Chapter 13 VINCE
VINCE
Iwake to the thin, papery light of morning pushing through the vertical blinds. For a second, I forget where I am. Nothing about this room is familiar. The antiseptic smell, the too-firm bed, the heaviness in my bones that isn’t quite pain but isn’t rest either.
Then it hits me.
The hospital. Head injury. Oliver’s shriek before I blacked out.
Was that really only yesterday? It feels like I’ve been out for days. Hell, maybe I have.
Everything aches like I ran a marathon in my sleep. My mouth is dry, and my thoughts are slow, but they sharpen a little more with each passing second.
I blink hard as I look around, taking in the plain blue walls, the ugly privacy curtain, and the large whiteboard with indecipherable numbers.
Seeing the buttons on the handrail, I use them to shift the bed into a sitting position.
A soft blue blanket slips down my chest to my lap, and cool air touches my arms. I shiver.
Someone has draped a clean hospital nightgown over the chair, and it makes me wonder what happened to my clothes… and my phone. I need to find it so I can call Declan and Fletcher.
As if summoned, the door slides open, casting fresh light through the privacy curtain. I can’t see who it is until they pull it to the side, and relief floods me.
Fletcher steps into the room, balancing a canvas bag, a plastic hygiene kit, and a brown paper bag. His usually tidy hair is a mess and his shirt wrinkled, but the tension around his eyes softens immediately when he sees me.
“Hey.” He looks like he didn’t sleep well even though he’d gone home. “Wasn’t sure if you’d be up yet.”
I glance at the clock. It’s barely seven a.m.
I try not to show how good it feels to see him. “Yeah. Just starting to move.”
“How are you feeling?”
“Like someone railroaded me.”
“I bet.” He sets the stuff on the tray table before turning to me. “Brought some of your things. Figured you might want your own clothes if they let you shower. Oh, and, uh… toothpaste and deodorant. You’re welcome.”
I huff out a laugh. “I appreciate the hint.”
His smile is weak as he reaches for me, curling a hand around my wrist as if he’s been aching to touch me all morning. The touch reminds me—I had strange dreams of him last night. Of us driving along the coast and holding hands. Kissing. Doing so much more than kissing.
They were strange because I was so damn happy in them. I can’t remember a time in my life when I was ever that happy… yet it’s all I’ve felt since I’ve gotten to know Fletcher.
“Oh! Georgie says hi. She was worried about you when she heard what happened.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“She insisted I bring you this.” He pulls a rectangular device from the side pocket of the bag.
“Is that her… game thing?”
He chuckles. “Nintendo Switch, yes. She thought it could help pass the time.”
Georgie has tried to get me to play, but so far I’ve mostly just watched. Too many buttons for me.
He touches the side of my head, voice lowering. “God, it’s so good to see color in your face again, Vince. You really scared me.”
Before I can reply, a knock sounds, and a doctor comes in, wheeling a portable chart station. Fletcher steps back. I miss his touch instantly.
“Good morning, Vince,” the doctor says, her tone light. “I’m here to check your vitals and see how you’re doing. Did you get any rest?”
“A few hours, maybe.”
“Good. I know it can be difficult, with nurses checking on you every hour.”
My stomach knots, waiting for whatever she’s about to say. My hands shake as I try to sit up a little straighter.
The doctor presses her lips together as she reads something on the screen.
“I’ve already contacted your primary doctor, and they’re going to forward your lab results to your MS specialist too, as soon as we have them.
Since this could relate to your illness, I’m requesting they schedule an MRI appointment before your visit with Dr. Benson.
That way, when you see him, he can go over the results sooner. ”
My heart skips a beat. MRI? Is this going to be a regular thing now?
“What will that show him?” Fletcher asks, since I seemed to have lost my voice.
“The MRI will tell us whether there’s any new inflammation in the nervous system—especially in the brain or spinal cord. That could explain what happened yesterday.”
“You said it was dehydration,” I cut in.
“And that’s still true. You were severely dehydrated when you came in, which weakened you.
But it can also be a mix of things, so we’re turning over every stone, so to speak.
If there are new lesions, it could have caused the fall just as easily.
” She smiles encouragingly. “Your neurologist will tell you if this represents an MS flare and if you need to change your treatment plan.”
“I don’t have one yet,” I say. “I haven’t even seen the specialist. They diagnosed me in September, so I’ve been waiting.”
“Ah, yes. Forgive me, I’m getting ahead of myself. But you’re on the right path.”
