Chapter 24 Fletcher
FLETCHER
When I get home, I sit in my truck for a moment longer than necessary, hands still on the steering wheel, the engine ticking as it cools.
I’ve been dreading this moment all day. Not work— this.
Walking back into the house after leaving Vince in the shape he was in this morning.
Quiet and curled inward, as if he was bracing for something he couldn’t see coming.
I thought I’d have time to come up with something to say that would help him, but I have nothing. Not a single word of encouragement for a man who’s facing something awful.
All day, I’ve wondered if giving him space was the right choice.
I’ve texted him a few times, and he always replied.
But the weight in my chest has followed me through every task, every phone call, every half-listened-to conversation.
I even ruined two pieces of expensive tile because I couldn’t focus on the measurements.
I keep reminding myself that Vince took Bones for a walk. That’s a good sign, right? It means he didn’t spend all day in bed.
Finally, I grab my things and force myself out of the truck, heading for the back door.
Warm yellow light spills out from the kitchen window, glowing against the darkening sky.
The closer I get, the clearer I hear music coming through the glass—something low and familiar, acoustic-heavy.
I slow instinctively, my mind racing. Through the sliding glass door, I see Georgie on a barstool with the guitar in her lap, head hunched over the strings. And behind her… my breath catches.
Vince is standing at the island, sleeves pushed up, a towel slung over one shoulder.
There’s a cutting board in front of him and a bowl of salad half-finished at his side.
His lips are moving like he’s talking, but I can’t hear him.
Georgie nods and adjusts her wrist, plucking a deep note. Vince nods proudly.
I get closer, and Vince’s gaze snaps up, locking with mine through the glass. Instantly, his face breaks out into a beautiful smile, reaching his eyes. The weight I’ve been carrying all day eases just a little.
As soon as I step through the door, I am surrounded by the smell of garlic and tomato sauce. Did Vince bake the lasagna I’d prepped for today? Or did Georgie?
“Hey, Dad.” Georgie plucks absently at the strings, hair thrown up in a messy bun.
“Hey,” I manage, my voice coming out a little rough.
This isn’t the scene I was expecting to walk into. They look… good. Happy, even. Including Vince. Not perfect or fake-smiley good, but—relaxed. Present. Alert. Not curled in on himself in the bed.
I kiss Georgie’s head on the way by, setting my lunchbox on the table.
“Dinner’s almost ready,” Vince says. “Hope that’s okay.”
“Yeah. That’s… that’s great. I skipped lunch, so I’m starving.” I didn’t have the stomach to eat earlier, too anxious about Vince and too eager to get through the day.
Georgie sighs. “Vince wouldn’t let me help with the sauce. He said I’d ruin it.”
“Dressing,” Vince corrects gently. “It’s called dressing. And I didn’t say you’d ruin it. I said you’d over-season it. There’s a difference.”
She snorts. “It’s salad. It’s already ruined.”
I bite back a laugh, slowly turning my attention to Vince, afraid that any sudden movement might spook this moment and send it vanishing.
The house feels different—alive in a way it hasn’t in a few days.
I hadn’t realized how quiet it had become until now.
How dread has slowly sucked the life out of it.
Shrugging off my jacket, I drape it over a chair.
My eyes track Vince the whole time—the way he moves, the way his shoulders aren’t as stiff as they were this morning, the way he hums softly under his breath as he tosses the salad.
This doesn’t look like the spiral I walked away from.
Not even close. But Vince is good at hiding things behind a mask.
Maybe too good.
Is he really okay, or is he just putting on a show for Georgie?
He watches Georgie play another melody on her guitar, nodding along. “Okay, now…” He stops when Georgie changes her hand position. “Perfect! Good job.”
She grins proudly. “You should give me real lessons.”
Vince pauses, then slowly nods. “Sure. That could be fun. Give me time and I’ll put something together for you.”
“Maybe Avalon too? She wants to learn.”
He shrugs. “Why not? You both catch on quickly.”
The world seems to freeze. Vince is talking about the future. About staying. And as much as I want to lean into that, I don’t trust it yet either.
Not fully.
I rub my chest, only now realizing how tightly I have been holding myself together. The thought of him staying makes me ache. Vince wouldn’t be talking about the future if he wanted to leave, right?
I cling to that hope as I step closer, snagging a crouton from the bowl. “Smells amazing.”
“Mm-hmm. Don’t flatter me with false praise,” he says with a soft grin. “You’re the one who made it.”
“Hey, it’s not burnt.”
