“Is it okay?”
“It’s amazing,” I say. “Feel it.”
Fletcher wraps one hand around my cock, right next to the ring. Our kisses become heated instantly. He pulls me on top of him, leg curling around my hip as I guide myself in. His eyes flutter close, lips pressed together as if in pain.
“You okay?”
“Don’t stop.”
It’s not the answer I wanted, but I trust him, bottoming out after only a few thrusts. Fletcher leans up to kiss me, hand sliding behind my head. His breathing is fast, shallow, like he’salready drunk with lust. He moves his hips, grunting. “More. Give me more.”
I drive into him, holding my weight above him. My muscles ache within seconds, but I don’t stop. Between his tight hole, the pulsing around my cock, and the way Fletcher holds me, I’m going to be gone within seconds anyway.
“Fletch,” I breathe.
He reaches for me, eyes locked on mine. “Right there with you.”
I sink deep as my cock pulses, mouth falling open. Fletcher pulls me down for a kiss, then slides his arms around my back. I fall on top of him with a grunt. He kisses me passionately, moving his hips. A few shallow thrusts later, and heat spills between our bellies as he groans.
I pull back to look at him, overwhelmed with emotion.
I don’t know what I did to deserve Fletcher’s kindness, or his devotion, but I hope I’ll never fail to be enough for him. Because as terrified as I am about him growing tired of me, I’m even more scared of living a life without him. Fletcher is everything to me.
The words I want to say sit on the tip of my tongue.I love you.
He kisses me softly, as if he heard them anyway.
I slide off him and hold him until we both fall asleep.
Please, let this be enough.
22
FLETCHER
The two days at the cabin are not nearly enough.
They slip through my fingers too fast, leaving behind the echo of quiet mornings and the illusion that we could stay suspended there a little longer—away from schedules, doctors, and expectations. Away from the world that keeps asking Vince to measure himself in losses.
We get home late Sunday night, unloading the car in near silence, moving around each other with the tired familiarity of people who don’t want the weekend to officially end. There isn’t time to ease back into reality. Just enough time to shower, crawl into bed, and pretend for a few hours that tomorrow isn’t waiting.
Vince has Monday off. I don’t.
I wish I did. Not because I need the rest, but because I can already see his thoughts drifting—his mind slipping back intothat place where questions stack up faster than answers, where hope feels conditional. The cabin gave us room to breathe, but it didn’t erase the truth waiting for us here. We didn’t escape it nearly as much as we needed to.
I’d also hoped—stupidly, maybe—that the weekend would give me clarity. That somewhere between the slow mornings and the honest conversations, I’d know where I stand with him. That I’d come home with something solid to hold onto. Instead, I got honesty. Careful words. A few maybes. Talk of a future that only exists in hypotheticals, fragile enough that neither of us wanted to press too hard.
Will today always be enough for you?
The question still echoes, lodged somewhere in my chest. I’m not sure why it hurt as much as it did—only that it did. Maybe because underneath it all is the fear I try not to name. That Vince is already halfway gone. That he’s quietly preparing for a future where I choose differently. Where I wake up one day and decide loving him costs too much.
I see it in the way he counts things now. Symptoms. Appointments. Bad days. He stacks them all against us like proof, like evidence he’s building a case I never asked for. The fear of losing mobility sits at the center of it all, heavy and unspoken, like it’s only a matter of time before it becomes the final reason.
Vince believes he’s a burden to me.
I don’t know how to convince him he’s not—how to make him see that he’s made my life easier, not harder. Fuller. Brighter in ways I didn’t know I was missing. The idea of losing him doesn’t feel hypothetical at all.
It feels crushing.
