Page 7

Muir

The afternoon sun blazes overhead with relentless intensity, its rays beating down harshly.

It's late March, which is technically Autumn in Australia, but today, you'd swear it was the peak of summer.

Sweat is pouring down my face as I struggle with the wire, pulling it tight against the post, while Fitz is a few feet away, hammering stakes into the hard ground like it's nothing. His flannel shirt is rolled up at the sleeves, revealing strong, tanned arms, and sweat glistens on his brow.

He shaved his beard off shortly after the wedding, and he's keeping it nicely trimmed. It suits him, and as an added bonus, it means I'm no longer left with beard burn every time we kiss.

Which has been seven times in the last month. Not that I'm keeping count or anything.

Okay, I'm totally keeping count because how could I not be?

After weeks of weirdness between us following the trip to the Gold Coast and being so worried about telling him I might have feelings for him, we now find ourselves in this really cool place. A place where things have gone back to normal…but with a twist. A nice twist that involves kissing.

And possibly ogling my bestie.

Because how can I not?

His muscular arse looks fantastic in those snug black jeans.

Whenever we kiss, we always keep our hands north of the beltline. I run my hand over his jaw, and he loves playing with my curls. I've brushed my hands up and down his arms, and he's done the same in return.

But lately?

Lately, I've been thinking about what it might be like to explore down south a bit more. I've seen the bulge straining his pants, and I'm pretty sure he's seen mine. But I'm not sure if either one of us is ready for more.

Yet.

"Why is your husband the only one doing any work?" Gramps asks, making me jump as he walks up to us with a tray of drinks.

"I'm working," I reply defensively.

"Checking out your husband's arse isn't the work I meant."

Fitz drops his hammer, and Gramps puts the tray down and hands him a glass of iced tea.

"I wasn't checking him out," I lie.

Fitz finishes taking a big gulp. "And if he was, can you blame him, Sid? It's a pretty spectacular arse."

Ugh. When these two get together.

"And stop calling him my husband," I say to Gramps. "He has a name."

That's all he's called Fitz ever since I told him we were married, and it's starting to get a little old. At least to me. They're both chuckling like drongos.

"But husband has such a nice ring to it."

"I'm never going to win, am I?"

Gramps places his hand on my shoulder. "That's the spirit."

The three of us chug the rest of our drinks in silence. The burst of sugary coolness rushes down my throat, a welcome relief from the scorching heat.

"How's it coming along?" Gramps asks, taking in the progress we've made on the fence line.

"Yeah, good." Fitz points out the remaining gap we've got left to fix. "Once that's done, you're all good."

"Thanks, fellas. I really appreciate it." He drops his head. "I'm ashamed I have to ask for the help in the first place."

"Gramps, you're a fucking legend. There's nothing to be ashamed of. You've fixed your fair share of fences."

"Fucking doctor's orders," he mutters, kicking at a patch of dirt.

He went for a checkup two weeks ago, and the doc musn't've been happy with the results. She ordered him to slow down. It must be serious this time since he actually listened to her and has been taking it easy.

He won't tell me anything when I press him for details, so I've been keeping myself distracted by staying busy and doing all the things around the place he can't and shouldn't be doing.

"Is there anything else I can do?" he asks when we slide our empty glasses onto the tray. "Are you fellas hungry?"

"We're fine, Gramps," I answer for both of us. I don't want him exerting himself. Also, the man can't cook for shit, unless you count burnt-to-a-crisp meat and soggy veggies.

"Thanks, Sid. We're almost done anyway."

"All right." The old fella looks at me, his eyes dancing with a mischievous joy. "I'll leave you and your husband to it."

"At fucking last." I shoo him off, and he heads back inside.

"You're worried about him, aren't you?" Fitz asks as we tackle the final patch of fence line.

"I am. The stubborn bastard won't tell me what his current prognosis is, but I have a feeling it isn't good. I don't know what I'll do if he…" My throat clogs with raw emotion, and I can't finish that sentence. That man's been like a father to me, and fuck knows I'm way closer to him than I am to my mother.

"Hey. Think positive. Like you said, he's stubborn. And he's a fighter. He's not going anywhere anytime soon. You've got years left of putting up with his teasing."

I manage a smile. "Yeah, I hope so."

We work in silence for a bit, but after about ten minutes or so, Fitz digs the shovel into the dirt and keeps it there with his foot. "What's the actual cause of the beef your mum has with Sid?"

I put the wire down and walk over to him.