His mouth quirks. “Yet.” He reaches for the oven mitts. “I should probably take it out.”
Before opening the oven, he leans in to kiss my cheek, lips lingering. My belly swoops, and I reach for him before I can stop myself.
Georgie hops down from the stool. “I’m gonna head out before you two get all weird and couple-y.”
“Do your chores,” I say out of habit.
“Already done.” She slings her bag over her shoulder. “I’ll be back later.”
The quiet that follows is different from the one I was bracing for. I’m not sure how to read it.
Vince gives me a small smile. “Let’s talk later, okay?”
There’s no urgency in his tone, no dread. But there isn’t peace either. I can see uncertainty in his eyes. Maybe fear.
“Okay.”
We work together to plate the food, our shoulders brushing. When he touches my back, I lean in, craving more. I want to ask what caused the change in his mood, but I also don’t want to burst the bubble. I’m not sure I’m ready for that conversation. What if it doesn’t go how I want it to?
Vince carries the bowl to the table while I pour us some drinks. “Georgie! Come eat.”
We sit at the table, knees bumping beneath it. Georgie rattles on about the play Avalon auditioned for and their plans to go to the San Diego Zoo with her family next weekend.
“How about you?” Vince asks me. “How was your day?”
I shift in my seat. Does he really expect me to have a normal conversation when my heart is all twisted up about our future?
I suck in a breath. “It was a little stressful, since we ran into a problem with a subcontractor, but I think Darren sorted it out. Tomorrow should be better.”
Vince narrows his eyes, like he hears something I didn’t say. Guilt flashes across his face, but he quickly shakes it off.
“Well, I had a good day too. I met Ace at the beach and took Bones for a walk. It was good to get out.”
Something painful twists in my chest. “You saw Ace?”
“Yeah, he knew about my appointment and wanted to check on me.” He stabs a piece of lasagna. “He would’ve broken down your front door if I hadn’t gone to him, so I figured Bones could protect me if he got too pushy.”
Georgie laughs, but I hear what Vince is really saying—Ace asked to see him, not the other way around.
I let that truth sink in. I need to get over the insecurity I have about Ace. It’s not like me. But is this why Vince’s mood has done a one-eighty? If so, why couldn’t Vince have talked to me instead of him? What did Ace offer that I couldn’t?
It makes my heart squeeze again. Hard.
I pick at my food for the rest of dinner, then get up to wash the dishes.
Georgie disappears into her bedroom within minutes.
Vince stands beside me, drying the glasses.
His expression is quiet, guarded. The swirl of confusion and chaos in my head is too loud for me to be near him right now. I need a second. Just one.
“Fletcher, I—”
“Don’t,” I cut in. The coil in my chest tightens, wrapping around my heart like a vice. “I just… I need a minute, okay? Before… please, just give me a minute.”
Pain flashes in his eyes, but he slowly nods.
Walking to my bedroom, I close the door. The lights are dimmed, the noise of the house muffled. I try to let myself breathe, but the pain under my ribs is making it hard.
I change into my pajamas and go to the bathroom to brush my teeth, looking up when Vince enters the bathroom behind me. He stares at me in the mirror, then steps in closer, sliding his arms around my waist and resting his chin on my shoulder. His eyes are pleading.
“I know you were worried today,” he says quietly.
Understatement of the year. All I can do is nod.
“But I’m okay, Fletcher,” he adds. “I mean… I’m not. I’m still afraid of what’s going to happen. But I’m here.”
I swallow past the lump in my throat and turn around to face him. This close, I can see the exhaustion in his eyes. The weight beneath the surface. All the things he hid from Georgie.
But there’s clarity too. Resolve. Hope.
He reaches up to brush my cheek, and I realize I’m crying.
I hastily wipe my face. “Sorry, I’m just… confused, I guess. I didn’t know what I’d come home to.”
“I know.” He rubs my arms. “I’m sorry.” Vince takes a breath, steadying himself. “Can we talk now?”
We move to the bed, facing each other with our knees bent.
“I went into that appointment today wanting answers,” Vince says. “Something concrete, or a timeline, or just… something so I could make a plan.” He shakes his head. “But I left with even more questions.”
I barely nod. I’m not sure what he wants me to say. Doesn’t he know I was hoping for that too?
“It overwhelmed me, Fletch. That’s all. I just shut down, and I’m sorry.”
“I get that. I was even expecting it, to be honest. But it isn’t only you I’m worried about. It’s us. I don’t know where we stand right now, Vince, and that scares me. I get that you’re worried about your MS, but it still feels like you have one foot out the door because of it.”