Page 16 of The Grumpy Vet (Vet Shop Boys Down Under #3)

Linus

"It feels weird working out without Dario,"

Ryde says, standing over me, keeping a watchful eye on the barbell I'm lifting and lowering.

"First of all,"

I grit out, my muscles trembling since this is the final set.

"We're not working out. I am. Secondly, just because he's not here doesn't mean you can double your torture on me."

I lower the bar to my chest, holding it there as I look up to see him tapping his chin, his lips wide in a mischievous grin. A mischievous grin that would normally make me sweat, but since I'm drenched already, it sends an icy shiver racing up my spine instead.

"That's an awful lot of words coming out of your mouth. Maybe I'm not working you hard enough."

I make some grunting sounds—no more words, lesson learned—as I complete the final two reps, then he helps me guide the bar to the rack. I sit up, down some water, then wipe myself off a bit.

"Come on. Cool down on the elliptical, and then we're done for the day."

"Thank god,"

I say, following him to the machine.

He sets the program to cooldown mode, and I try to bring my heartrate back to within a normal range, my arms and legs swinging. I look over, and the sadness on Ryde's face makes my chest ache.

"You're thinking about what it's going to be like without him, aren't you?"

I hazard a guess.

He nods, sagging against the wall.

"Yeah. It's gonna really suck."

"Does he really have to go? I mean, we have more than enough work if he wants to stay. I could offer him an extension?"

A permanent one.

I don't say that, though, since it's probably not a good idea to be thinking about forever when we don't know what the future holds beyond the next ten days.

A deep frown settles on Ryde's forehead.

"It has to be his decision to stay. We can't make him."

"Who said anything about making him? Offering a contract extension isn't forcing him to do anything."

"But he needs to decide that,"

Ryde says.

"Dario is a great guy, but he's had severely bad luck when it comes to relationships. He's been with some real douchebags. People mistake his easygoing nature for him being a pushover. He's been controlled and manipulated and cheated on. He almost had his savings stolen. I don't want to push him, Linus. I don't want to pressure him to stay only for it to blow up in my, or our, faces when he ends up hating it here and then resenting me, or us, for it."

I get what he's saying, but personally, I think he's overthinking this. It sucks that Dario has been treated badly before, but that's not what's occurring here. Yes, I want him to stay for some, in part, selfish reasons, but first and foremost, I want Dario to be happy. And I'm ninety-nine percent sure staying here would make him just that.

What the three of us have is rare. It doesn't come along very often. Certainly I haven't experienced it once in my forty-odd years. Isn't it worth bringing up the option of staying with Dario and giving him the choice of whether he accepts it or not?

But Ryde knows him better than I do, and my legs are fucking killing me, so I keep quiet and stare at the timer as it ticks down the seconds to the end of this torture session.

Thankfully, it does.

After showering, changing, and making a start on dinner with Ryde, I get a phone call from the hospice. Immediately, I think the worst, but they're only calling to let me know Dad's got an infection. They've put him on new meds, and he'll require more monitoring. I ask if I should come visit, and they assure me he isn't in any immediate danger and that they'll keep me updated.

Dario swings by after work to join us, and I wait until then to tell them both about the phone call. They're concerned, as they always are, but it's a helpless situation. We're in limbo, essentially just waiting it out until I do get that phone call, which could be any one of these days now.

We eat our meal on the dining table, the jigsaw puzzle long done and dusted. All the pieces packed up and stored away in the box. Like it never happened.

After telling them about the phone call, I'm quiet for the rest of the meal. Sad, I guess. Preoccupied by worry over my dad and Dario leaving in ten days and not being able to do anything about either thing.

I still maintain that offering him a contract extension is the way to go, but I'm not about to go behind Ryde's back because what if I'm not seeing things clearly and he is? What if me wanting Dario to stay is clouding my judgement and Ryde's right, it would pressure Dario into doing something he otherwise wouldn't?

I don't want to contribute in any way to Dario's unhealthy patterns of past relationships. If asking him to stay would trigger that, or cause him to feel trapped, then I'll keep my damn mouth shut. Doesn't mean I'm going to be happy about it though.

After dinner and washing up, the three of us head outside.

"Whoa. It's so clear out tonight,"

Dario says, lifting his head to the night sky.

"Why is that?"

