Chapter Text
Dennis kicks a lump of straw with his foot, ignoring the dull mooing of the calves in the next pen over, who are waiting impatiently for him to finish the bedding down. They know, as well he does, that it takes time. Move the calves into the next pen over, make sure they’re secure, empty the whole pen with fork and wheelbarrow because Amy doesn’t have a tractor to do the job (they both know why, but neither of them comment on it), and re-bed the whole thing by hand as well.
This is why Dennis is here: because it’s hard fucking work for any one person, let alone a new mother. Amy can manage the day-to-day running of the farm herself, with the occasional helping hand of her father-in-law, but Bobby was supposed to be retired years ago. His back isn’t so good, his knees even worse, and he’s half deaf from years spent in a parlour and inside tractors. So then: Dennis. Dennis helps with the big jobs, the bedding down of pens, the sorting of cows for the veterinarian, the dividing up of and moving to new pastures. It’s nothing new to him. His parents had farmed 500 dairy cows on the same patch of land that his great grandfather had farmed his herd on, the same herd, like Theseus’s ship.
One of the calves lows at him, and Dennis rolls his eyes. “I’m going as fast as I can.” He promises her, shaking his head as he tears a new leaf off the bale and begins to shake it out.
Dennis had thought his farming days were firmly behind him until he’d reluctantly accepted the offer of dinner at Amy’s place. Her in-laws had been there, and her mother, and Dennis had held her newborn baby whilst the elders talked about becoming a doctor and how god worked in mysterious ways and how it was good to keep both your mind and your hands active. It had actually been… nice. Pleasant in a way that Dennis’s family dinners never were, never had been, and probably never would be.
That night, Amy had been going out to feed the calves, being the only one strong enough to lift the bags of milk powder. Dennis had interjected, said he could help, feeling like he had to do something, since he hadn’t been able to pull off a miracle and save her husband’s life. So he had gone with her to the barn, mixed up pints of sticky milk powder and poured it into feeders, guiding the calves to the teats with his fingertips in their mouths. That had been nice, too, reminding him of a time when he had found solace in the calf shed, away from his brothers who thought that looking after baby things, be they cows or brothers, was far beneath them.
He had come back a few nights later, and a few nights after that, and then for a day, and then a weekend. Trinity didn’t care; if he was gone, it meant that their apartment was empty, and she and Garcia could sleep together on just about every surface they found. Dennis still shuddered thinking about the morning he’d picked Garcia’s bra up out of the toaster. It was a fire hazard as well as a hygiene concern.
With the straw almost up to his hips, Dennis shakes out the last of the bale and closes one gate to open another, letting the calves back into their bed. They jump through piles of straw high above their heads, kicking spindly back legs and mooing excitedly. Dennis pauses to watch them, a small smile on his face, his forehead beaded with sweat and his arms and legs aching. They can’t tell him that they appreciate his hard work, but Dennis knows that they do. He wishes some of the people at work were as appreciative for the near miracles he performs.
Returning to the farmhouse, Dennis kicks off his boots by the door. They’ll stay there until he next picks them up, protected by the roof of the porch, another familiarity to home. His brothers had stolen his boots every other morning when he was younger, thrown them into a nearby field or worse, into the slurry pit. But here his boots sit where he leaves them, waiting like an old dog for him to return.
“The calf pen’s been bedded, Amy.” Dennis calls through the house. “I’m gonna head home.”
Appearing from the kitchen with the baby on her hip, Amy looks pained. “We were just coming out to help. I’m sorry you had to do it all alone.”
“Don’t be.” Dennis shakes his head. “It’s like… mindlessness.”
Smiling, close to laughing at him but not quiet, Amy says, “I think you mean mindfulness.”
“Right.” Dennis nods. He only blushes a little bit. “Mindfulness. It’s good for giving me time to think, I guess.”
Amy narrows her eyes at him, curious. “Think about what?” Realisation dawns on her. She hums softly. “Oh. Him. Are you two still–”
“I’ll come back this weekend.” Dennis interrupts her, shoving his feet into his battered sneakers. He snags his car keys from the table by the door. Amy’s mother had let him buy her ancient toyota camry from her for the measly sum of a few hundred dollars, if only because Dennis wouldn’t take it as charity. Six months later, though, it still runs just fine. Well enough to get him from the city to the country, anyway. “I’ll see you guys later.”
