4. He Didn’t Go Home
He Didn’t Go Home
Toby
Tap, tap, tap.
I lifted my head. The world was dark and fuzzy around the edges. I squinted through the pain spearing my temple and strained my tired eyes to focus on something— anything —in front of me. Smudged streetlights floated on a sea of black.
Was it…nighttime?
I blinked again. Haze shaped like a tree. The blurred outline of a parking meter. A…steering wheel?
My head jerked back and hit the headrest, pain shooting through my skull.
Shit.
I’d fallen asleep in the car.
I tugged a hand through my hair, and the stench of stale booze smacked me in the face. I sniffed under my arm. That couldn’t be…me? How long had I been slumped over the steering wheel? I’d only meant to close my eyes for a few minutes until I was sober enough to drive home.
Tap, tap, tap.
Confusion drilled deep in my chest. That noise again. My eyes went wild in every direction, and I ended up flicking a look over my shoulder out the window. My body seized up.
Eyes—crinkled, deep-set, no face—stared back.
There was another impatient knock against the window, and a muffled voice barked, “Sir?”
I almost didn’t want to look. Cautious, my pulse thundering, I glanced back over my shoulder. The crinkled eyes stared back. Rolling lights of blue and red lit up a leather jacket…a badge…a helmet…and the motorcycle parked beside my car.
A cop.
Great. Just…great.
The cop pointed down. My brain was foggy. It took me a few beats to realize he was signaling to lower the window. I smashed the button on the door. Nothing happened.
The cop’s eyes narrowed, and he pointed down again.
Frantic, I stabbed at the button over and over. He must have thought I was a moron. Or drunk. Or both. My tired brain finally registered that the car needed to be turned on to use the electric windows. I thumped the button for the ignition. The dash lit up.
I forgot all about the pissed-off cop glaring at me. My eyes were glued to the clock.
12:18 a.m.
My breath seized in frozen lungs.
Gwen was going to skin me alive. She was already on edge, subjecting me to an endless inquisition and raising her eyebrow whenever I mentioned Kayleigh’s name. How would this look? I’d royally screwed up. Didn’t this prove Gwen had been right to be worried?
Tap, tap.
“Sir?”
I stabbed at the button again. The window lowered. “Evening, uh… Officer.” I cleared my throat. A forced smile followed in my perpetual quest for people to like me. It didn’t seem to sway him, though. “How can I help you?”
The cop introduced himself, and it was all blah, blah, blah . I didn’t hear a word.
My mind was too busy racing to find an excuse for why I was late home.
I was a shit liar. Gwen would see straight through me, but I couldn’t hurt her with the truth.
She didn’t deserve that. And…maybe… I wouldn’t even need to lie.
Maybe she’d zonked out after reading a chapter or two of her book hours ago and wouldn’t hear me if I snuck in through the garage—
“This vehicle was reported stolen.”
Every thought racing through my mind screeched to a stop. “Sorry—I—what?”
“This vehicle was reported stolen from a residence in Cammeray an hour ago.”
My residence. “But this is my car.”
“Sir, I need to see your license.”
“Oh. Yeah. Of course.” I wriggled on the seat, dug my wallet out of my back pocket, and flipped it open.
My eyes caught on the photo tucked inside of Noah beaming his cheeky dimpled smile.
Invisible fingers squeezed around my heart.
This wasn’t the type of man I wanted to be—passed out drunk and being questioned by the police.
That was some other guy. Not me. I tugged my license free. “Here you go.”
The cop snagged the card from my fingers, looked at it, flipped it over, and looked back at me. “Big night, Dr. Sullivan?”
I threw him one of those questioning eyebrows Gwen liked to do. The cop tapped a gloved finger to his jaw.
What the…?
I straightened up, arching my neck to get a look in the rearview mirror. Red lipstick branded my collar…my jaw…my lips. Shit . I scrambled to scrub the evidence of the biggest mistake of my life from my face with frantic hands and only made a bigger mess.
“Uh, no.” My jaw burned, red and raw, but every reminder of Kayleigh needed to be erased. “Just, um, you know, a late night at work.” That was a weak excuse I’d heard my father mutter a hundred times. I wasn’t fooling anyone with that crap. “I was about to head home.”
The cop grunted a laugh. “We’ll see about that.”
He took his sweet time tapping on his tiny computer of power and calling dispatch to have a laugh. A breathalyzer was shoved in front of my face. The cop seemed disappointed when I blew just under the limit.
I sagged against the seat, muscles weak with relief. One less problem.
The cop held out my license, but before I could snatch it back, he suggested, “Maybe let your missus know the next time you’re working late, eh?”
There’d never be a next time .
The cop’s motorcycle disappeared down the empty street.
