I keep thinking about what I’d said at the hospital too—the out I’d given him. I’d meant it, even if I didn’t like it. This isn’t what Fletcher signed up for or agreed to. He shouldn’t feel obligated to keep showing up. So why is he?
Honestly, why is he still here?
Despite how we feel about each other, I struggle to believe this is really the future he sees for himself. All these doctor appointments, lengthy exams, and endless pain management therapy sessions. Is this really the life he wants?
We need to talk. About all of it. But selfishly, I’m not ready for that conversation.
I want more time with him.
A lot more time.
At a stoplight, I glance over at him. Fletcher focuses on the road, his jaw tight and his shoulders set as if bracing for something. I wonder if he’s mad about what I said, or annoyedwith Ace showing up unannounced. Or maybe he’s just as overwhelmed as I am.
“Thank you, by the way,” I say on a whim.
He flicks his eyes toward me. “For what?”
“Everything. Showing up. Staying. Just… everything.”
His expression softens. “You don’t need to thank me for caring, Vince.”
He reaches over to squeeze my hand again, and it fills me with that same unfamiliar yet addicting warmth.
When we pull into his driveway, I climb out of the passenger seat. Fletcher stays close in case I need him, but I’m steady enough to walk on my own. Still moving slowly, but at least able to move without too much pain.
Inside, everything is quiet and warm—and already familiar. Bones wiggles around us, happy to have us back. He nearly knocks me over trying to lick my hand, but Fletcher forces him back.
“Go lie down, Bones.”
The dog backs up, but doesn’t lie down. He’s too addicted to affection to stay away from anyone too long. And I don’t mind. I’ve grown to love the beast.
Fletcher disappears into the kitchen and comes back with water and another dose of meds. “They said to take some at five o’clock.”
“Thank you.”
He slaps his forehead. “Oh, shit, I meant to tell you! Declan stopped in today while you were sleeping.”
“He did?”
“He wants you to call him.”
I sigh. “Can I borrow a charger then? My phone’s dead.”
Going all the way to my room in the backyard feels a little like climbing Mount Everest.
He lifts the sidearm of the couch, revealing multiple charging cords plugged into a hidden built-in charging station. “Should have what you need somewhere in there.”
“Brilliant.”
His smile is tight-lipped. “It’s what sold me on the couch. Less clutter.”
I sit down and plug it in, watching him fuss about the house—cleaning, tidying up, then making us a simple dinner of grilled cheese and tomato soup.
The time passes in a blur. I make a few phone calls and watch some mindless reality television until we’re both drowsy.
“How long are you off work?” he asks.
“Just tomorrow. I’ll go back Friday.”