“See you later, Denny.” Amy smiles, raising her daughter’s chubby hand in a wave. Dennis smiles, ducks his head, and steps out into the muggy July heat.
~*~
“Ay, que rico.”
Dennis blinks awake, staring at the ceiling. His room is still dark; that’s not a good sign.
“Fuck, Trinity—“
Scowling now, Dennis looks at his phone. 2am. He joins the chorus of groans coming from next door as he rolls over, reaching for the ancient iPod nano that lives on his bedside table. He hears the tinny sound of The Deacons from his headphones as he pushes them into his ears, A Drop In The Bucket on at full blast. Sighing, Dennis closes his eyes, and tries not to think about how bad this is for his hearing.
He starts to drift off, sleep pulling him under and making his limbs feel heavy, when Trinity’s bed starts slamming against their shared wall.
Normally, after a day on the farm, Dennis sleeps like the dead. But no amount of funk and soul can stop his bed from shaking, so he does the only thing he can think to do. He grabs his phone, opens his texts, and scrolls down a little way until he finds the name he wants.
Hey. Are you awake?
He stares at the screen, the small tick, the tiny text saying delivered. He smiles when it turns to read, three dots appearing below it.
Yup. Santos and Garcia keeping you up?
Unfortunately.
Wanna give them a run for their money?
Dennis purses his lips against a grin, tapping his phone against his chin before he responds:
I’ll be there in twenty.
~*~
He supposes they aren’t really giving Trinity and Garcia (Dennis still can’t call her Yolanda; he has to have some boundaries), because the two of them don’t even know it’s happening. Well — they know it’s happening. But it’s not like it’s happening on the other side of the wall to them.
Dennis thinks that would be mildly mortifying. It’s bad enough that Garcia knows. Dennis sees her eyeing them as she charts in the corner, or watching them through narrowed eyes when she’s called onto one of their cases. Dennis does his best to ignore it, much the same as he does his best to ignore the Spanish dirty talk coming through the wall.
Eighteen minutes after his original text, Dennis hops up the steps of the house that is now becoming very familiar to him. The pale blue frame looks grey where it's illuminated by the orange streetlamp, lacking its usual charm. The porch steps creak underfoot. Dennis raises his hand, knocking twice in quick succession, looking around to see if there’s anyone else on this quiet little street. Of course, he’s alone.
The door swings open, and Robby smiles, “Hey.”
Dennis launches himself at him, his arms around Robby’s neck, his lips on his, using his foot to kick the door closed. It shudders in the frame, the same way Dennis does when Robby slips a hand under his shirt to press against his bare skin.
“No preamble today?” Robby surmises. Dennis is already taking off his shirt, pulling it up and over his head and abandoning it on Robby’s floor as he walks them backwards to the living room.
“Nope.” He confirms, pushing his hands under the faded t-shirt Robby’s wearing so that he can scratch his fingers through the thatch of hair below his navel.
They haven’t really been doing this for very long. Dennis has suffered longing glances and lingering touches for months without anything ever coming of it. Maybe that’s a good thing; before he’d lived with Trinity, he wouldn’t have known what to do with Robby’s wide hands and strong thighs. He’s had months of her dragging him to every gay bar in Pittsburgh to learn. By the time Match Day came and went and Dennis learned he not only was he actually going to be a doctor, but he would also be staying at the Pitt for (hopefully) the next four years, he had gained a lot of new, very valuable skills.
But whilst they haven’t been doing this for long, they have been doing it often, which means that they’re very much in a routine now. Robby knows that when Dennis pushes, it’s best to give in. It’s nice to feel like the one in charge, a stark reversal of their usual roles. Dennis suspects that for Robby, it’s nice not to be the one in charge.
He pushes him down onto the sofa, hands splaying over his thighs, feeling the heat of his skin through his thin flannel pyjama pants. Dennis drops to his knees, a move so familiar to him that has taken on such a new context. When he had first done this, not for Robby but for some guy in a club bathroom downtown, he had thought of the pokey little church his mother had dragged them all to every Sunday. Stiflingly hot in the summer, freezing cold in the winter, a testament to suffering. How many hours had Dennis spent on his knees, squeezing his eyes shut and praying to a god that he wasn’t even sure existed?
He thinks that this is a kind of prayer in and of itself - most certainly, it’s a form of worship.
He spits into one hand, using the other to free Robby’s cock from the thin confines of his pants. He grasps his hard cock firmly as he strokes slowly up, and down, pressing his nose into the crease of his hip.