"There's no moon,"

I answer, taking in the even more impressive than usual display of twinkling stars overhead.

"Makes everything stand out even more."

"It's beautiful,"

he says as we settle into our usual spots. The guys sharing the bench, me on the wrought iron chair.

We sit in peaceful silence for a few minutes until Ryde clears his throat and says, "What's up, Linus? You've been quiet all night. Is it your dad? Are you worried about him?"

Guilt pricks my chest. I probably should be more worried about him than I am, but the truth is I'm actually more consumed by another situation in my life. I look at Ryde, then at Dario, and feel torn. I can't say what I'm really thinking, which is that I don't want him to leave, but I can't lie to them, either.

That's one of the things I'm most proud of when I think of everything we've gone through these past few months. We may have held back and kept secrets from each other in the past, but we've also really made an effort to open up and be honest with each other ever since. And look at the reward we got. An amazing, once-in-a-lifetime relationship.

An amazing, once-in-a-lifetime relationship with a fast-approaching deadline.

"I've just got a lot on my mind,"

I reply honestly, if not somewhat vaguely.

"We're here for you,"

Dario says, reaching out and taking hold of my hand.

Ryde leans forwards and grabs my other hand.

"You know that, right?"

"I do. And I appreciate it. Thank you."

We sit out watching the stars until Ryde starts yawning, which sets Dario off. I'm beat, too, so we head inside and get ready for bed.

The mood is sombre, heavy with the weight of the one thing all three of us are deliberately not talking about. The vibe is so heavy that after showering, we bypass sex and fall straight into bed.

Dario lies in the middle, and Ryde and I cling to him, knowing we won't get the chance to do so for much longer.

Ryde

"Scuttlebutt Vet Clinic."

I raced down the hallway and grabbed the phone on the ninth ring. Ten and it goes to voicemail, so I got it in the nick of time. We've been flat out all day, and I'm the only one free at the moment.

"How can I help?"

Mrs. Wilson starts ranting about her geese, and I drop down into the chair behind the reception desk, listening as she rambles on and on about how they've stopped laying eggs and she's wondering if it's because she's recently changed their feed. I'm doing my best to listen patiently, but as she drones on about it, not giving me any space to interject, my molars start grinding.

Today is not a good day. Wilby couldn't make it in, struck down by a gastro bug he swears is Mrs. Mangle's fault. Muir and Fitz got called out to a colic flare-up at Mr. Birkin's stud farm. Linus's lump removal on Mrs. Cartwright's cat is taking longer than expected, and Dario and I have a full day of consults plus about a thousand walk-ins to deal with. When it rains it pours, and today, it's pissing down.

But that's not the real reason I'm in a sour mood.

The real reason is that Dario leaves in two days. Two days. In less than forty-eight hours, he'll be on a plane back to Blowend.

I don't want him to go, but I can't force him to stay either. It has to be his decision, and so far, he hasn't given any indication that's what he wants to do. He's got his ticket. He even started packing last night.

It's really happening. He's going to leave and be out of our lives. For good.

And then what?

I'm starting to doubt whether telling Linus not to offer him a contract extension was a good idea. I mean, yes, it's selfish on our parts, but it keeps Dario here. Maybe if he stayed for another six months, he'd be ready to make the decision on his own to stay for good?

Or maybe not.

Outback life isn't for everyone. It's tough and isolating. It's small-town realness amplified to the power of ten. Everybody, and I mean everybody, knows everything about everyone. There are so few modern conveniences available out here. No food delivered to your door. No online shopping arriving the next day. Or even within a week. No hookup apps with row after row of available options.

It's just the people who are crazy enough to call this place home and a whole lot of open space and sky.

Dario probably misses his life back home. His daily surfs. His favourite meals delivered to his door. His friends.

But you don't know that for sure. Don't be an idiot and let him walk away. Talk to him.

Mrs. Wilson is still droning on about her fucking geese, and I've had it, interjecting in the middle of her way-too-vivid explanation of their pooping pattern.

"We'll get someone out there today, Mrs. Wilson… I can't tell you what time exactly… It will be as soon as humanly possible… Okay. Okay. Yep. Fine. Sooner than that… Okay. I have to go now. Bye."

I slam the phone down on her as she's mid-sentence. Not my most professional moment, but her geese are fine—Wilby was out there last week—she's just overreacting, and I'm running three consults behind.

