Chapter Two
On Saturday, Ryan didn’t expect Grayson to show up at the clinic before their coffee date.
He was in the middle of trimming the mastiff's nails when Janet poked her head into the treatment room and said, “That guy from the other day is here. Wants to check on the dogs.”
Ryan’s stomach did something acrobatic. He set down the nail clippers and glanced at the clock. Ten thirty in the morning. Their coffee wasn't until two.
“Tell him I’ll be right out,” Ryan said, keeping his voice steady.
Janet disappeared. The mastiff looked at him with her wary eyes, and Ryan gave her a treat before guiding her back to the recovery kennel.
He checked his reflection in the glass window of the supply cabinet.
His hair was falling out of the scrunchie, as usual.
He had a smudge of something on his cheek that might have been dog food. Great. Very attractive.
He wiped at the smudge with his sleeve and headed for the lobby.
Grayson stood near the front desk, hands in his pockets. He wore jeans today and a dark blue shirt that made his eyes look different. Warmer somehow. He turned when Ryan approached, and his face did something that might have been a smile.
“Hey,” Grayson said.
“Hey.” Ryan stopped a few feet away, suddenly aware of how he must look in his stained scrubs. “Janet said you wanted to check on the dogs?”
“Yeah, if that’s all right. I know we’re meeting later, but I was in the area and thought I’d see how they’re doing.”
In the area. Right. The clinic was fifteen minutes outside of town on a road that didn’t lead anywhere except to the clinic. But Ryan wasn't going to call him on it.
“Sure, come on back.” Ryan led him through the door to the treatment area. The familiar smell of antiseptic and kibble surrounded them. “They’re doing really well, actually. Better than I expected.”
He brought Grayson to the recovery kennels. The pit bull stood up when she saw them, tail wagging hard enough to shake her whole body. The cone around her head bumped against the kennel door.
“Look at her,” Grayson said, and something in his voice softened. “She looks like a completely different dog.”
“Pain medication and a safe place to sleep work wonders.” Ryan opened the kennel door and knelt down. The pit bull immediately pushed her head into his hands, wiggling with happiness. “She's been eating well too. Good appetite is always a good sign.”
Grayson crouched beside him. The pit bull transferred her attention immediately, sniffing at Grayson’s hands and then licking his fingers. He laughed, low and quiet, and the sound did things to Ryan’s ability to focus.
“Can I see her stitches?” Grayson asked.
“Yeah.” Ryan gently moved the dog's fur aside to show the sutured wounds along her shoulder. “Dr. Sullivan did a great job. They should heal up nicely. We'll probably take the stitches out in about ten days.”
Grayson leaned closer to look. His arm pressed against Ryan’s. The contact was brief and probably accidental, but Ryan felt it like heat through his scrub top.
“What about the others?” Grayson asked.
They moved to the next kennel. The mastiff watched them approach but didn’t stand. Ryan opened the door, and she allowed him to run his hand along her side, checking the bandages.
“She's still pretty shut down,” Ryan said. “But she's eating, and she let me trim her nails this morning without too much fuss. That’s actually huge for a dog with her history.”
“How long do you think it'll take?” Grayson asked. “For her to trust people again?”
Ryan sat back on his heels, still stroking the mastiff's fur. “Hard to say. Could be weeks, could be months. Some dogs bounce back fast. Others carry it with them for a long time.”
“Like people.”
“Yeah. Like people.”
They stayed there for a moment, both watching the mastiff. Her breathing was slow and even. Her eyes tracked their movements, but she didn’t flinch away from Ryan’s touch anymore.
“You’re really patient with them,” Grayson said.
Ryan shrugged. “It’s what they need. There's no point in rushing it.”
They checked on the third dog, the male with the milky eye. He was eating from his bowl when they approached, and he paused to look at them but didn’t stop eating. Another good sign.
“He's the most food motivated,” Ryan said. “Which is going to make training easier once he's ready for adoption.”
“You think they’ll all be adoptable?”
“Eventually, yeah. It'll take time and the right families, but they've got good temperaments underneath all the trauma.” Ryan closed the kennel door gently. “The rescue organization you work with… Do they handle adoptions too?”
“We work with a few different shelters. Make sure the dogs go somewhere that understands what they've been through.”
Ryan nodded. He wanted to ask more about the rescue work, about how Grayson had gotten involved, but something in Grayson’s posture told him not to push. There were things Grayson had seen that he didn’t want to talk about, and Ryan could respect that.
“Do you need help with anything?” Grayson asked. “While I’m here?”
Ryan glanced around the treatment area. There was always something that needed doing but nothing urgent. Still, he found himself saying, “Actually, yeah. I need to deep clean the kennels in the boarding area. It’s a two-person job if you want to make it go faster.”
“Sure.”
They walked together to the supply closet.
Ryan gathered buckets and cleaning solution and scrub brushes.
Grayson took half the supplies without being asked.
The boarding kennels were on the other side of the clinic, past the exam rooms and Dr. Sullivan's office.
The dogs staying there were healthy, just spending a few days while their owners traveled.
They barked and wagged when Ryan and Grayson entered.
“Popular guy,” Grayson said.
“They know I give good treats.” Ryan pulled a handful of biscuits from his pocket and distributed them through the kennel doors. The barking turned to happy crunching sounds.
They moved the dogs to temporary holding pens and started cleaning.
The work was methodical and familiar. Spray down the kennel, scrub the floors and walls, rinse everything, dry it, put down fresh bedding.
Ryan had done it hundreds of times. But having Grayson there made it feel different.
Made him aware of how he moved through the space, how he bent to reach the corners, how his hair kept falling in his face.
“So how long have you worked here?” Grayson asked from the next kennel over.
“About two years. I started right out of vet tech school.” Ryan scrubbed at a stubborn stain on the floor. “Dr. Sullivan is great to work for. He actually listens when I have ideas about treatment plans.”
“That’s rare?”
“You’d be surprised. Some vets treat techs like we’re just there to hold animals and clean up poop.” Ryan sat back and pushed his hair out of his face with his forearm, since his hands were wet and soapy. “I mean, we do plenty of that too, but there's a lot more to the job.”
“I can see that.” Grayson rinsed out his bucket and moved to the next kennel. “You diagnosed something with the mastiff, didn’t you? When we brought her in. I saw Dr. Sullivan ask your opinion.”
Ryan felt warmth spread through him. The fact that Grayson had noticed, had been paying attention even in the chaos of that morning, meant something. “Just a possible infection. I’d seen similar symptoms before.”
“See? That’s not just holding animals and cleaning up poop.”
“Well, there's still plenty of poop involved. Trust me.”
Grayson laughed. The sound echoed in the kennel area, and Ryan found himself smiling at the floor he was scrubbing.