“They really got you worked up tonight, huh?” Robby comments, running his fingers through Dennis’s curls, scratching at the base of his skull with blunt nails, making him hum.
“I’m trying really hard not to think about them.” He reminds Robby, opening his eyes to meet his gaze as he swallows his cock almost to the base.
Dennis doesn’t look away when Robby tips his head back and groans, fingers tightening in Dennis’s hair. He’s gotten good at this now, he knows he has; he can relax his throat, regulate his breathing, move his tongue in that specific way that makes Robby flush bright red, up his neck and to his cheeks. He digs his fingers into Robby’s thighs as he bobs his head, clinging to him.
“Shit, hold on– up, get up here,” Robby says, finally tilting his head up again and reaching for Dennis, hands finding familiar holds on his shoulders. Sometimes Dennis wonders if there’s any part of him now that Robby hasn’t touched; if he could find out, he’d rectify it.
He goes willingly, hauled onto the sofa and into Robby’s lap. He kisses at his neck, nose scratched by Robby’s beard as Robby leans around him to reach for the coffee table drawer. It had been Dennis’s idea to stash a small bottle of lube in there. Seemed like a good idea at the time, and he’s been proven correct pretty much every other day since.
Dennis shifts only to rid himself of his jeans and his boxers, and he forces Robby to pause so that he can get him out of his shirt. He had learned all about Robby’s hidden tattoos the first time he had come back to his place, both the obvious ones and the intimate ones, and he still dips his head to press a kiss to each one of them. Worship, he thinks again. Maybe it comes naturally to him, maybe that’s just the effect Robby has on him. Maybe it’s both. He thinks Dennis really isn’t the only person to worship Robby in that ED, even if Dennis is the only one carrying out the rituals.
He feels wound up too tight as he gets onto his knees, forearms resting on the arm of the sofa. His cock hangs heavy beneath him, aching with want and need, leaking when Robby pushes two slick fingers into him. If Dennis is good with his mouth, Robby is best with his hands. He crooks his fingers in a way that has Dennis seeing stars, that has him begging and pleading until finally, Robby lines himself up, and pushes into him, down to the hilt in one slow stroke.
That also, always, sends Dennis reeling. He moans open-mouthed into the arm of the sofa, saliva making it wet. Thankfully there’s a blanket beneath them - whether Robby planned it or it’s divine intervention, Dennis doesn’t know. He’s grateful for it, though. With every roll of Robby’s hips against him his cock leaks, his fingers curling into the plush fabric of the sofa.
“Wait,” He manages to grind out, knowing he’s close but needing to be closer. Robby stills immediately, conscientious even in the middle of all of this. Dennis shifts, pushing himself upward, so that his back is pressed flush to Robby’s chest and he can raise his arm, wrapping it around Robby’s neck when his lips meet Dennis’s throat. With one hand holding his hip steady, Robby reaches around to stroke Dennis’s cock with each thrust of his hips into him, the angle feeling so much deeper now that he’s moved. Dennis lays his free hand over Robby’s where it sits on his hip, tipping his head back onto Robby’s shoulder, and swears as he comes. It’s only a few moments more until the rhythm of Robby’s hips falls apart and he shudders, burying his cock in Dennis as he comes along with him, a hoarse cry on his lips.
Later, when he’s showered and dressed again, Dennis looks out of the window and realises that the sun is coming up. At least Trinity and Garcia will be asleep by the time he gets back. Or so he hopes, anyway.
“You’re not working today, are you?” Robby asks, sliding him a cup of coffee.
“No.” Dennis shakes his head. “I'm off today, then I'm in for two, off for two, then in for a run of four.”
Robby grimaces, taking a sip from his own mug. Dennis pauses. He hadn’t even thought to ask before… “Are you?”
“No.” Robby shakes his head just as Dennis had before. “Last minute prep today for my, uh, sabbatical. Then I’m working the 3rd and the 4th, and then…”
Right. Sabbatical. Dennis hadn’t forgotten so much as he had been consciously ignoring it. He smiles, though for some reason the thought of Robby going away weighs heavy on him, a stone in the pit of his stomach.
“Then you’re gone.” Dennis agrees. He’s seen Robby on his motorbike many times before. It’s stupid if you ask him (and anyone else who’s worked more than one shift in the emergency department), but to each their own, he supposes.