"It's my mother. She's the actual cause." I know Fitz wants a proper answer, so I drop the wire and point to a nearby tree. "Come on." We plonk ourselves underneath it, getting a very welcome respite from the sun. I fold my legs and rest my forearms on my knees. Where do I even start with her?

"Some people are just cold. They lack empathy, and they don't give a damn about anyone else but themselves. As much as it pains me to say it, my mother is one of those people. Gramps has gone out of his way to be accommodating to her, not saying a word when she yanked me from here to Sydney. Not calling her out when she promised I could come and visit on school holidays and then kept changing her mind at the last minute. Mum's the woman Dad chose to marry, so Gramps has always been respectful of that."

"Sounds like she didn't make it easy on him."

"She's never made anything easy on anyone."

"Is that why you keep your distance from her?"

I nod, staring straight ahead. "It's easier that way. I'm sure she's not an evil person, that a lot of her behaviour might be due to whatever unprocessed trauma she's got going on. I'm speculating because of course I could never have that conversation with her. She'd shut it down straight away and grumble about how all the woo-woo people in Scuttlebutt have brainwashed me. But I'm sick of her taking her shit out on me."

"There are a lot of woo-woo people here," Fitz says with a wry grin.

"True. But I like that. I like that, despite this being a small outback town, people can be free to be who they want to be here. I never got that. I had to put up and shut up. I sometimes wonder?—"

I cut myself off.

"What do you sometimes wonder?" Fitz presses after a moment, his tone gentle and caring.

It's only because I trust him as much as I do that I'm even able to verbalise it. "I sometimes wonder what it might have been like to grow up in a household where thoughts and opinions were accepted. Fuck, no. Weren't just accepted but encouraged to be shared. I wonder if I'm so guarded and it takes me so long to process shit because it's not natural for me. I have to go through so much internal wrangling before I even know what I think. Much less have the courage to express myself. Like you." I glance over at Fitz who's watching me intently. "I love how you're just so free and expressive."

"Am I, though?"

His answer throws me for a loop. "What do you mean?"

His light-brown eyes meet mine, and I know the answer before he even says, "Lleyton."

A heaviness fills my chest.

I'm an only child, so I have no way of knowing what having siblings feels like, and I sure as shit have no way of even beginning to understand the effect losing a twin brother would have on someone.

Over the years, Fitz has told me so much about Lleyton that I almost feel like I know him. And I guess, in a way, I do, because Fitz has kept him alive.

But I also know that's an issue for him, how he's tried to honour his brother's memory by taking on facets of Lleyton's personality to the point where he struggles with self-identity and who he would be if his brother were still alive.

"He'd want you to live your life," I say. "However you want to, whatever that looks like."

"I know." He straightens his legs and lets out a breath. "Problem is, I'm not sure I know what it looks like."

"You've got time to figure it out."

He nods, then turns to me. "I hope so."

"You will. As someone who is older than you?—"

"Yeah. By three months," he scoffs.

"Still counts. Believe me, you have time to figure this shit out."

"Thanks, mate."

I decide to change the subject to something lighter. "What about your folks?" I ask. "Have you had a chance to sit down with them and have a proper conversation about the us situation?"

Fitz shifts on the ground. "Not exactly."

"Why not?"

"I don't want to bring them down from their high of having a child who's in the rainbow family."

I shoot him a look.

That's a weak excuse, and we both know it.

A look of guilt flashes across his face.

"Fitz?"

"I… Well… Urgh." He rips out a long blade of grass and coils it around his fingers. "Things are kind of up in the air between us, aren't they?"

"They are," I say slowly. "Does that bother you?"

"No. I just don't know how to label what's happening between us…"

"Neither do I." I wince. "Do you want to stop?"

"No. But…" I stop breathing, anxiously waiting for what he's going to say next. "What does it mean?" he finishes.

"Ah, welcome to my identity crisis."

He shakes his head and looks me square in the eye. "I'm not having an identity crisis."

"You're not?"

"Nope. After our first kiss, I knew I had feelings for you."

"You did?"

"Uh-huh. Unlike some people," he says, with a smile.

"I have feelings for you, too. I said that before we kissed."

"True. But when I asked you how you felt after we kissed, you said you still weren't sure, that no magical answer had been handed to you."

I shrug. "Maybe that was just a ploy to keep kissing you."

He smiles and throws the blade of grass away. "Mate."

It's a levelling mate. A mate that says Cut the bullshit and give me a straight answer.

He's given me plenty of time, so he deserves that much.

"Look. Gramps's theory that one kiss would somehow illuminate things didn't exactly pan out. And I'm still confused about how I feel towards you."

"But you still do?"

"Still do what?"