Her voice fades in my head, pieces slipping through my scattered thoughts. Every symptom feels like a five-pound weight in my stomach. Loss of vision, balance issues—pieces of myself slipping away. Fuck. Is this really what my life is going to be now? A gradual decay of simple function?
Fear and anxiety knot in my throat, making me unable to speak. To breathe. To think. I fist the blanket, drawing in a slow breath.
Fletcher curls both of his hands around mine, holding tight. I want to pull away, but it’s the only thing keeping me grounded. I pull him closer.
The doctor continues. “Multiple sclerosis can be unpredictable. Sometimes symptoms come and go without leaving lasting changes. Other times, they signal something new. The MRI helps us see the difference, which is why it’s important to get frequent scans, especially in the beginning.”
My mind spins. How do I plan a life that might keep changing?
“I know it’s a lot to take in,” she says softly, giving an approving nod toward Fletcher. “But it helps to have someone else noticing changes too. If you see anything new, write it down.”
Fletcher seems unbothered by the misunderstanding that we’re a couple.
I mean, he’s holding my hand. What else is the doctor going to think?
Yet guilt tugs at my heart. Who am I to drag him into this?
Weigh him down by my helplessness? It’s too much.
He doesn’t deserve that. He has a job, a kid. He doesn’t need to be here.
Even so, I can’t pull my hand away. I don’t want to.
The warmth of his skin is the only thing I can focus on as the doctor takes my temperature and finishes her exam.
“Is there any chance this’ll get me in to see the MS doctor sooner?” I say when I finally find my voice.
She gives an empathetic smile. “Afraid not. It doesn’t work like that.
What’s important is that you’re doing better today, thanks to the fluids and rest, so that’s a good sign that it may not have been a flare at all.
Like I said, we’re just looking at all possibilities here.
So don’t panic, okay? We’ll get you answers. Have you eaten yet today?”
“Not yet.”
“Okay. We’ll get you some breakfast soon.”
“Actually, I brought him something,” Fletcher says, a little sheepishly. He gestures to the brown bag on top of the pile of things he dragged in.
“Ah, perfect. I’ll get out of your way so you can enjoy that then. Do either of you have questions?”
“You mentioned fluid and diet. Is that important for someone with MS?” Fletcher asks.
“Not specifically. It’s common, though, for someone with an illness like MS to forget to take care of themselves. The symptoms can be… overwhelming, sometimes, which means even eating can feel like a chore. That puts them at higher risk for dehydration and other things.”
Fletcher looks at me, nodding, like he’s seen the struggle.
“How soon can I leave?” I ask.
The doctor chuckles. “Ah! There it is—everyone’s favorite question. The answer is always the same. As soon as possible. We just have a couple more quick tests, and then you should be good to go.”
I sigh, tugging at the blanket. I just want to get out of here. Away from the harsh lights and unfamiliar scents. Fletcher brushes a hand over my wrist, giving me a warm smile.
He should be at work, not dealing with this.
“I’ll let you be. Please page someone if you need anything, okay?”
As soon as we’re alone again, Fletcher squeezes my hand. “Are you okay?”
The truth slips out before I can stop it. “Not even a little.”
He leans in, kissing my head. “Well, you handled that better than I would’ve.”
I turn away. “I don’t feel like I handled anything. You were the one asking questions.”
“Hey, you didn’t panic or throw your pillow at her, so I’d call that a win.”
A hollow laugh cracks out of me. I run a hand over my face, palm dragging across my beard. I need to shave again. I hate facial hair. “It’s just frustrating. The waiting. I feel like I’m one step away from having my whole life rearranged.”
Fletcher says nothing for a moment. “At least you’re not doing it alone.”
I pull my hand away. “You don’t need to do this, Fletch. I’d never ask you to.”
Pain flashes across his features before he quickly hides it.
“I know you would never ask, but I’m here anyway.
” His tone is gentle and full of a deeper meaning I’m not sure I have the energy to process.
“And I’m not talking about just me, either.
Declan shut the bar down last night after you left.
Over half the crew came to check on you, and some of the customers. ”
I stare at him, dumbstruck. “What?”
“Surprised me too. But yeah. They were here less than thirty minutes after I was. Which means Declan must’ve kicked everyone out as soon as you left.”
I drop my head back. Declan shut the bar down for me? That seems unreal.
“I keep telling you. They really care, hon.”
Shame washes over me. I should’ve been honest with Declan from the beginning. I just didn’t know what to say or how to explain without fully understanding this disease myself.
