It’s a small crew for this job, only him and three others. But they’re at the bar every day, ripping up tile, tearing out drywall—doing all the things that make my body hurt just watching. No wonder Fletcher has a hot tub. I imagine he needs it after work most days. I’ve seen him in it often… and every time, I wish I could join him. I’ve had to settle for sitting outside it, feet propped on the stairs as we talk.
I can tell Fletcher hates it as much as I do, but he’s never made a big deal of it either—always talking about things other than my illness.
He can’t know how much that means to me.
Being around him this much is nice. I feel him everywhere. Even when I can’t see him, I know Fletcher’s close. It’s like my stupid, traitorous body is completely tuned in to him now, reacting to his nearness long before my brain does.
I hate how much I notice him.
I hate how much I don’t want it to stop. I don’t remember a time I was ever this… drawn to someone.
Late afternoon at the bar is its own kind of chaos. The music’s low but constant, the hum of conversation never quite dipping, glasses clinking, someone laughing too loud near the dartboards. Down the hall, drills whine and thud, but at least the customers don’t seem annoyed.
During a quiet moment, I lean against the wall and pretend my left leg isn’t buzzing like a live wire. I can’t help but let my gaze drift down the hall again, desperate to catch any glimpse of the gorgeous man as he pops in and out of the small room. Fletcher’s hair is a mess, shirt wrinkled, and his beard glittered with specks of drywall… yet I can’t seem to take my eyes off him.
“You know, I didn’t think you swung that way.”
Piper’s voice startles me, and I quickly pull away from the wall. She’s standing only a couple of feet away, attention down the hall as if she’d followed my line of sight. Her deep-red lips curve into a smile. “Not that I can blame you. He’s hot.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say with a slight grin.
“Mm-hmm.” She smirks. “You keep staring at the guy like he’s a candy bar, Vince. Just go eat him up already.”
Heat crawls up my neck. I’ve never been comfortable being out. My strict upbringing taught me it was better not to draw attention to myself. To stay small and stay silent. It’s safer that way. In fact, Ace is the only one who’s ever known I’m gay, until Fletcher. But even Ace wanted us to be a secret when we fooled around in the army. I went along with it because I didn’t want the attention.
But hiding it doesn’t feel right anymore.
I shrug. “Just enjoying the view.”
Piper laughs. “It’s a damn good one.” She sucks in a breath, eyeing the guys down the hall. “You should talk to him.”
I stifle a laugh.If she only knew…“We actually have been. Off and on.”
Her smile grows. “Yeah? That’s great. You’d be great together.”
I don’t reply.
“Anyway, you busy?”
“Obviously not.”
She lifts a tangled ball of white Christmas lights. “Mind helping me make this place sparkle?”
That’s when I notice she’s holding a small ladder too, and my stomach tightens.
My first instinct is to say no, but that would require explaining how ladders aren’t my friend anymore, and I’m not ready for that conversation.
I swallow my anxiety and take the ladder from her. The metal bites into my palm. My fingers don’t quite listen when I tell them to grip harder.
Please don’t let me fall.
We start near the door, the cool air sneaking in every time the door opens. Piper hands me a box of white Command hooks. “Spread these out every three or four feet.”
I fumble with a plastic container, nearly spilling the contents at least three times. Trying to peel the plastic backing off the adhesive is next to impossible when I can’t feel anything, but eventually, I figure out if I snag my nail under the corner, I don’t need to rely on touch at all.
After I get a dozen hooks up, Piper plugs the lights in and helps me drape them around the small space. Every step on the ladder is torture. The up-and-down motion pulls at my hip, sending a sharp protest down my leg. I hide it by leaning into the metal frame a little harder than necessary.
With every spasm, I grit my teeth. Lock it away. Refusing to show even a hint of weakness. It’s what I’ve been doing for weeks now. Months. Years, really, before I even understood what was happening. I’m a pro at it.
