Chapter 10 FLETCHER
FLETCHER
“Dad, is everything okay?”
I look up to find Georgie watching me from the end of the couch.
“Yeah, why?”
She frowns. “You just seem… stressed tonight. Like something’s wrong.”
“I’m fine.” My quick reply almost makes me laugh. Now I’m sounding like Vince. “Just a little wrung out from work, I guess.”
Georgie’s frown deepens, reminding me so much of her mother. “You sure?”
I force a smile. “I’m okay, hon. Promise.”
I can’t tell her the truth. She’d take it the wrong way—or rather the right way. Georgie would see right through me if I told her I was worried about Vince. She’d know I’m starting to care for the guy on a deeper level. And that’s a conversation I’m not ready to have.
I can barely understand it myself.
The thing is, it’s not just my concern about his MS that’s drawing me to him. Honestly, it has nothing to do with his illness and more to do with… him. His smile, his laugh. His incredible mind. Those thick thighs… I love talking to him, soaking in every tiny piece that he’s willing to give me.
Georgie relaxes. “Okay. Are we still going to the play this weekend?”
“Of course.”
Georgie reaches for the TV remote and flips to an episode of Stranger Things. It’s our favorite show right now, and it helps pass the time until she goes to bed. But as soon as she’s gone, my mind drifts right back to where it was before: Vince.
I can’t stop thinking about him.
Vince was barely holding himself together today, shifting from foot to foot like he was trying to outstep the pain. He’d seemed more tired than usual, skin flushed. But when I asked if he was okay, he’d given me his usual quick response, “I’m fine.”
The break I’d given him helped, but even before I left, I could tell he was hurting again. It’s been eating at me ever since.
Glancing at my phone, I groan when I see it’s only a little past eleven. Still over an hour until he’s home.
A couple of months ago, I would’ve gone to bed at the same time as Georgie.
Maybe read a chapter or two before falling asleep.
But ever since Vince moved in, I’ve found myself waiting up for him—half-listening for his car, checking the clock, making sure he doesn’t need a ride or a hand or… anything.
Sometimes it’s enough just to know he gets home. Other times—almost every night lately—I can’t settle until I see him. We end up on his tiny couch or in my living room until I’m yawning and he’s finally loosened enough to smile. Those nights always feel easy. Casual.
But tonight doesn’t.
Tonight I can’t settle.
Rubbing my face, I stare out the window, wishing time would pass a little faster. I flip through the channels on the TV, though I’m not paying attention to anything. My gaze keeps drifting to the back window. Waiting. Wanting.
As soon as the headlights sweep across the yard, I’m on my feet, pulling the sliding glass door open and stepping outside before his car even rolls to a stop. I force myself to walk.
Vince opens the door but doesn’t get out.
I rest a hand on the car above him and lean in. “Hey.”
He gives me a tired smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Hey.”
My heart aches for him. Vince looks even more tired now, a weight on his shoulders that hadn’t been there before. Or maybe it was just buried under all that tension.
I don’t comment on it. “You hungry? I saved you some of that pot roast. It’s in your fridge.”
Vince’s eyes widen a fraction. “That sounds amazing.”
“I’d offer some biscuits to go with it, but Bones thought you wouldn’t need them.”
He chuckles.
“Dumb dog ate nearly half the plate before I realized it. Oh! I wanted to show you this.”
I pull my phone out to show him the movie trailer Darren sent me earlier in the day. Vince is clearly interested, reacting at all the right parts, just as I knew he would.
“It comes out next weekend. I was thinking we could go. You know, for something to do.”
He looks up, the corner of his mouth hitched into a small, tired smile. “Sounds fun.”
My stomach flutters. Shit, did I just ask him on a date?
Finally, he climbs out, wincing as soon as he puts his weight on his feet. I slide my arm around his back and shut the door. Vince doesn’t pull away, which tells me just how much he’s hurting.
I steer him toward the suite, keeping my tone light and my grip steady. He sinks onto the couch with a tired huff. I crouch to untie his shoes, then gently pull them off, followed by his socks. He watches me with something like amusement in his eyes.
“You don’t have a foot fetish, do you?”
I snort and hand him the bottle of pain cream from the nightstand.
Without asking, I reheat the food for him in the microwave while he applies the lotion.
After, he gets up to wash his hands. He takes his shirt off before sitting down, wiping sweat from his brow.
We sit close on the couch—closer than necessary.
I drape an arm behind him. Vince eats slowly, shoulders finally relaxing.
But the darkness never leaves him. He seems defeated.
