I step out of the car. The movement sends a shock of pain up my legs, but I hide it by turning to lock the car, keeping my jaw tight.
Push through, Mercer.
Fletcher says nothing as we walk to his truck, but I can feel his attention on me. His curiosity. I just hope he doesn’t ask too many questions, because I don’t have it in me to explain.
I look out the window as he starts the car, rubbing a hand along my scruff.It’s just a ride. It’s just this once.
But part of me knows this is the first crack in the armor I’ve been wearing for years.
The first piece of my unraveling.
My pulse quickens. I can only hope I can trust Fletcher when it all falls away.
4
FLETCHER
Vince is stiff in the passenger seat, one hand on his knee, staring straight ahead. He hasn’t said much beyond giving me directions.
I didn’t believe the car battery story for a second, but pushing him for the truth tonight doesn’t feel like the right thing either. He’s struggling more than usual. Anyone paying attention can see that. But there’s something else too, something deeper. Like a part of him is ready to give up.
Streetlights flicker across his face every few seconds, slicing him into shadow and light. I keep the radio low enough to fill the silence, but not enough to drown it. I want him to know there’s no pressure with me. No urgency.
I just want to help.
“Pull in there,” Vince says, pointing to an older building behind a grocery store.
The old brick quadplex is not at all what I expected for such a put-together man. It has chips in a few places, and the light above the stairs flickers like it might go out any second.
I turn into the only available spot, near the sign labeled 2A.
Vince fumbles for the door handle, mumbling a quick, “Thanks.”
“Vince, wait.”
His entire body tenses, bracing for questions he doesn’t want to answer.
I reach for a business card in the storage compartment under the stereo and offer it to him. “Call me tomorrow and we’ll get your car.”
He seems equally relieved and surprised. “Thank you. And thanks again for the ride.”
“Of course.”
As soon as he’s out, I put the truck into reverse, ready to pull away, but something in me tells me to wait.
Vince walks to the stairs leading to the upper two-story unit, but before ascending, he pauses at the bottom and takes a deep breath. His right hand grips the railing a little too tightly, and as he starts to climb, it’s almost like he has to pull himself up. Every step is heavy and slow.
Alarm bells go off in my head. Something’s definitely not right.
I put the truck into park, waiting to see that he gets inside safely. Halfway up, Vince’s left foot misses the step. He tries to catch himself, but loses his balance, and his large frame topples backwards. I watch in horror as he tumbles down the stairs.
I’m out of the truck before I can even register it, running across the cracked pavement.
“Vince!”
He groans loudly, trying to push himself up. Blood streaks from a cut on the side of his head.
I crouch beside him. “Hey, hey—don’t move. You hit your head on the railing. You okay?”
