Push

34. She Heard the Report

GWEN

When Toby put his mind to something, he bloody well did it.

Once upon a time, he wanted to be a carpenter. He tossed around the idea of being a mechanic, too. His parents shot back a ferocious 'Hell no' to both options. Their son wasn't going to be some blue-collar worker. Their daughter was studying to be a doctor. They were important people.

What horseshit.

Toby laughed it all away. He hid how deflated he was by sticking his nose in the university course guide and reading it from cover to cover. Somewhere between calling himself stupid and considering veterinary science until I reminded him he'd have to put animals to sleep, he settled on dentistry.

He knew it'd be a battle to get in. He was never that dedicated to his studies. He liked sports. Using his hands. Doing. But he had a plan. He wrote his goal on a post-it note and stuck it on his bathroom mirror. It fell off. Next time, he used sticky tape, and it stayed. It was sheer determination and grinding through all his schoolwork—and maybe a few encouraging make-out sessions disguised as tutoring—that got him there in the end.

When Toby walked me through his plan to deal with the Kayleigh situation, I took notice. It wasn't a knee-jerk offer. He'd thought about it—dental school thought about it.

He wrote a list and ticked off everything he said he would. He got a new phone. Swearing and muttering confirmed he was changing all his passwords. He downloaded an app that helped him find the AirTag stuck to the bottom of his car. The locksmith came and went. Tick, tick, tick.

The hardest part was watching Toby sift through all the secrets in his gym bag. He read and translated all of Kayleigh's notes. Took photos. Tucked each note in a ziplock bag, and if he remembered a date, he scrawled it on the front with a marker. When he was finished, white as a ghost, he stalked out of the kitchen and disappeared to the bathroom. I stood outside. I didn't hear him puke his guts up, but I think he did.

My knock was soft. "Toby." I cracked the door open a sliver and peeked inside. He was hunched over the sink, looking like death warmed up. "Are you okay?"

He took a deep breath but didn't look up. "I should have done something sooner." He shook his head. "I'm sorry."

No shit. He should have, but I didn't bother rubbing in how he'd screwed up. He knew. We were moving past pointing fingers. Something was changing. Small. Slow. Almost invisible. A new version of us.

That night, when the bedroom was dark and my legs were tangled in the sheets, Toby whispered a silly new chapter in his never-ending The Adventures of Gwen. I'd missed how he stroked my hair as his deep voice dulled all the noise whirring in my brain. And when my eyes were squeezed shut, and I didn't dare move, I realized how much I'd missed how he nuzzled his nose against my temple when he thought I was asleep.

"I wish you'd love me again," he whispered like he truly was making a wish. "Like you used to... Before we had to grow up."

Toby had impossible dreams.

That night, I had none. No nightmares. No tossing and turning or needing the white noise of my phone to fall back asleep after I'd woken up for the hundredth time. I slept.

I only lifted one eye open when a tiny, chubby hand patted my cheek. The curtains were drawn shut, but a sliver of sunlight and a big gummy smile beamed into my blurry eyes. Noah squealed and patted my cheek again.

I wrinkled my nose. "His hands smell like bananas."

"That's 'cause he ate one for first breakfast." Toby flopped on the bed beside us. "I let you sleep in as long as I could. NoBo was getting feral. He wanted his Super Mama."