Fletcher reaches into the paper bag, pulling out two foil-wrapped burritos. They’re bigger than my hand and hot to the touch. “Have you ever had the breakfast burritos from Chahala’s?”
“No.”
“Oh, you’re in for a treat then. They’re my favorite. I got you the extra spicy.”
I smile weakly. Food isn’t appealing to me right now, but I also know I need it.
He pulls the chair closer, but I kick my legs to the side and gesture for him to sit with me. I can’t explain it; I need him near.
Fletcher sits sideways, hip near my thigh, facing me.
We eat in silence for a moment. The burrito really is good—egg, rice, hashbrowns, and peppers. The kick of heat is exactly how I like it, burning the back of my throat.
When I notice the time on the clock, my eyes widen. “Don’t you need to be at work soon?”
He shakes his head. “I’m taking a couple of days off.”
“Fletcher, no. You don’t need to.”
His cheeks turn a little red behind his beard. “It’s fine. I wouldn’t be much use if I went in, anyway.”
The confession hits me square in the chest. I reach for him. “Come here.”
He leans in until our lips meet, my hand cupping his cheek. His shaky exhale is full of relief. “I was so worried.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
A couple of hours pass. Fletcher never leaves my side. He tells me a funny story about Bones trying to burrow under his sheets last night, nearly knocking him off the bed. I laugh until my sides ache.
By midday, I’m feeling more like myself, though my head aches from the bruise. Around noon, the door slides open again, and the curtain ruffles from the breeze. As soon as the guest steps into view, my breath stutters.
“Ace.”
My old friend throws me a lopsided grin, right eye covered by a black patch. His blond hair is longer than I’ve ever seen it, and perfectly styled.
“Hey, man.” His tone is thick with worry, and maybe a touch of angry. Shit. I really should’ve called him back.
“What are you—how—?”
“Someone named… Declan? Devin? I don’t know. They said you listed me as your emergency contact on your employment forms and wanted to tell me something happened. So I hopped on a flight as soon as I could.”
My heart clenches. I don’t remember listing him as the emergency contact, but it makes sense. Ace is… well—he’s the closest thing I have to family.
Fletcher immediately climbs off the bed as Ace gets closer. Ace eyes him curiously, but doesn’t hesitate to lean in for a hug. I sit up to wrap my arms tight around his shoulders, holding on. “It’s so good to see you.”
“No kidding. You scared the shit out of me, Stoney.”
I pull away. “Yeah. Seems to be the theme lately.”
“No, not just this,” Ace says. “I’ve been texting and calling for weeks. When I didn’t hear back—what is going on with you?”
“I know. I’m sorry. It’s just been… rough, I guess.”
He looks at Fletcher again. “Or you’ve been busy.”
Fletcher sputters a little. “Hey, don’t blame me!”
I laugh. “This is my… friend, Fletcher.”
Friend. The word is all wrong. Too small. Too incomplete. But I really don’t know what else to call him.
Ace arches one brow, like he’s already reading between the lines. He shakes Fletcher’s hand firmly. “Good to meet you. I’m Ace.”
Fletcher smiles politely, but it’s guarded. He clearly doesn’t trust Ace, and I can’t blame him. The guy is a little rough around the edges, but deep down, he’s the best kind of friend anyone could ask for.
I still can’t believe he’s here.
“Ace is a friend from my army days,” I explain.
“Oh. Oh!” Fletcher’s eyes widen like he’s suddenly remembering something. He snaps his attention to Ace, gaze scanning his shorter frame. “Do you want me to go?” he asks me.
“No. It’s fine.”
“You sure?”
“Stay, Fletch.”
Fletcher still seems uncomfortable. “How about I go get us some coffee downstairs? It’ll give you a few minutes to catch up?” He doesn’t give me a choice, forcing a smile toward Ace. “Do you want anything?”
“Sure. Something dark and mysterious.”
Fletcher nods reluctantly. “Okay. Be back in a few.”
He rushes out before I can stop him. The room feels empty as soon as he’s gone.
Ace whistles. “Damn. He’s a hottie.”
“Shut up.”
“Boyfriend? Wouldn’t blame you if he’s the reason you’ve avoided calling me.”
“I wasn’t avoiding you.” I tug at the blanket. “I just didn’t know how to explain.”
Ace sinks into the chair by my bed. “You can start by telling me why it looks like you wrestled a brick wall.”
I close my eyes for a second. Explaining this to Fletcher was terrifying. Explaining it to Ace feels impossible.
“Yeah,” I say quietly. “That’s… a long story.”
“I’ve got time, Stoney. Talk.”