Chapter 23
VINCE
Silence echoes the moment I hear Fletcher’s truck leave. Not the peaceful kind—the kind that slices you open and reminds you how alone you are.
I lie on my back and stare at the ceiling, hands folded over my stomach, waiting for my body to feel like mine again. The MRI scans are burned into my memory, silent evidence of my body’s betrayal. The white spots had looked so alien, so wrong. So final.
Damning, almost.
Is this even real?
I thought I was prepared to see the truth, but now I’m just hollowed out. A weight has settled in me that’s threatening to pull me under, and everything is adrift in my head, like the thing I had been reaching for has disappeared.
I went to the doctor’s appointment looking for a lifeline, only to come out empty-handed. It’s gutting to realize there’s no help with this illness, no safety net. There are no guarantees. Even the medication—with its mile-long list of side effects—is a big fat maybe.
So where do I go from here? How do I step forward with confidence when every step is, literally, on shaky legs?
Thank God Fletcher had the foresight to record everything.
I’ll need to listen to it a few times to wrap my head around what the doctor was saying.
Everything came to me in fragments, like my brain couldn’t hold the entire thing at once.
Words like lesions, baseline, and progression tumble around in my head like a foreign language, stripped of meaning but heavy with consequence.
“No timeline.”
“The results vary.”
“Fatigue is inevitable.”
“Mobility is a gift.”
And then the one that nearly made me laugh: “What we know of the disease has come a long way.”
If they’ve come so far, why don’t I have any answers?
Rolling over, I shove a pillow under me and inhale the scent of Fletcher’s laundry soap. It’s grounding in the best way. Fletcher had been more prepared for the appointment than I was, and the thing is, I never even asked him to be.
I never once asked Fletcher for help. I never asked or wanted him to carry this burden, yet he stepped in and did it anyway… and he keeps doing it. For weeks now—months—Fletcher has made my life easier, almost without even trying.
Today is all I’ll ever need.
I let my forehead rest against the pillow, breathing him in as if I can anchor this moment in place. Like if I stay still enough—grateful enough—I won’t tip the balance.
Because that’s what this feels like. A balance.
And I keep failing to keep it even.
Fletcher hasn’t complained yet. Hasn’t hesitated.
He’s just stepped in—steady and capable, full of quiet competence—and made room for me without being asked.
I think that terrifies me more than if he’d needed convincing.
He did this without thinking it through, without all the facts.
He did it without knowing the outcome. Or how long he was signing up for.
And after today, he has a clearer picture of that.
He might not yet, but eventually he’ll start counting the cost. How long before this relationship starts feeling like an obligation?
My phone buzzes on the nightstand. I glance at it expecting to see Fletcher, but it’s Ace.
I almost let it go to voicemail, but decide at the last second to accept the call.
My arm feels heavier than it should as I lift it to my ear. “Yeah?”
“Hey. You alive?” Ace asks.
“Barely.”
“Mm-hmm. Had a feeling you’d be overwhelmed.” He pauses. “How’d your appointment go?”
I’m surprised he’d even remembered, considering I’d only told him about it once. “Not sure yet.”
Another pause. “That rough, huh?”
“Just… a lot thrown at me, I guess. I haven’t processed it all yet.”
“Want to meet for lunch and talk about it? My treat.”
It isn’t a question. Ace knows I can circle these thoughts like a vulture, and he’s offering me a way out.
Bones whines on the other side of the door, giving me an idea. “How about we go to the beach instead? I’m not really hungry.”
“Sure. Whatever you want. I get off in an hour. Meet me at the pier?”
“I’ll be there.”
I sit up and text Fletcher. Stealing Bones for a walk on the beach. See you tonight.
When I arrive, Ace is hunched over the railing, looking out at the ocean. His shoulders are relaxed, face hidden under the brim of a ball cap like he’s trying to disappear into the gray. The sky and water blur together today—no clean horizon, a faded mess of dull blue and steel.
Kind of like my heart.
Bones thrusts his nose between the seats the second I cut the engine, dripping slobber onto my shoulder.
“I’m regretting my decision to bring you.”
His entire back end wiggles, crashing against the door as if I’ve just announced the best day of his life.
When I get out, the scent of salt and exhaust hits me at once.
Cold, sharp, and alive. I breathe it in, instantly glad I came.
This is better than lying on my bed, wishing for a different reality.
Opening the back door, I clip the leash onto Bones’ harness before he can bolt.
He’s already keyed up, eyes locked on a distant flock of seagulls.