"Have feelings for me."

"Yeah." I stare ahead, heat creeping up my neck. "I do."

"Good."

"Why good?"

"Because, like I said, I have feelings for you, too."

"Like, romantic feelings?" I check just to make sure we are one thousand percent talking about the same thing here.

"Yes. Romantic feelings, you doofus."

"Does that scare you?"

"A little, but not really." His eyes meet mine, his lips curling into a grin. "Kissing you probably helps."

"I am a great kisser."

His grin grows. "Yes. You are."

A shot of heat radiates through my chest. I turn away and do my best to ignore the tiny spark of hope his words have ignited.

"This is uncharted territory for us."

"It is," he says slowly. "That's kind of a thing with us. Right, husband?"

"Right." I chuckle, then stop. "We can't fuck things up, Fitz."

"We're not gonna fuck anything up."

"That's what everyone says at the start."

"I'm not everyone," he shoots back, then adds, "We're not everyone."

I hear the conviction in his voice, and I can tell he truly believes every word. But we're playing with something bigger than our best intentions. Neither one of us wants to jeopardise our friendship, but what if we do something that we aren't able to walk back and recover from?

What then?

Fitz's friendship means everything to me. I'd be crushed if I ever lost it.

Lost him.

So why does kissing him feel so damn right? Why does it fill me with a sense of connection that I never felt with Maisey? Or Nikki? Or Blake? Or any of the other women I've dated over the years?

"Words, Muir," he encourages delicately. "Use your words. I can see you lost in thought."

"Understatement," I say, and he smiles with an understanding only he could have because only he knows me, almost as well as I know myself.

"I know one thing for sure," I say.

"What's that?"

"Kissing you feels so damn right. Better than anyone else I've ever kissed. And I'm not just saying that to stroke your ego."

He lifts his chin and opens his mouth. I just said the word stroke, so I'm expecting some joke about that, but instead, I get, "You're my favourite kisser, too."

I smile like that makes me deliriously happy.

Because it does.

"So," I say. "Maybe we can keep kissing, keep enjoying whatever this is, and just…take it from here?"

He flashes me a toothy grin. "Smartest thing I've heard you say all day. Now come on." He slaps his thighs and hauls himself off the ground. "We're almost done. Let's get back to work."

He extends his hand, and I slip my palm into his. With a firm tug, he helps me get up. He must've applied a bit too much pressure, though, because I end up crashing into him. Our chests connect, and I can feel his heart thumping.

I go to step back, but strong hands against my lower back halt the movement. His light-brown eyes flash with heat as he licks his lips. Heat prickles up the back of my neck, and I get a little dizzy.

We may have kissed a few times already, but I'm still getting used to the pre-kiss anticipation. The comforting warmth—a heady mixture of excitement and nerves—that floods my body as we inch closer and closer to that glorious moment where our lips finally meet. I've never experienced anything like this before.

"Thanks for your help today," I blurt out stupidly because I have no idea what to say.

Fitz grins, but the intensity in his eyes doesn't diminish one damn bit. "Don't mention it. You help me out all the time with editing the videos."

"That's because I enjoy it."

He pulls me in ever closer, his breath fanning my face as he says, "Well, I enjoy this. Being outside. Physical labour. Company's not too shabby either."

"Oh, yeah?"

He tips his chin up, eyes glimmering in the sunshine. "Yeah."

When we kiss, some of the doubt and worry that has moved into the back of my head gets smaller.

We may not know what we're doing or where we're going, but Fitz is right. This is us, and I'm going to do everything I can to make sure we don't fuck things up.

"Help! Somebody help! Please!"

A woman's panicked screams carry all the way to the back of the clinic.

Fitz springs off the sofa where he was scrolling on his phone, and I drop my teacup in such a rush it nearly shatters.

We leg it down the hallway to the reception where we're greeted by a frantic lady I've never seen before. She's cradling an animal in her trembling arms.

"Hi, I'm Muir. This is Fitz. We're vets. What's happened?"

"I noticed it too late. I didn't have time to brake or swerve or do anything other than hit it. I'm so sorry." Words spill out of her in a rush as she explains she was driving when a wombat appeared out of nowhere in the middle of the road. "I'm visiting friends, so I was taking in the scenery and not paying attention to the road. Oh my god. Is he going to die? Please. Do something. Please!"

I take the wombat from her. "It's okay. We've got it. Thank you for bringing him in."

"That was the right thing to do," Fitz says calmly in an attempt to reassure her since a lot of people would keep on driving and leave the poor creature to die.

I glance down to assess the motionless animal in my arms.

