Chapter 18 FLETCHER
FLETCHER
After I devour a slice of pumpkin and apple pie—a man can never have enough pie—I sit back in my chair and let myself breathe, enjoying the soft peace that always comes at the end of Christmas Eve. It’s my favorite part of the night, when things settle down. It’s kind of magical.
The low hum of conversation fills the room, the sharp edges of the evening softened by laughter and familiarity.
It hits me, slow and wonderful, that bringing Vince here was the right choice.
Not just a good choice—a necessary one. Watching him talk with my family, seeing how easily he fits into the spaces that matter most to me, does something deep in my chest. It’s like glimpsing a life that could be mine.
All I want to do is lean in and grab it with both hands. But it feels too new. Too fragile. I’m afraid if I claim it now, it’ll slip through my fingers.
As they clear plates and empty wine glasses from the table, I sense Vince watching me and reach for his hand under the table. “Are you ready to go home?”
He doesn’t reply, but the exhaustion around his eyes is answer enough.
I push my chair back. “Come on.”
He steadies himself on the table as he stands, hiding his pain behind a smile.
We find Sarah and Ryan near the hall, talking to Tegan.
“Thanks again for having us,” I say.
Sarah pulls me in for a tight hug. “Of course. I’m really glad you came,” she murmurs.
She doesn’t just mean the dinner; she’s glad I brought Vince. She’s glad for a chance to get to know him.
Ryan grins as he claps me on the shoulder, and gives Vince an approving nod that makes my chest puff up with ridiculous pride. It was a huge relief to see how easily they all welcomed him, and how easily he blended into the mix. It’s almost like this wasn’t his first visit.
Georgie hugs me tight, as if she’s afraid I might disappear if she lets go. “You’re coming to get me tomorrow, right?”
“Of course.” I cup the back of her head and kiss her hair. “But you have to call me in the morning when you open my gifts. Promise?”
She rolls her eyes and holds up her pinky. I hook mine with hers. It amuses me that even at fifteen, my daughter still reaches for our old traditions. It reminds me she’s still a kid, and it makes time slow, just a little.
“Love you, sweetheart.”
“You too, Dad.”
Georgie hugs Vince too, which clearly surprises him, but he hugs her back.
We gather our coats and leftovers, and as we step out into the cold, I realize—quite unexpectedly—that this will be the first Christmas morning in over five years where I won’t wake up alone.
Georgie is almost always with her mom and stepbrothers on Christmas morning, and I’ve made my peace with that.
But now, standing beside Vince with his hand warm in mine, I feel something new bloom instead. Excitement. Anticipation. A flutter of nerves that makes my stomach dip.
The idea of waking up with him tomorrow—of coffee brewing, of unwrapping the day together—sends a rush of butterflies through me I don’t bother trying to suppress. It feels young and hopeful… and a little terrifying.
That ache grows inside me. Please let this happen again. I desperately want Vince around for more than just one Christmas.
Vince is quiet as we settle into the car.
I reverse out of the driveway and guide us out of the neighborhood, then turn to ask him what he thought of my family—but he’s out cold.
It happened so fast it almost makes me laugh.
One second he’s awake and talking, the next, his head is lolled to the side and he’s breathing slow.
“Oh, you sweet man,” I say softly. He must have really pushed himself tonight, but at least he enjoyed himself.
Or, I think he did.
A niggle of doubt works inside my heart. What if this was too much?
Vince seemed happy tonight, but what if it pushed him beyond what he could handle?
I think back, to the way he leaned into conversations instead of hanging back, the way he smiled—really smiled—when Ryan’s mom kept piling food on his plate like she was afraid he might disappear if she didn’t, all the little things that for him were probably big things.
Shit. I’d caught Vince stretching his fingers under the table more than once, or rolling his shoulders when he thought no one was looking. But still—he did seem to enjoy himself too. So maybe I’m just overthinking.
I keep the drive smooth on the way home, being careful not to jostle him.
The dashboard lights glow a soft amber, the world quiet and forgiving as it passes.
Every time we roll to a stop, I look over at him and my heart flutters again.
Vince is so damn peaceful when he sleeps.
Like nothing can get to him—not even his own pain.
He stirs awake when I finally pull into the driveway, blinking hard and rubbing his face like he’s embarrassed to have fallen asleep. He looks around, disoriented for half a second, then groans softly.