I touch his shoulder, telling him about my day, if only to keep his mind off his. Finally, he sets the bowl aside and faces me.
“I don’t know how much longer I can keep doing this.”
My stomach tightens. “Doing what?”
“Working there. It’s getting harder every day.”
I keep my voice even. “Have you talked to Declan yet?”
He shrugs. “I don’t see the point. Not until I have answers.”
“There is a point. He needs to know what you’re going through.”
Vince sighs, avoiding my gaze. He rubs his thigh with the heel of his palm.
“What if something happens while you’re at work? Like your leg gives out or something? He wouldn’t know what’s going on or how to help you.”
He doesn’t answer.
“He should know, Vince. He’d want to know.”
Something flashes across his face too quick for me to read.
Doubt, maybe. Vince seems to think Declan and Piper only care about him as long as he can do his job.
But it’s so much more than that. I see it in the way they talk to him—it’s different from how they talk to Oliver or River.
They care for Vince, even when he gives them so little to care about.
I wish he’d open up to people.
“He might offer you a chair or—”
Vince snaps his attention to me. “No.”
“Why?”
“I can’t be sitting on the job. I’m the fucking bouncer, Fletch. I gotta be ready to move.”
Ah. I see it now. Pride. To Vince, sitting feels like giving in. Admitting weakness.
It’s bullshit. Vince is anything but weak. He’s one of the strongest men I know, masking his pain the way he does.
But I don’t want to fight.
I touch his shoulder again. “I’m sorry. Forget I said that. I just think they need to know.”
He rubs his thigh again.
“Is it cramping?”
He nods.
Getting up, I pull a chair over to sit in front of him. “Is it just the thigh?”
“Everywhere.”
I lift one leg to drape over mine and start massaging his calf with slow, sure lines. “I’ll start here then. Tell me when I break through the pain.”
He inhales sharply, eyes fluttering shut for half a second before he catches himself. But as soon as I find the right pressure, he relaxes. “Right there.”
I work slowly, easily. Moving up his calf to his thigh.
“Georgie wants to get the Christmas decorations out this weekend,” I say, trying to distract him.
“Already?”
“What do you mean, already? We’re two weeks into December now. Georgie usually makes me get the lights up before Thanksgiving, so according to her, I’m behind schedule.”
He smiles a little.
“You can help. We usually make hot chocolate while we set it all up, then watch movies afterward.”
The invitation softens something in Vince; his head tilts just a little.
“We’re also going to a play this weekend, which, honestly, I am not that excited about. You should come suffer with me.”
He laughs. “What play?”
“The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe.”
He gasps. “How can you not like that story?”
“It’s not the story. It’s the fact that I’ve seen so many versions and read the book so many times that I’m bored with it.”
He shakes his head. “Never.”
“Join us then?” I plead, my voice just a little too eager.
Vince shrugs. “Depends on the time. I still have to work.”
I move my hands higher, gliding easily over the soft material of his pants. They’re not quite track pants, but not jeans either. Something in between that could pass for dark slacks if needed. My fingers graze his inner thigh as I work, making him shift in his seat.
“Sorry,” I say quietly.
“No, it’s… Believe me, you’re helping.” He darts his attention away, lips firm like he’s struggling with himself. He almost shifts away, but drops his eyes to his groin, mouth parting. “I can’t believe I can feel it. Your hands, I mean. It’s… fuck. It feels so good.”
His curious tone is heavy, full of desire. He wants my hands on other parts of him—like he’s desperate to know if he can still feel anything on his cock or if the nerve damage has reached there too. I don’t want to pressure him, but I don’t want to pull away either.
The air slowly shifts, conversation fading like vapor.
Heat, awareness, something unspoken and electric becoming a live wire between us.
We both feel it, but I pretend I don’t. I’m not sure if he’s ready to cross that line.
Hell, I’m not sure I am. Whatever this is—whatever it might become—I don’t want to rush it.
More than that, I don’t want to lose it.
I keep my focus on the massage, loosening each knot. I move to the other leg, and Vince shifts again as I get higher. The growing bulge in his pants is unmistakable.
Just before I finish and pull away, Vince grabs my hand. Our eyes meet, and any pretense vanishes. The boundary I had been trying to keep disappears like smoke. We lean in at the same time, our lips hovering millimeters apart before finally touching in the sweetest, softest kiss I’ve ever had.
“Please,” he pleads. “I have to know.”
My heart pounds loudly in my chest.
He reaches up to cup my face. “Please touch me, Fletch.”