Its thick fur is matted with dust, and there's a deep cut on its side, bleeding sluggishly. Its breathing is laboured, each inhale seeming like an effort, and its small dark eyes are filled with pain and confusion.

"We need immediate wound cleaning and stitching to prevent infection," I say to Fitz. His eyes home in on the deep laceration on the animal's side. Gently, he lifts the inside of the hind leg and feels for the femoral artery near the groin area to check the wombat's pulse.

"Pulse is weak," he says after a few seconds. "We'll need intravenous fluids to stabilise its condition."

"And an X-ray after that to check for broken bones or internal trauma."

Our eyes meet briefly. "I was just thinking the same thing," he says.

Ryde comes out of his consultation with a client, so we ask him to look after the lady who brought the wombat in while we take care of the poor injured fella.

After addressing the immediate concerns, his condition stabilises. We've cleaned out the wound, and thankfully, there's no signs of infection. His breathing is now steady, and his pulse is getting stronger.

"It looks like he's going to make it," I say to Wilby and Linus later that afternoon as we do a shift swap.

"You did a good job," Linus says with a warm smile.

"I didn't do it alone. Fitz was there with me."

Wilby clears his throat. "Of course he was."

"Well, he is the man's husband," Linus throws in. "And you know what they say, a couple that vets together, stays together."

"That why Ryde's always glued to your side, mate?" I reply.

Linus stiffens but quickly recovers. "Nice deflection, mate."

"It's not a deflection if it's the truth," I say, knowing it irks the guy when we make fun of the crush his best friend's son has on him. Though I have to say, I do wonder if it's all one-sided. Since Wilby's wedding, I've been clocking Linus looking at Ryde more than usual.

Wilby rolls his eyes. "I hate living in this alternate universe where I'm the mature one."

"You, mature?" I scoff. "Says the guy who changed the Taylor Swift "22" lyrics at last month's karaoke to 'I don't know about you, but I'm feeling like I wanna do a massive poo.'"

"Happens to be the same guy who walks around here lifting his leg when he farts to help, and I quote, get it all out," Linus adds.

"But it does help," Wilby retorts with a grin.

With our round of shit giving for the day winding up, I start packing up my stuff. I'm keen to get home. Gramps wasn't looking too crash hot this morning. He said he didn't sleep well. I've been worried about him all day.

"Hey, what's Fitz dressing up as for Pride next week?" Wilby asks me.

"Dunno." I pause mid-fold with my scrubs in hand. "He's keeping it under wraps."

"A marriage with secrets is no marriage at all."

I resume folding with one hand, flipping Wilby off with the other.

"Where exactly do things stand with you guys?" Linus asks, bringing out his boss voice.

I leave the piles of clothes and rake a hand through my hair. "Dunno. We're still sorting things out."

The guys still think we're figuring out a way to dissolve our marriage. They're unaware of our, uh, shifting feelings.

"It turns out getting it annulled is a little harder than we anticipated," I answer, repeating what the lawyer told Fitz, who'd relayed it to me. It's actually a pretty rare thing in Australia. "You need to meet certain conditions, which we don't."

"Like what?" Wilby asks, scraping a chair across the floor before flipping it around and sitting on it.

"Like bigamy. Or a prohibited relationship. You know, like between a parent and their kid. That sort of thing."

"But marrying your best mate's son would be fine?" Wilby teases, smiling at an unimpressed-looking Linus. "Hypothetically."

"Yeah, that's fine." I play along. "As long as everyone is of legal age."

"Let's get back to Muir and Fitz," Linus says, unamused, clearly having had his fill of teasing for the day.

"So long story short, we're still married and exploring options."

Wilby nods, and Linus is quiet for a while then says, "I actually wasn't asking about the legal stuff, I wanted to know how things are between the two of you."

There's something about the way he says between that makes me know exactly what he's talking about.

I play dumb. "I don't know what you mean."

He studies me for a long beat. "Okay. Well, if you ever do figure out what I mean, we're always here for you to talk to."

"Thanks." I drop my gaze to the floor. "Appreciate that."

"But you guys are going to Pride, right?" Wilby checks.

"Of course." I zip up my backpack and fling it over my shoulder. We go every year. Everyone in town does. "Wouldn't miss it for the world."

It's one of the biggest events on the Scuttlebutt social calendar. It's a true-blue celebration of diversity. Everyone is welcome and celebrated.

"Who knows?" Wilby says with a grin. "Maybe going to Pride as a married couple might help you figure some shit out."

I roll my eyes. "You're an idiot."

He doesn't stop grinning. "We'll see."