12:38 a.m.
I slumped against the glass entrance to Ian’s building and smacked the intercom with my hand. A high-pitched ring pierced my skull but quickly stopped.
“Ye…ah?” Ian’s voice was groggy.
“Mate, let me up.”
“Toby?”
“I think so.” Was I Toby? I wasn’t even sure I was alive at this point. My vision was cloudy, and the world was slippery and blurred around the edges. “I’ve introduced my guts to the garden by the front doors. I don’t think your neighbors want me to repeat my efforts.”
“Shit.” The door buzzer sounded. “Get up here.”
I stumbled inside the building and through the lobby. How did I make it to Ian’s floor? No idea. I didn’t remember pressing any buttons, but when the elevator door opened, Ian stood there, head cocked, and his hands on the hips of his black sweats.
“Don’t ask,” I muttered.
He frowned, worried eyes sweeping over me from head to toe. “Tobes, Jesus—” His words stopped when his gaze landed on my collar. The smudged lipstick told more stories than I was prepared to spill.
“Don’t ask about that, either.” I staggered past him into his apartment.
Ian’s mouth pressed flat. The front door closed without any questions. I squeezed my eyes shut to blot out the harsh light of his too-white living room and collapsed face-first onto the couch.
“Just quietly…” A mountain of fluff muffled my voice. “I feel really fucking weird.”
“No more drinking for you.” Ian tugged away some pillows and pushed me upright. “How’d you get here? Tell me you didn’t drive.”
Tipping my head to the side, I thought it over. “I don’t know.” I pressed a shaky palm against my cheek. Cold. “I think I walked. Mate… I can’t go home like this.” A wave of nausea hurtled up my throat, but I battled to keep it down. “Gwen…”
He nodded before dropping his chin against his chest. He understood.
Gwen wouldn’t handle it. I’d pieced together enough of her childhood from the snippets of information I’d dragged out of her over the years to understand that staggering in drunk was a terrible idea. Her mother had been an alcoholic, and it had torn her tiny family apart.
Gwen only acknowledged her past on the last day of October.
Each year, she baked, picked one sad, lonely cupcake off the tray, grabbed a bottle of wine, and parked herself on the outdoor lounge.
I’d lost count of how many times I’d scooped her up and carried her to bed after she’d fallen asleep with her face turned up at the moon.
Liam’s birthday was the only time she ever drank more than one glass.
“Let’s sober you up,” Ian said, “and get you home.”
I think I said, “Thanks, man,” but my head swam, the white walls wobbling from side to side like a leaky boat lurching on the waves. My eyes drifted shut. The rocking slowed. The lights faded, and the quiet sank into my bones… So…nice…
“Tobes.” Ian’s voice pulled me from the fog. “Wake up.”
My eyelids dragged open. “Mmm?” Groaning, I stretched out my arms. “What time is it?”
“Five minutes since the last time you asked.” He plonked a mug on the coffee table. “Drink it. Black with a double shot.” He lowered himself onto the edge of the couch, each movement stiff, his posture rigid instead of sinking into the back like usual. His gaze shifted to the window. “Tobes…”
“Mmm?”
“Did you fuck her?”
I fought to keep my eyes open. “Gwen hasn’t let me touch her in what feels like forever.” Wait … Should I be telling him that? Probably not.
“Not…” He let out a sharp breath. “Jesus, not Gwen . Kay.”
I snorted. “I wouldn’t fuck Kayleigh with a hazmat suit on. She tastes all wrong and squishes in the wrong places. Not like my Gwendolyn.” Memories of happier nights lulled me into the quiet spot where even my bones were sleepy. “Gwen’s so…so…”
“So?”
“Flawless.” A tired smile stretched across my face. “Yeah, Gwen’s just this smart, sexy kind of perfection, you know?”
“I know.” Ian held out his hand. “Here.”
I narrowed my eyes on the blurry white blob in his open palm. “What’s that?”
“For your headache.” Ian shoved a glass of water in my face. “Take it.”
“Oh, yeah… Good idea.”
I popped the tablet in my mouth, and the glass of water was gone in two gulps. Not such a great idea. Too much liquid sloshed around in my uneasy stomach, threatening to lurch back up. I slumped forward and reached for the coffee.
I grimaced through a sip… Another… “Where’s the milk?”
“Not about to be spewed all over my new rug.”
I chuckled. “Smart.” I gulped a few more sips and then let my head fall against the back of the couch. “Coop, do you think Gwen will ever forgive me?”
Ian’s hand closed over mine, and the mug slipped free. I thought I heard him mumble, “No,” but maybe that was the whisper of my own guilty conscience.
I squinted at my watch. The numbers were fuzzy…
2:07 a.m.