“Sorry,” he murmurs, reaching for the food tote at his feet. “I didn’t mean to—”
“Are you kidding?” I cut in. “I’m exhausted too.”
It’s not a lie. I could fall asleep right here. Besides, I don’t want him to feel bad for needing rest. Not tonight, not ever.
Bones hears us the second the door opens, barking once before rushing toward us like we’ve been gone for weeks instead of a few hours. Vince crouches automatically, rubbing behind his ears.
Walking to the kitchen, I slip the leftovers into the fridge. Sarah sent me home with too many containers, as usual. It takes up nearly two full shelves. But I’m grateful for it. I hate cooking on Christmas when my house is empty.
Except this year, it isn’t.
The reminder hits me all over again.
I won’t be alone tomorrow.
A smile creeps over my face without warning.
“Would you like some wine?” I ask, already reaching for the bottle.
Vince tugs at his shirt, expression guarded. “Probably shouldn’t. I need some meds first.”
He walks past me toward the back door.
“Vince, wait.”
He pauses with his hand on the door. He knows I have pain meds in my bathroom, so why is he in a hurry to leave?
I go to him, sliding an arm around his waist. “Stay with me tonight?”
I can’t hide the unease in my voice. But I didn’t think I’d need to ask. It’s Christmas Eve. Doesn’t he want to be with me?
Vince kisses me softly. “I’m just going to get you something.”
My breath catches. “You got me a gift?”
He laughs. “Of course. Wait here.”
I got him something too. A couple somethings, actually.
Vince returns with three packages—each of them unwrapped, but I don’t care. I’m surprised he’d gotten me anything at all.
“Well, now I need to give you yours.”
We sit by the tree and exchange gifts. He got me a new electric coffee mug to keep my drinks warm, a new tool belt, and a book by one of my favorite authors. I got him a blanket and a guitar strap to replace his worn one.
He runs his hand over the smooth fabric of the blanket. “This is nice.”
“It’s supposed to help cool you down. I thought it might help with the night sweats.”
He avoids my gaze, thoughts turning inward for a moment.
Then he sets the other gifts aside, and tosses the blanket over us as we lie down.
The room is dark except for the glow of the lights.
I snuggle into his side, arm across his chest and leg over his.
It’s a tight fit on the couch, but neither of us care.
I kiss him, searching for the courage to ask what he thought of my family, but the quiet is too relaxing, the soft glow too inviting. As much as I want to know if tonight was too much for him, I’m beyond tired.
“I’m really glad you were with me tonight,” I say through a yawn.
Warm lips press against my head, and whatever he says is gone in the haze of sleep.
Vince is already awake when I open my eyes the next day. The scent of coffee and bacon drifts over to me from the kitchen. I rub my face and sit up.
Vince’s bare back is inviting as he moves around the kitchen. Forcing myself up, I go to him, wrapping my arms around his stomach from behind. Kissing his neck, I hug him tight. “Morning.”
He smiles over his shoulder.
The light feeling from last night returns when he kisses me. I am so gone for this man.
He reaches for an egg to crack it over a bowl. “I can’t make breakfast if you hold me hostage,” he says, teasing.
I hug him tighter. “Mmm. You’re all the breakfast I need.”
He chuckles, but turns to look at me again, expression unreadable. “Let me do this,” he whispers. I don’t understand his tone. It’s almost pleading. Maybe he needs space?
Pulling away, I pour myself some coffee, then sit at the breakfast bar.
I can’t keep my eyes off him as he works, drawn to his smooth, solid physique.
But there is something else too—a subtle tension in his shoulders and a determined curve to his lips.
He’s hardly spoken ten words to me. Either he’s extremely focused on those eggs or something is on his mind.
I bite my lip. Was it last night? Was I just too wrapped up in my own happiness to see the truth? Did I push him too far?
He’d been wonderful with everyone, laughing and carrying on, and I’d love seeing him connect with my family. But he’d told me he doesn’t do well with crowds, and even work can be too much for him some days. So maybe being forced to socialize for five hours was too draining.
Vince rolls his shoulder again before dumping the eggs into a heated frying pan. It reminds me of all the little moments I’d picked up on last night too—the moments I saw but quickly ignored. All the small hesitations or tiny pauses, like he was bracing himself against the chaos.
Fuck.
We should’ve left sooner or something.
He eventually slides the plate across the counter to me and pulls out a seat. I give him a smile, trying to box up my emotions.