Five very long hours later, the last of the day's appointments are done, Mrs. Wilson's geese have been thoroughly checked out—Fitz and Muir popped in on their way back to the clinic and suggested a vitamin supplement—and now Linus is driving Dario and me to the hospice. Because on top of today being non-stop chaos, he got a call about thirty minutes ago saying his dad has taken a turn for the worse, and he needs to get there as fast as he can.

The vibe in his ute is tense, to say the least. No one is talking because what is there to say? We don't know what took a turn for the worse actually means, but it can't be good given the man's fragile state.

Linus swerves into an empty spot in the carpark, but instead of leaping out of the car like I expect him to, he kills the engine, drops his head, and sighs.

Only…it's not a sigh. It's a sob.

Dario is in the passenger seat and places a hand on his leg, while I shuffle closer from the back and rub his shoulder. It probably doesn't make any difference, but it's the only thing we can do.

Dario's worried eyes meet mine. I imagine he's thinking the same thing I am. This could be the day Linus loses his dad.

"You should probably go in, Linus,"

Dario urges him softly, his implication clear. There may not be a lot of time left.

"Take as long as you need in there. We'll wait out here, but we'll be thinking of you."

Linus sniffs then lifts his head.

"Actually, would you mind coming in with me?"

His deep voice is barely above a whisper. I'm witnessing another part of him, the small, child part. My heart beats heavier in my chest, and I fall even more deeply in love with him than I already was.

"Of course,"

I say, giving his shoulder a squeeze.

"We'll be right there with you if that's what you want."

"It is,"

he says, unbuckling his seat belt.

"I want my father to meet the two men I love."

And with that, he gets out of the car, leaving a shell-shocked Dario and me staring at each other.

I tap the driver's headrest.

"Did he just say…?"

"Yeah, I think he…"

Linus is already walking towards the entrance.

"We have to go. We need to be there for him," I say.

"Absolutely. Shit. My head is spinning."

"Mine, too."

Dario and I rush out of the car and join Linus, each of us holding one of his hands as we breeze past the nurse's desk. The whole place smells like every hospital I've ever been to, the air thick with antiseptic and a hint of something citrusy.

The linoleum floor squeaks under us as we step into a small, dim room. A fan hums weakly in the corner, stirring the hot, dry air. We let go of Linus's hands as he approaches the bed and hang back a little, holding each other's hands instead.

"Hey, Dad,"

Linus says. The old man's eyes are only partly open, his chest barely moving beneath the thin hospital blanket.

"I want you to meet some people."

His dad doesn't respond, but Linus waves us over anyway. We get closer to the bed, and I get my first proper glimpse of the man. His skin is pale and waxy, his lips dry and cracked. Dark sunspots cover his weathered hands. He looks so small and frail, nothing like the tall and imposing figure Linus has described him as.

I search for signs of similarity to Linus but don't really find any. Maybe Linus took after his mum, or maybe his dad is so far gone that he's lost the distinctive features that would highlight any resemblance they may have once shared.

With one hand in mine, Dario lifts his other hand and gives a small wave.

"Hi, Mr. Stevenson. I'm Dario. This is Ryde. It's a pleasure to meet you."

Linus's eyes well up. Mine do, too, but I think Dario is on the right track, speaking with him as if he's right here with us and this is a normal introduction.

Mr. Stevenson takes us in with barely opened eyes.

Linus takes his father's hand.

"Just rest. It's all good. I just wanted you to meet them before…"

He shakes his head, leaving that sentiment unspoken.

Dario and I slink to the back of the room when a middle-aged doctor comes in. He strides over to Linus, speaking so quietly that all I hear is a hushed murmur. Linus nods his head, and then two nurses come in.

The air gets thicker.

"What should we do?"

I whisper to Dario.

He takes a heavy breath, his features tight with concern.

"Let's ask Linus what he wants."

"Good idea."

We approach Linus, and I whisper in his ear, asking if he'd like us to stay or go. He takes our hands in his and holds on tightly.

The doctor leaves, and we stand over the bed in silence. After a few minutes, the old man takes one last, shuddering breath then goes still.

Completely still.

Linus gasps. I squeeze his hand, and when I turn to look at him, silent tears are streaming down his face. Dario steps in from the other side and slides his arms around Linus.

We stay like that until Linus says he's ready to go.