I lean in to kiss him gently. “Sleep, hon. I’m not going anywhere.”
He’s out quickly, snoring softly.
15
VINCE
Sometime later that afternoon, the doctor finally slips in with the discharge papers and instructions for follow-up appointments. She gives a few more stern warnings about rest and hands me two small bottles of pain meds and antibiotics.
“Do not miss your follow-up with Dr. Benson,” she says pointedly.
She doesn’t need to worry. I’ve literally been counting the days until I can see him.
Once she’s gone, Fletcher hands me the bag of clothes so I can get dressed, but averts his eyes.
My head is a mess. A mix of relief, shame, and too much uncertainty.
“It’s okay if this is too much for you.” The words slip out before I can stop them.
Fletcher snaps his head up, confused. “Why would you say that?”
I tilt my head at him. “Come on, Fletch. This isn’t what you signed up for.”
He frowns. “I didn’tsign upfor anything. I just offered support, remember?”
“Yeah, but did you think that meant overnight hospital stays and watching me struggle to pull my damn pants up?” I’d meant it as a joke, yet my words come out clipped, almost angry. I force myself to look away. It’s not Fletcher I’m angry at; it’s the situation. My body is failing me—fast.
Fletcher steps in, adjusting the waistband of my pants without ever taking his eyes off me. He says nothing.
When the nurse wheels in a transport chair, Fletcher holds his hand out. “Ready to go home?”
My heart stutters.
Not your apartment.
Not back to your place.
Home.
Like he honestly thinks I belong there.
It aches how much I want that to be true, even if it seems unfair.
I take his hand, equally terrified and exhausted—but so damn relieved too. Despite my fear, despite the raw emotions churning in me, I don’twanthim to go. Not even a little. Being near Fletcher is the only thing keeping me from spiraling. His quiet reassurance gives me strength.
My head is buzzing as they wheel me out, and my body feels like it belongs to someone else. Fletcher walks beside me, but it’s clear his mind is a million miles away. Probably thinking about all the things he needs to do once he gets back to work. He’d lost an entire day because of me.
Outside, the evening air is sharp. Not cold, but cool enough that I can feel it in my lungs. Typical December in San Diego.
Fletcher helps me into the passenger seat. “You okay?” he asks, offering me the seatbelt.
“Yeah. Just wiped.”
“You and me both.”
Quiet music and the sound of the road are the only things filling the drive. The silence feels heavy—like all the important things are hovering just out of reach.
I keep thinking about Ace. How easy and good it felt to see him again, but also how complicated. Fletcher had been so uncomfortable around him, and for good reason. He knows our history. But I’m not sure he knows how shallow it was. How empty. The sex was nothing more than us passing time in the desert. Ace and I were never anything real—except as friends, which only became stronger after we saw our other friends get killed.
