Chapter 20 #2
Grabbing our pillows and blankets, Vince follows me inside, saying nothing. Dust swirls around us, the stale air making my nose wrinkle. I prop the door open as I pull down the fold-up bed. Darren and I always secure it to the rafters so mice or other rodents don’t find their way into it.
While he unrolls the bedding, I keep moving—hauling the cooler in and dragging the gas camp stove outside to cook dinner.
Vince watches from the front steps, arms braced on his knees, like he’s not sure where he belongs.
I can’t look at him, can’t slow down at all.
If I do, fear will choke me. I hate how it seems like everything is unraveling.
We eat chili with sour cream and cheese, which I had packed thinking it would be the perfect comfort food. Now it just sits a little sour in my stomach.
“I brought bagels and cream cheese for breakfast,” I say after a while. “I hope that’s okay.”
He barely nods before murmuring, “Sounds perfect.”
The last of twilight disappears, revealing stars as crisp and endless as an ocean. But the wind is colder than I expected, cutting through my jacket.
I pull it tighter around me, wishing I had brought something warmer.
Vince gets to his feet. “Stay here.”
He goes inside. When he comes back, he has the thick blanket from the bed. He sits close enough that he can drape it around both of us.
“Better?” he asks quietly.
I nod, my throat tight. “Yeah. Thanks.”
He doesn’t move away. His knee stays pressed against mine, solid and grounding. I want to lean into him, to slide my arm around his middle… but I’m not sure if he’d let me.
The scent of chili and hot sauce clings to his hoodie, and I focus on that. On the steady rise and fall of his chest beside me. On the fact that he’s here. That he still chose to come. Even if he’d hated the idea, he still chose it.
We sit like that for a while, the stars stretched wide above us, the cold blocked by the blanket and Vince’s solid presence at my side. I start to relax and try to convince myself this’ll be enough.
“Fletch.”
The way he says my name makes my stomach tighten. Not critical. Just careful. Like he’s testing the ground before he steps.
“Yeah?”
He stares out at the valley, jaw tight. “I didn’t react how I should’ve when you told me about this, and I’m sorry.”
I don’t reply. Don’t reach for him either, sensing he isn’t finished.
“It might not make sense to you, but for over a year now, it’s felt like pieces of me are…
slipping away, I guess. And sometimes… shit, I don’t know how to explain this.
” He rubs his neck. “Sometimes, things trigger me into thinking I’ll lose myself completely or that I’ll… rely on others to do basic stuff.”
My chest aches. Is that really what I did to him? Made him feel like he’d lost a part of himself?
I swallow hard.
“When you planned this weekend,” he continues, quieter now, “I know you were trying to do something nice. I do. But it felt like… it wasn’t mine. Like I had no control over it.”
“I was just trying to surprise you.”
“I know. But after the other night at work…” He sighs. “Ever since my diagnosis, really, it’s felt like my life is being decided around me instead of with me.”
I curl inward, his words landing heavy in my chest. I want to refute it, but I don’t. I can’t. He isn’t wrong. I decided this for him.
“When you step in like that, taking over my schedule? I know it’s because you’re worried, but I just—” He exhales slowly. “I don’t want to wake up one day and realize I don’t get a say anymore. I’m already losing too much of myself as it is. I don’t want… I can’t have that. You understand?”
My throat tightens. God. I thought I was helping, easing the pressure and removing something from his plate. Instead, I made it worse. I made him feel like less of himself.
“I’m so sorry.” My voice comes out rough. “I never… fuck, I’m sorry, Vince. I should’ve asked.”
He nods, like that’s all he needed from me. “I know why you did it. I know you love me, Fletcher. I just need to know I’ll still have a say in this too, if… when things get worse. That’s all.”
Something shifts in my chest and I gasp sharply. I know you love me.
I can’t resist touching him now, my throat tight. “Of course you will. I never meant to hurt you.”
“I know. I’m sorry too.”
He takes my hand and threads our fingers together, then quickly lets go and loops my arm through his instead. His hands must be hurting too much.
“I don’t want to disappear, you know? All these things, the pieces of me… I can’t get them back. So I need to believe you still see me. Not the illness.”
“You’re all I see, hon. I didn’t do this because you’re sick. I did this because I’ve seen how much you’re pushing yourself. I just wanted to give you—give us a chance to breathe, that’s all.”
He doesn’t smile. But his shoulder leans into mine, just a little more, and pulls my hand closer, brushing a thumb over my wrist. “I know. Like I said, I reacted badly.”
I turn into him, resting my head against his shoulder. It doesn’t fix everything, and the fear doesn’t completely disappear. But at least now I know what triggered it.
Closing my eyes, I bite back the only thing I really want to say.
You’re right. I love you, Vince. More than you know.
As the wind kicks up, I shiver. “Want to go inside? It’s getting cold.”
“Yeah. I think so.”