He finishes his coffee in a few gulps, taking the mug to the sink before he grabs his jacket. It had been chilly in the middle of the night, but the sun is already halfway risen and Dennis can feel the warmth coming in through the windows. He lingers at the doorway, as Robby stands with his hands in his pockets, a small smile on his face. Dennis always thinks he looks like there’s something he wants to say, but won’t. Can’t? He doesn’t know. He reads what he thinks is sadness in Robby’s eyes, maybe resignation, but it’s a look he sees often from Robby. He isn’t sure what to do with it.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, then.” Dennis says, smiling just as weakly.
“See you then.” Robby agrees. “Get home safe.”
Dennis nods, a small thing, and then escapes onto the sidewalk. He was right; it’s already warm. He takes a deep breath of summer air as he begins the walk home, where he finds the apartment blissfully quiet. Still, he takes no chances. He flops into bed, reaches for his headphones, and listens to Sixty Minute Man until he falls asleep.
~*~
Dennis stands with his hands behind his head. He finds it’s the only way he can keep himself from interjecting whilst he watches Ogilvie try to do even the simplest of tasks – Dennis knows that he needs to learn, as does Joy, but it’s hard not to want to take over.
Though, realistically, picking gravel out of a two inch patch of road rash is hardly something Dennis need concern himself with. Maybe it’s more Ogilvie he’s worried about; Trinity has spent the entire morning since they were introduced to the new interns calling him Lurch, but Dennis thinks he’s more of a Riff Raff. There’s just something about him, some sort of vibe–
Dennis hears a giggle from behind him, off to his right, where the nurse’s station is. Letting his arms fall to his sides, he turns. Kim, Perlah and Princess are leaning on the counter, but they disperse when he turns to look at them. Behind them, Dennis sees Robby turn away too. Not part of their group, but certainly eavesdropping.
“Uh, I’ll be a minute.” Dennis says to Ogilvie, who doesn’t even look up. “Just speak up if you need help.”
He wanders over to the nurse’s station, nonchalant as he can be (which isn’t very much), and asks, “Did I miss something funny?”
“Funny?” Princess looks at him, the picture of innocence. Behind her, Kim’s cheeks are pink. Perlah is hurrying away. Robby shakes his head as he types patient notes with his index fingers, but Dennis thinks he’s hiding a smile as he turns away. “No– Kim was just talking about her weekend plans.”
Kim, her lips pressed into a thin line, cheeks pink, eyes bright, looks at Princess. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She says, giving Dennis a polite smile as she wanders away.
“Okay,” Dennis says slowly. Princess is still smiling, and he very much still feels like he’s missing out on the joke, so he asks, “Um– could you set up for a twelve-lead on my patient in North 12, please?”
“Sure can, Stretch.” Princess chirps, hurrying away from the nurses station. Behind her, Robby, the only one left at the desk, buries his face in his hands.
“Uh…” Dennis watches Princess’s retreating form. Feeling confused in the ED isn’t new for him, but it’s been a while since he felt quite this confused. He looks at Robby, bewildered, and asks, “Stretch?”
“Stretch Armstrong.” Robby sighs, shaking his head. His gaze seems to linger somewhere around Dennis's bicep, but then he looks away quickly, like he didn't mean to look in the first place. “Don’t worry about it.”
Dennis doesn’t know what that means, but he nods anyway, tapping the desk before he wanders back over to his med students.
~*~
Dennis is uploading his hand-written charts from the afternoon when Robby comes to stand beside him, leaning so closely over him that Dennis can smell his cologne and his deodorant and then cent he knows uniquely as Robby, the occasional cigarette and his off brand shampoo and the lingering scent of this morning’s cup of coffee. “Hey,” He says, taking off glasses and folding his arms over his chest, propping his elbow on the countertop next to Dennis. “Can we talk?”
Dennis looks up and has to pause, glad for the beeping of the machines and monitors around them to remind him where they are. Anywhere else, and he might’ve kissed Robby right there. It would certainly distract him from the gentle, concerned look in his eyes.
“Sure.” He says.
Robby smiles, pats his shoulder, and leads him out into the stairwell at the end of the corridor.
Now Dennis begins to wonder if he’s in trouble or something, because why is Robby leading him all the way out here? Either that or it’s something personal. Something about the two of them? They’d always agreed not to label whatever it was they were doing, to keep work and their personal lives separate, so why–
“Santos says you’re seeing that girl. The farmer’s widow.” Robby pauses, and adds, “Amy.”
