturing his parents here is easier than picturing me. Not because the style doesn’t fit me, but because I have never in my life had something so… nice.
We grab my bags from the back, then Fletcher unlocks the door and flicks the light on.
I have to stop in the doorway, overwhelmed.
The place is small, but it doesn’t feel small, with vaulted ceilings and a large front window.
The wood-like tile flooring is covered in a plush purple rug that somehow coordinates with the soft green walls.
A queen-sized bed, tucked against one wall, has a bright purple and gold bedspread and matching pillows.
Posters of Asian celebrities and street art cover the walls.
A worn, solid dresser separates the bed from a small living space with a loveseat and a side table.
A bench under the long window serves as the table, with two chairs tucked underneath.
Fletcher hadn’t been kidding about the kitchenette either—there’s a small fridge, an induction stovetop, and a sink. The counter has just enough room for someone to chop vegetables on without feeling cramped.
Fletcher sets the bags on the bed, nodding toward a door in the corner.
“Bathroom’s through there. You even have your own water heater, which, I’m sorry to disappoint, is taking up your entire closet.
” He opens a narrow door near the bathroom, proving his point.
“But that’s why there’s a dresser. Feel free to use it. ”
I peek into the bathroom, which is covered in more purple. But at least it’s clean. Everything smells of cedar and soap.
“Fletcher…” I have to swallow past the sudden knot in my throat. “I-I don’t know what to say.”
He waves a hand. “It’s no big deal. You need a place to stay, and like I said, this rarely gets used.
Actually…” He opens a few cabinets, laughing.
“Yup, see. Nothing but snack food from my daughter’s slumber parties.
Help yourself, though. There’s probably soda and sparkling water in the fridge too.
We’ll get you some real food in here soon. ”
“You don’t have to—”
“We will,” Fletcher insists. He opens the lower cabinets, pointing out a few pots and pans, an air fryer, and a Keurig.
“I’ll bring you some coffee pods and creamer.
Oh, and some towels for the bathroom. For now, plan on coming up for breakfast, and we’ll finish loading her up tomorrow. Sound good?”
I genuinely don’t know what to say. I’ve been stressing about finding a new apartment ever since my tentative diagnosis, checking listings on the internet almost nightly.
But every apartment was way out of my price range or came with the same problems as my current one—dangerous stairs and cramped parking. This is like a diamond in the rough.
I’m not sure I deserve Fletcher’s kindness.
I take another slow look around, trying to maintain my composure. For once, the weight of my future doesn’t feel so damning. This is only temporary, of course, but it gives me a chance to breathe. To pull my shit together and figure things out.
“I really don’t know how to thank you,” I say finally.
“You can start by getting some rest. How are you doing, by the way? You feeling okay?”
“Just some bumps and bruises,” I say. It’s a lie. My back aches like a bitch, and I’m definitely going to have some bruises from the fall, but it could have been worse.
So much worse.
Fletcher frowns like he doesn’t believe me, but at least he doesn’t press. “Well, I grabbed your pain meds from the bathroom. They’re in the side pocket of the blue bag.”
“Thanks. I’m fine, though.”
He huffs. “Yeah, I’m starting to think you say that so much you actually believe it.
You’re not fine, Vince, and that’s okay.
You’ll get there, though. In the meantime, if you need anything, just ask, okay?
” He opens a drawer and writes something on a notepad before attaching it to the fridge with a magnet.
“My phone number again, in case you lost it. Call me day or night. I leave it off silent since I have a teenager.”
When I don’t reply, he shoves his hands in his pockets. “Alright. I’ll run up to the house for some towels and coffee. Is there anything else you can think of that you need?”
I avoid his eyes. “No. Thank you.”
“Okay. Be right back then.”
As he leaves, silence takes his place. It makes it all worse, the guilt in my stomach twisting tight. He didn’t have to do this. He didn’t have to do any of this. He doesn’t even know me. And yet, his offer is more than I could have hoped for.
I sit on the edge of the bed, elbows on my knees. I have no way to repay him, but I’m going to try.
Some way, somehow I’ll make it up to Fletcher.
I wake up to sunlight filtering in through the blinds, and for a second, I don’t remember where I am.
The air smells strange—all light and crisp.
As I roll out of bed, a sharp pain stabs my left side, reminding me of the horrible fall last night.
My ribs are definitely sore, but they’re not as sore as they would’ve been if I’d slept on the couch again.
I still can’t believe I’m here—in a bed.
As I stretch, my old joints pop in protest, but for once I don’t feel like a truck has hit me. I’d actually slept. More than that, I feel… rested. It’s a little disorienting.
After taking a piss, I fiddle with the Keurig but give up after a few minutes.
I’ve never used one of those things. I have no idea how they work.
Glancing out the window, I see the lights on in the house.
Fletcher’s invitation for breakfast was unexpected, yet with only popcorn and cheese puffs in the cupboards, there’s not much choice—especially without a car to go get something.
But before anything else, I need a shower.
I toss my bag on the bed and dig out some clean clothes, then head to the bathroom.
I strip while waiting for the water to warm up.
It only takes seconds. I hit my elbow on the wall a few times as I wash up, making me curse all over again, but the seat is nice.
It’ll be especially nice when my feet are too sore to stand.
The bandage slides off in the water, so I reach up to touch the wound near my ear.
It stings under the water pressure, but it’s already scabbed over.
Honestly, my side hurts worse than my head.
By the time I get dressed, my stomach is growling. I pull my boots on and head outside. The sky is bright and clear, the air cool. I follow the stone path toward the main house, noticing for the first time that Fletcher has a hot tub. Damn. Must be nice.
I hear voices through an open window as I reach the back patio. When I try the back door, it’s locked. A Rottweiler barks loudly on the other side, his giant head nearly reaching my hips.
Fletcher curses. “Shit, hold on.” A second later, the door slides open. “Sorry, I forgot to unlock it.”
Before I can reply, a massive blur of muscle and enthusiasm barrels straight at me. Fletcher grips the dog’s leather collar before it can knock me over.
“Whoa, hey! Bones, easy!” Fletcher’s voice sharpens. “Bones. Sit.”
The dog settles down, but doesn’t sit, back end wiggling from all the excitement.
The dog intimidates me. I mean, his head alone is three times the size of my hand, and his teeth are longer than my fingernails.
“Bones?” I ask, a little breathless.
Fletcher grins. “Yeah. Georgie named him. Don’t worry, he’s a big softie once he gets to know you. He’s named after the show.”
“With Dr. Brennan? The anthropologist?”
His grin widens. “That’s the one. Anyway, come on in. I’ll leave him outside while we eat.”
Fletcher tosses a rubber ball for Bones, who chases after it. I can barely suppress a shudder. I swear I’ve never seen a dog so big.