Chapter 15 VINCE
VINCE
Sometime later that afternoon, the doctor finally slips in with the discharge papers and instructions for follow-up appointments. She gives a few more stern warnings about rest and hands me two small bottles of pain meds and antibiotics.
“Do not miss your follow-up with Dr. Benson,” she says pointedly.
She doesn’t need to worry. I’ve literally been counting the days until I can see him.
Once she’s gone, Fletcher hands me the bag of clothes so I can get dressed, but averts his eyes.
My head is a mess. A mix of relief, shame, and too much uncertainty.
“It’s okay if this is too much for you.” The words slip out before I can stop them.
Fletcher snaps his head up, confused. “Why would you say that?”
I tilt my head at him. “Come on, Fletch. This isn’t what you signed up for.”
He frowns. “I didn’t sign up for anything. I just offered support, remember?”
“Yeah, but did you think that meant overnight hospital stays and watching me struggle to pull my damn pants up?” I’d meant it as a joke, yet my words come out clipped, almost angry. I force myself to look away. It’s not Fletcher I’m angry at; it’s the situation. My body is failing me—fast.
Fletcher steps in, adjusting the waistband of my pants without ever taking his eyes off me. He says nothing.
When the nurse wheels in a transport chair, Fletcher holds his hand out. “Ready to go home?”
My heart stutters.
Not your apartment.
Not back to your place.
Home.
Like he honestly thinks I belong there.
It aches how much I want that to be true, even if it seems unfair.
I take his hand, equally terrified and exhausted—but so damn relieved too. Despite my fear, despite the raw emotions churning in me, I don’t want him to go. Not even a little. Being near Fletcher is the only thing keeping me from spiraling. His quiet reassurance gives me strength.
My head is buzzing as they wheel me out, and my body feels like it belongs to someone else. Fletcher walks beside me, but it’s clear his mind is a million miles away. Probably thinking about all the things he needs to do once he gets back to work. He’d lost an entire day because of me.
Outside, the evening air is sharp. Not cold, but cool enough that I can feel it in my lungs. Typical December in San Diego.
Fletcher helps me into the passenger seat. “You okay?” he asks, offering me the seatbelt.
“Yeah. Just wiped.”
“You and me both.”
Quiet music and the sound of the road are the only things filling the drive. The silence feels heavy—like all the important things are hovering just out of reach.
I keep thinking about Ace. How easy and good it felt to see him again, but also how complicated.
Fletcher had been so uncomfortable around him, and for good reason.
He knows our history. But I’m not sure he knows how shallow it was.
How empty. The sex was nothing more than us passing time in the desert.
Ace and I were never anything real—except as friends, which only became stronger after we saw our other friends get killed.
I keep thinking about what I’d said at the hospital too—the out I’d given him. I’d meant it, even if I didn’t like it. This isn’t what Fletcher signed up for or agreed to. He shouldn’t feel obligated to keep showing up. So why is he?
Honestly, why is he still here?
Despite how we feel about each other, I struggle to believe this is really the future he sees for himself. All these doctor appointments, lengthy exams, and endless pain management therapy sessions. Is this really the life he wants?
We need to talk. About all of it. But selfishly, I’m not ready for that conversation.
I want more time with him.
A lot more time.
At a stoplight, I glance over at him. Fletcher focuses on the road, his jaw tight and his shoulders set as if bracing for something. I wonder if he’s mad about what I said, or annoyed with Ace showing up unannounced. Or maybe he’s just as overwhelmed as I am.
“Thank you, by the way,” I say on a whim.
He flicks his eyes toward me. “For what?”
“Everything. Showing up. Staying. Just… everything.”
His expression softens. “You don’t need to thank me for caring, Vince.”
He reaches over to squeeze my hand again, and it fills me with that same unfamiliar yet addicting warmth.
When we pull into his driveway, I climb out of the passenger seat. Fletcher stays close in case I need him, but I’m steady enough to walk on my own. Still moving slowly, but at least able to move without too much pain.
Inside, everything is quiet and warm—and already familiar. Bones wiggles around us, happy to have us back. He nearly knocks me over trying to lick my hand, but Fletcher forces him back.
“Go lie down, Bones.”
The dog backs up, but doesn’t lie down. He’s too addicted to affection to stay away from anyone too long. And I don’t mind. I’ve grown to love the beast.
Fletcher disappears into the kitchen and comes back with water and another dose of meds. “They said to take some at five o’clock.”
“Thank you.”