Never in a million years would Dennis have guessed that was where this is going.
“Wha’?” He says, not even managing to finish the syllable, his head turning towards the ED as if he’ll be able to see Trinity through the wall.
“I mean if you are, that’s fine, she’s not a patient. But it’s a… complicated situation.” Robby is still talking, still looking at Dennis with those deep, soft eyes and his head tilted ever so slightly to the side. “I just wanted to make sure you were doing okay and that you were coping with that, because I know that day was tough for you…”
Robby is still talking, but Dennis has fully zoned out. His first question: Trinity and Robby were talking about him? Trinity? And Robby? How did that even get started, and why the hell would Trin mention the farm? Dennis’s brow furrows, a line forming between his eyebrows.
Secondly, where had the conclusion that they were dating come from? If Trinity had said that then she’s way stupider than Dennis had ever realised, because in the ten months that they’ve been living together, he’d assumed he’d made it pretty clear where he stood on the dating and sexuality front. On the one hand, sure, he was kind of too busy to date properly and way too shy to approach anyone at any of the many, many gay bars they'd visited. On the other hand, the only person he’d been routinely sleeping with in the last few months was their attending who, last time Dennis checked (and he had checked very, very recently) was a man.
Finally, though, the most bewildering and hurtful thing of all: Robby thought Dennis was cheating on Amy. With him.
And he seemed… fine with that. Like it was nothing. Like what they had was their little secret and it didn’t matter that Dennis was, supposedly, dating a widow with an infant daughter.
Is that the kind of person Robby thinks he is? Someone who would cheat? It’s strangely hurtful. If Robby had reached out and punched him in the ribs it might’ve been less painful than the ache he feels in his chest right now. Thou shalt not commit adultery. He doesn’t think you need to be Christian to know that’s one of the big ones. Not that Dennis is so religious anymore, but– he’s a good person. He likes to think he is, anyway.
Does Robby not think he’s a good person?
“Wait you– what, you think I’m dating Amy and sleeping with you?”
Robby promptly stops talking, craning his neck to look over Dennis’s shoulder, to see if there’s anyone listening. Dennis, for his part, couldn’t give a fuck. He doesn’t care if his voice echoes up the empty, cold stairwell, if the nurses on all the other floors and wards in the hospital hear them. Again, he says, “You think I’d do that?”
Robby looks at him, bewildered. Obviously it’s not what he expected Dennis to say. He opens his mouth, closes it, frowns. He tries again, saying, “I’m just saying, if–”
“Oh my god, you do.” Dennis takes an involuntary step back. Why does he feel like he wants to cry? Well - he knows why. He’s spent the last ten months of his life trying to prove to Robby that he’s a good doctor and a good person, who looks after his patients, who’s a team player, who gets his work done and does it well. And Robby thinks he’s some dumb fucking kid who commits adultery and breaks the hearts of widowed single mothers.
“I have to go.” Dennis says. Robby calls his name, but he’s already turning, shaking his head as he walks away. “Enjoy your sabbatical.” He adds over his shoulder, his head down, his hands shaking. Dennis grabs his paper charts and takes them to an empty bay, pulling the curtain round so he can type in peace.
~*~
“Huckleberry, there you are. I was about to put out an amber alert.” Trinity has pulled back the curtain he’s been hiding behind for the last half an hour. Dennis knows his eyes are red, and he feels stupid for crying. It wasn’t the hurt so much as how angry he felt, how frustrated. He had wanted to grab Robby by the shoulders and ask him why the hell he would think that about him. Maybe he should’ve. Maybe running away was easier.
Trinity is still talking, sitting on the end of the exam table with her knees pulled up to her chest. “I was thinking quesadillas for dinner tonight, what do you think? We can order them from that good place near that bar–”
“What did you say to Robby?”
Trinity blinks. Dennis is staring at her, his gaze sullen, his jaw tight. He can tell that she knows she’s fucked up. Her eyes widen for a brief second before she shrugs, acting nonchalant, “He asked how living together was going. I told him you spend a lot of time at the farm so I don’t really see you–”
“That’s not–”
“--true?” Trinity finishes for him. “You’re there every weekend, Whitaker. Sometimes through the week, too. What am I supposed to think?”
