Vince doesn’t seem convinced. Maybe he’s struggling with his sexuality and isn’t out at all yet.
“We don’t need to talk about this if you’re uncomfortable,” I say quietly. “But I’m glad you trusted me with it.”
A tiny smile tugs on his lips before he grabs another cookie. “You up for a movie or something? I’m not tired yet.”
I snort. “I might fall asleep on you, but sure. We can try.”
7
VINCE
Something in me feels different.
Not healed, not fixed, not magically okay—but… shifted. Like a pressure valve has loosened and I have more room to breathe.
Fletcher has waited up for me almost every night since that night in the hot tub, and we talk in the kitchen or in my room for close to an hour before he goes to bed. On my days off, we cook together and watch TV. Georgie has even tried to teach me how to race in one of her games, but I haven’t gotten the hang of it. I enjoy watching them, though. More than I expected to.
The way Fletcher sits with me through my symptoms, like they aren’t a burden, has made them less overwhelming. I still dread the appointment on January 28th with every cell of my being, but I’m also finding the strength I need to face it. Or at the very least, come to terms with it.
It’s an unusually cold Monday on my day off, but I welcome it. The cooler air means I have less chance of overheating. After a hearty breakfast of Eggo waffles and microwaved sausages, I haul my laundry basket to the back door of Fletcher’s house and punch in the code on the electronic keypad to get inside. I still can’t believe he trusted me with it when we barely know each other.
Inside, Bones tries to take me down with excited wiggles and heavy paws. I quickly set the basket on the table so I can pet him. The closest I ever came to living with a dog was when I crashed on Ace’s couch for two weeks after my second deployment—which is to say I don’t really know how to handle them. Especially large ones like Bones. He’s a hundred pounds of solid muscle and pent-up energy that no amount of petting or throwing a ball can suffice. Bones craves attention like I used to crave cigarettes.
“Alright, you big dork. I have things to do. Off with you.”
The massive dog follows me and watches me closely as I load my clothes into the washer. His nub of a tail wiggles endlessly every time I even glance in his direction, lips curling into an adorable smile. Who knew dogs could smile?
When I exit the laundry room, I notice the open bedroom door across from it. It must be Georgie’s room, judging from all the vibrant colors and bold artwork. The various shades of purple and gold match the decor in the in-law suite, and there is even a neon symbol above her bed that readsSTAY TRUE.
It’s exactly the kind of message I imagine Fletcher would ingrain into his daughter’s mind. Her mother, too, if what Fletcher said is true about his ex encouraging Fletcher to be true to himself. What would that kind of positive upbringing have done to me growing up? I can’t even imagine. Maybe I wouldn’t have felt cornered into enlisting in the army as soon asI graduated. But what would I have done otherwise? My parents had never let me dream of another career.
My gaze locks on the black guitar in the corner of her room, and an unexpected ache blooms in my chest. I hadn’t grabbed my guitar when we packed at my apartment since I had too many other things to worry about, and I haven’t wanted to go back for it. Not alone, anyway. The fall down the stairs scared me more than I’m willing to admit, and asking Fletcher to go with me… I just can’t.
Butdamn,how I miss playing. It was the only thing that calmed my anxiety. Do I have it in me to go? My legs aren’t cramping today, so maybe if I take it slow…
Decision made, I drive across town to the apartment. Seeing the stairs makes my stomach swoop. My body remembers the fall whether I want it to or not.
The slam of my head against the railing.
The sharp pain on my side.
The humiliation.
My skin burns hot, and I grit my teeth as I climb, my hand a little tighter than necessary.
Inside, the apartment is untouched, like time paused here the day I left. There are a couple of dirty cups on the counter, a load of trash I meant to take downstairs and never did, and an endless amount of clothes thrown around the room.
It fills me with shame. Why did Fletcher have to see my apartment this way? I am so much better than this. Truly.
I set the bag of trash by the door, then throw a few things into the empty duffel I brought with me. Shirts, spare charger, toiletries. I even go upstairs to empty my dresser and closet. When I find my dildo and vibrators in the nightstand, I pause. Fletcher had been the one to pack everything the night I left, since I could barely stand on my own two feet. Had he seen these? I hope not.
I toss the toys into my bag and keep packing.
Strange how empty the apartment feels now. How hollow. Two years of calling this place home, yet it never really felt like one. More a stop on my journey to who knows where.
What the hell am I doing with my life?
I’ve never figured it out, always assuming I’d be a career army veteran like my father. But that wasn’t the case. Eight years was all I could handle before calling it quits. Since then, I’ve just been… drifting. Waiting. For what exactly? Who knows. I still haven’t figured it out.