I kiss him again. When he deepens it, I glide my hand over his erection. Vince shudders, almost gasping. His kisses become sloppier the more I touch him, like his attention is only on one thing.
“Take your pants off,” I whisper.
Together, we work his pants down and I quickly close my hand around his bare cock. Vince’s eyes flutter and his mouth parts.
“Holy fuck.” His large hand grips my thigh as I touch the sensitive head. “It was just my hand then.” He sounds genuinely relieved. But I would be too. Any guy would, to know their cock still has feeling.
“Want me to stop?”
He kisses me hard. “No.”
Vince glides a hand over my thigh to my groin, trying to touch me back. Lust burns hot through me as he palms my stiff erection.
I break apart just long enough to undress, then sit beside him. How long has it been since I’ve had sex with someone? Touched someone? Hell, even kissed someone? A few years, at least. I want Vince’s hands on me more than anything.
The moment his firm hand closes around my shaft, I groan.
I encourage him to scoot to the center of the loveseat. I straddle his legs, being careful not to put any weight on him. We match our pace as we stroke each other, kissing and panting into each other’s mouths.
Vince groans as he slides his free hand up my back, pulling me closer. I grind down hard, but quickly pull away, afraid it’s too much.
“Don’t do that,” he pants. “Don’t pull away. I need to feel it all.”
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You’re not.”
I grind down, kissing him deeply.
Vince pumps me fast, thumb sliding over my slit. I drop my head back, muttering a curse.
“Is it okay? I can’t feel what I’m doing to you.”
I cup his face. “Trust me. It’s incredible.”
The feel of his hot tongue, his firm hand, and the slick movements of our sweaty skin, I’m nearing the edge already.
I pull back to look at him, wanting to see his face as I roll his foreskin back.
“Can I suck you?”
Vince freezes, eyes wide. “I definitely won’t last long if you do.”
“That’s okay. I’m not going to either, honestly.” I kiss him. “I’d really like to, though.”
Climbing off him, I kneel in front of Vince and kiss his thigh before reaching for his cock. I trail it over my lips before taking it into my mouth. The salty taste, along with the veiny texture, makes me moan. I forgot how much I love giving head.
I pump myself hard as I swallow him down, sliding my tongue back and forth.
Vince cups the back of my head, thrusting up.
I gag at the sudden pressure, but eagerly welcome him in again.
Hollowing out my cheeks, I sink all the way to the base and swallow.
Vince mutters something under his breath, fingers scraping my scalp.
As I bob, his balls draw up. I gently roll them in my fingers.
“Fletch,” he warns.
Vince grunts at the same time his thighs contract, then hot liquid floods my mouth. I swallow it down, sucking hard. My hand flies over my cock, burning from the lack of lube, yet I don’t care. I’m too turned on to care.
Vince pushes me back, then leans forward to kiss me. He pulls me close, replacing my hand with his spit-soaked one.
I’m gone within seconds, spurting in hot, thick ropes against his stomach.
We break the kiss and rest our foreheads together, breathing hard.
Slowly, I pull away, smiling like a damn fool. Vince is smiling too, and it’s making my heart do a weird little backflip. I get up to find some napkins, then pull my pants on.
Vince is moving a little steadier now, though clearly still hurting. He pulls his boxer briefs on, then reaches for me. “Thank you.”
I snort. “You don’t need to thank me for that.”
“I do, though. I’ve been dreading knowing if it was me. If my nerves…” He stops and shakes his head. “You gave me something back, Fletch. Thank you.”
He kisses me softly.
“Well, anytime you need a reminder of how not broken you are, I’m more than willing. That was fun.”
He laughs and turns away.
“I better go, though.”
“You sure? Wouldn’t mind if you stayed.”
Again with the heart somersaults…
I grin so big it hurts. “I would, but Georgie is home, so I should probably sleep inside.” Stepping into his space, I kiss him again. “But can I get a raincheck? Because I really like the idea of sleeping together.”
Vince curls his arms around me. “Door’s always open.”
It takes immense effort to leave, but my steps are light on the way back to the house. I truly hadn’t expected to have sex with Vince tonight. I’d just wanted to see him.
You gave me something back.
Those words echo in my heart like the sweetest song.
I change into pajamas and flop onto my bed, holding my phone against my chest. I can’t stop smiling, can’t stop replaying it in my head. Not just the sex, but the way we fit together. His voice. His touch. All of it.
I’m ridiculous, acting like a damn love-struck teenager.
And I don’t even care.
I text him before plugging my phone in.
Night, Vince. I hope you sleep well.
He replies instantly. You too.