He slaps his forehead. “Oh, shit, I meant to tell you! Declan stopped in today while you were sleeping.”
“He did?”
“He wants you to call him.”
I sigh. “Can I borrow a charger then? My phone’s dead.”
Going all the way to my room in the backyard feels a little like climbing Mount Everest.
He lifts the sidearm of the couch, revealing multiple charging cords plugged into a hidden built-in charging station. “Should have what you need somewhere in there.”
“Brilliant.”
His smile is tight-lipped. “It’s what sold me on the couch. Less clutter.”
I sit down and plug it in, watching him fuss about the house—cleaning, tidying up, then making us a simple dinner of grilled cheese and tomato soup.
The time passes in a blur. I make a few phone calls and watch some mindless reality television until we’re both drowsy.
“How long are you off work?” he asks.
“Just tomorrow. I’ll go back Friday.”
He frowns. “That soon?”
“I’ll be fine.”
He grits his teeth, turning away.
“I can’t afford too much time off, especially once the hospital bills start rolling in.”
He sighs. “I know. I’m just… sorry, I’m tired is all.”
He’s right. We both need sleep. I look toward the back door, trying to find the motivation to walk across the yard to my bed, but Fletcher reaches for my hand.
“Stay with me tonight?”
His tone makes my heart ache, as if he needs to be near me as much as I need him. He can’t really want this, can he?
Fletcher kisses the back of my hand. “Please? I want to hold you, Vince.”
We go to his room and strip down to our underwear, then climb under the sheets. The cool mattress is the softest I’ve ever been on, and I sink into it like a cloud.
Fletcher curls up next to me, arm across my chest. I exhale hard. Finally, the weight of the last day and a half slides off my shoulders, and I feel like I can breathe.
I don’t know how I would’ve gotten through all this without him. The hospital, the doctor visits, or hell, even the last two months. Fletcher has been a steady rock through everything, supporting me. Just as he promised.
But every rock has a breaking point, and I’m worried this will eventually break him.
Fletcher kisses my shoulder. “I can hear your mind spinning.”
“Just thinking.”
“About?”
I roll to my side and pull him against me. “Nothing. Just go to sleep.”
His head nestles below my chin, our legs tangled.
We’re both asleep within minutes.
****
Things return to normal fairly quickly.
Fletcher returns to work the next day, and I return to my standing post at Graham’s Bar.
The facade of hiding my illness is gone. Everyone knows I have MS now, but to my relief, everyone is treating me the same… except for one small—very big—thing.
There is a padded barstool by the door when I get there.
Declan hadn’t asked if I needed or wanted it. It just appeared before my shift. But the relief in seeing it nearly brought me to tears. I still don’t know how long I’ll be able to do this job, but Declan’s willingness to accommodate me means everything.
I test the stool with a careful shift of my weight before the doors open, like if I don’t acknowledge it too much, it won’t turn into something bigger.
It’s solid. Unassuming. Easy to lean against without actually sitting, which feels important for some reason.
I rest a hand on the back and take a breath.
I had been dreading coming in today, assuming people would fuss. But aside from a few brief “I’m so glad you’re okays,” everything is the same. Same bar. Same scuffed floor. Same faint smell of citrus cleaner and spilled beer that never quite goes away.
It’s beyond comforting. I need the familiarity.
I can do this.
The early crowd trickles in—just a few regulars looking to get an early start to their weekend.
They don’t even notice the barstool. Hell, they barely notice me, which is how it’s always been.
Muscle memory takes over. I scan the IDs of anyone appearing under thirty, stamp everyone’s hands, and listen to the tones of voices, stepping in before arguments can break out.
The rhythm settles into my bones like it always does, and for a while, I forget to think about my legs at all. The first time I do is when Declan swings by with a clipboard tucked under his arm. He doesn’t hover. Just stops close enough that I can hear him over the music. “Are you good?”
“Yeah.” It’s not a lie. I am good. “Thanks for… you know.”
He follows my glance to the stool and shrugs. “Figured we’d try it. You tell me if we need to change anything.”
My throat tightens. It’s not if you can’t do the job. Or how long do you think this’ll last? Just a simple, practical solution.
It’s Declan at his best.
Fletcher was right. I should’ve trusted him.
Melody skids to a stop in front of me in between rushes. Her bright eyes and wide smile aren’t any different from before. “It’s so nice to have you back.”
“Wasn’t planning on quitting,” I deadpan.
“I know. I just mean that you’re less… um, chatty with the incoming customers compared to River. He slows things down.”