“No.”
“I was cranky as hell during therapy, and the nurse wanted me to rest, but I wouldn’t. I wanted to keep going. Do you remember what you said to her?”
That day is so long ago now. I remember flying to Georgia to help him through the worst of it, and I remember getting wasted on his back patio, laughing our asses off. But the rest of the trip is a blur.
“You told her that only I get to decide what my limits are, and that she needs to trust me to know them.” Ace shakes his head. “That’s stuck with me through everything, man. Given me confidence. But that’s what I’m saying. You need to trust Fletcher to know his limits in this too. He said he wants to be with you, right?”
I nod, throat burning.
“Then trust him.”
“He doesn’t know what’s going to happen, though. Even the doctor doesn’t know.”
He touches my arm. “What I’m saying is, we don’t need to, Stone. We’re going to be here no matter what comes.”
A heavy wave crashes nearby, as if echoing the emotions within. My mind is spinning, grasping at the hope he’s offering.
I don’t feel fixed. I don’t even feel better. But standing there—with the cold air, the dog leaning into me, and my friend not trying to rush me toward answers—I feel less alone in the not knowing. It isn’t only Fletcher that’s been eating at me, it’smyfuture too. I’ve been wanting to plan and think ahead, but everything has felt about as stable as the sand beneath my feet—it could be swept away at any minute.
Maybe Ace is right, though. Maybe I keep trying to live in theafter, in the worst version of everything. I don’t know how this illness will progress, or when, or how badly it’s going to affect me. The doctor even said I might never need a wheelchair. Which means I need to stop waiting for what I don’t know and start living in what I do.
Fletcher wants me. More than that, he loves me. He hasn’t said it, but I’ve felt it in everything he does. He’s told me he wishes he could take this away—and I keep trying to protect him from that. From the pain of seeing me suffer.
If he wants to be with me, then I need to trust that he knows what that means. I’ll give him the day to process what the doctor said, then I’ll ask him one more time if he’s sure he wants this future. If he says yes, then I’ll lean into that, trusting him completely.
I hold Bones’ leash tighter in my hand and turn back toward the parking lot. Toward home.
“Come on. I’ll buy you a beer.”
Ace grins. “Now you’re talking.”
For the first time today, I catch myself smiling. Not because I have answers or because I feel brave. But because I’m choosing not to let fear win.
I exhale slowly, feeling strangely steady on my sore feet. Maybe it really will be okay.
24
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.