Maybe I should’ve asked Fletcher if Bones is a beach kind of dog.
Judging by the way he’s vibrating, the answer is very much yes.
But there is no universe where I’m chasing a Rottweiler down a beach—especially now.
“Stay close, you hear me?”
The dog tilts his head as if I’d just promised him treats.
Ace looks up when he hears us, and the moment he spots Bones, his whole face breaks open into a grin.
“Aww. Who’s this?”
“Bones. Fletcher’s dog.”
Ace crouches down immediately, all five-foot-whatever of him folding like it’s nothing. His hands go straight to Bones’s chest. “Well, hello there,” he says, voice going stupid-soft. “You’re a tank, my dude.”
Bones melts under the attention, one back leg kicking as Ace finds the exact right spot. Of course he does. Ace has always been like this with dogs—uncomplicated affection, no expectations. Bones lets out a happy huff and leans his weight into him. It makes Ace laugh.
“You’re just a big hunk of love, aren’t you, boy?”
Bones barks as if he agrees.
Watching them together eases something tight in my chest. I’m definitely glad I came. I need to talk to Ace.
We start toward the beach, the sand packed down from last night’s tide. It’s mostly empty thanks to the dreary overcast.
“There is nothing postcard-worthy about San Diego in the winter,” Ace says with a quiet chuckle.
“I kind of love it.”
He laughs. “You would.”
I take a deep breath, feel it burn in my lungs. It’s the kind of day that asks nothing from you. Doesn’t require energy. It just is.
Bones stays close at my side, alert but steady, matching my pace without pulling. I lean into him a little as the sand shifts beneath my feet.
Ace walks with his hands shoved into his hoodie, gaze forward. He gives me space for a few steps before turning to me.
“So,” he says carefully. “What did the doctor say?”
I shove one hand into my pocket, thumb rubbing against my knuckle until the skin feels raw. “A whole lot of everything and a whole lot of nothing.”
He hums as if that made any sense at all.
I tell him about the scans and the medication. The endless string of appointments I have over the next twelve months.
“And your legs?” he asks gently. “Any news there?”
I shrug. Ace knows that’s the biggest thing I worried about—how long I have before my life narrows to the seat of a wheelchair. It’s a fear he lived through, too, before he was fitted for his prosthetic.
“He can’t give me a definitive answer.”
The words land heavy between us, swallowed almost immediately by the sound of the surf.
Ace glances at me, really looking this time. “And I bet that’s driving you crazy, isn’t it?”
I grit my teeth, jaw tightening until it aches. He knows me well. “Yeah.”
He lets out a slow breath. “Maybe you need a different doctor.”
“No. I trust him. He’s good. I just…” I trail off, frustration curling tight in my chest. “I don’t know, Ace. He said it’s different for everyone, and we just need to take it as it comes.”
Ace laughs. “He clearly doesn’t know you like I do. Patience is not your best quality.”
“Fuck off.”
We walk in silence for a bit, the sand crunching softly under our weight. I try to line up the thoughts in my head, but they scatter every time I get close to saying them out loud.
“It’s not even the MS,” I admit finally. The words feel like a betrayal somehow. “I mean—it is. Obviously. But that’s not what’s eating at me.”
Ace nods slowly. “It’s all the unknown shit, isn’t it?”
My hand fists in my pocket. “If it was bad news with a timeline or something, at least I could plan around it. Adjust my expectations. Try to prepare. But this?” I gesture vaguely. “This limbo shit is brutal.”
Ace sucks in a breath, tossing a rock down the beach. “Yeah. Uncertainty’s a real bastard. I still think about those nights in Afghanistan, where we lost radio contact with the team. Do you remember that?”
How could I forget? It was two days of pure terror trying to reconnect.
“But we got through. We kept trying, taking it one day, one hour at a time. We took it moment by moment.” He looks at me. “That’s what you need to do now.”
I swallow hard before saying the thing that’s really bothering me. “I’m worried Fletcher will get tired of it.”
His brows pinch together. “I thought he was being supportive?”
“He is.” I didn’t realize how badly I needed to talk about this. The pent-up anxiety is humming loudly under my skin, making me want to punch something. “But he didn’t know what he was signing up for, Ace. Hell, even I didn’t.”
My throat tightens. Saying it out loud makes the fear that much more real. What if he leaves me when it becomes too much?
“How can I prepare him for what’s coming when I don’t even know myself?”
My friend grips my arm, forcing me to stop. Bones pauses obediently at my side.