“That– that I’m helping her?” Dennis suggests. His voice is getting louder and he tries to rein it in, but he can’t stop. There’s a small part of him, deep in the back of his mind, that panics. He’s making a scene! He’s going to get himself in trouble! But he can’t bring himself to care. “That I couldn’t keep her husband alive so I owe her one? Or how about I’m a fourth generation dairy farmer and it’s kind of nice being back on a farm when I’m away from home.”
Trinity looks like she wants to argue, and then thinks better of it. She stares at him, mute, her throat bobbing. Dennis think he knows why; she’s never seen him this upset before, angry and hurt. He stands, files in his hand, and says, “How about it’s none of your fucking business?”
“Dennis–” She begins, but he’s off again. Is there nowhere in the ER where he can get five seconds of peace? He pulls the curtain back just to find Robby standing directly in front of him, Dennis’s nose almost brushing his clavicle as he pushes past him. Behind Robby, half the emergency department staff are staring.
“Excuse me.” Dennis grits out, pushing past Robby, nearly colliding with Dana as she rounds the desk. Robby must move to go after him, because he hears Dana mutter leave him. He’s always liked her best, Dennis thinks.
He puts his files away, and goes to see another patient.
~*~
It’s already dark when he gets to Amy’s place, but he knows the way well enough by now to feel comfortable following the small patch of road illuminated by his shitty headlights. He parks the car alongside the barn, same place he always does, and leaves his overnight bag in the trunk for now.
Amy isn’t a dairy farmer by background, not like Teddy was. She had told him over that very first dinner that her family had always grown crops, cereals for the most part, boring as hell. When she was ten she’d demanded she be allowed some kind of livestock, and she’d had a small flock of Rambouillet ewes ever since. Dennis can hear them bleating, singing for their supper, so he heads into the barn and picks up a bag of feed.
“I was just about to do that.” Amy calls. She’s strapping Charlotte into the carrier that she slings onto her back when she needs both hands for working. She must be alone tonight; she tries not to bring Charlotte out amongst the livestock if she can help it. The ewes are much calmer and more docile than the milking cows, but they’re still big, block-headed animals.
“I’ve got it.” Dennis replies simply, slinging it over his shoulder and carrying it out to the field.
He lets himself in via the gate that opens onto the farmyard, the girls crowding him as he does. There’s a penknife in his pocket, one he keeps in his car, the handiest tool you can have on a farm, and he uses it to split the bottom corner of the bag open. Walking in as straight a line he can manage, he pours out the feed until the bag is empty, pleased when the ewes form neat rows along the pile of pellets.
When he turns, Amy is leaning against the fence, smiling softly. “I thought you weren’t coming tonight?” She says. “Didn’t you have something planned with your sugar boss?”
“You’ve got to stop saying that.” Dennis tells her, climbing over the gate instead of opening it this time. “It’s cringey.”
“I don’t care.” She laughs. Amy pauses, and Dennis knows she’s assessing him as she follows him back to the barn. The empty bags lie in a heap, waiting to be recycled, and he adds another one to the pile. “Did something happen?”
Dennis fiddles with his pen knife, flicking the blade open and closed again. Finally he shakes his head, offers her a small smile, and asks, “Mind if I stay the weekend again?”
“‘Course not.” Amy says gently. “You’re always welcome. But you’ll have to help with milking in the morning.”
“A fair trade.” Dennis says, as if he doesn’t help her in the parlour every time he’s at her place.
As they head back to the house, Dennis stops off to grab his bag. As he’s lifting it from the trunk, his phone buzzes, Robby’s name flashing up. Dennis considers throwing his phone in the trunk and leaving it there, but curiosity wins out. In the dim light from the barn, he opens the message.
Hey. Wanted to check you were okay after today.
Didn’t mean to upset you or anything. Speak to
you soon?
Dennis sighs. Amy was right about him having plans. Nothing big. Nothing major, just– Dennis had thought maybe he could surprise him, ambush him near the end of shift, invite himself over for a nice dinner and a few beers and a very late night for Robby to remember him by when he hit the open road. He thinks about it. He could call him, could get in the car and drive 45 minutes back to Robby’s place, show up unannounced. But– he’s at Amy’s. He’d promised her he’d help this weekend. And even though he knows she wouldn’t mind if he left and came back, he can’t help but wonder if it would probe Robby right. Robby, who thinks Dennis is a cheater and a liar.
Dennis puts his phone in his back pocket, and heads inside the house.