Page 88 of Push

Toby’s laugh was light. “I promise. I’ve listened and learned. Anyway, I don’t want to keep you. Enjoy some downtime on yourlunch break. We’ll miss you.” He waved goodbye. “I love you, Gwen.”

Even though it was on the tip of my tongue to whisper, “Love you too,” I didn’t. I ended the call.

28

He Took a Swing

Toby

I learned the hardway that I’m not supposed to park myself in front of a psychologist, blurt out that I cheated on my wife, and demand that the poor guy fix me.

To Dylan’s credit, he was a lot calmer than I was. Only one of his bushy gray eyebrows rose above the rim of his tortoiseshell glasses before he put his notebook down and handed me a glass of water.

“Toby,” he said. “I can’t fix you because you’re not broken.”

“I know you’ve got all those diplomas”—I waved my hand at the gold frames on the back wall—“but I think you might be wrong about that.”

Dylan sank into his leather chair. He rested an ankle on his knee, then did that doctor thing where he tilted his head and watched me like he was reading my mind.

“How long have you thought something was wrong with you?” he asked. “Or that you needed to be fixed? Has it only been since you were unfaithful to your wife?”

My gaze dropped to my hands. “I don’t know.” My shoulders hiked around my ears. “Maybe…always?”

“That’s a long time. How does that make you feel?”

I eyed Dylan suspiciously. “You’re one of those guys who wants to talk about feelings?”

“You don’t want to talk about how you feel?”

“I don’tknowhow I feel. If I knew, do you think I would’ve done so much dumb shit to hurt my wife?”

Dylan did the head-tilting thing again. “Okay, let’s forget feelings for now. Maybe you can tell me why you want to fix yourself.”

“Easy. So I can be a good husband… A good dad… A decent person. I’m none of those right now.”

“And when you’ve achieved that—being a good husband and good dad—what does that look like? How would your life be different?”

“Gwen would love me. She’d smile when I come home. She’d let me touch her. Cuddle her…” We’d sleep in the same bed. We’d have sex. We hadn’t in…forever. I exhaled a sharp breath. I wasn’t telling Old Man Dylananyof that. He’d think I was a damn creep. “Forget it. It’s stupid. I’m acting like a selfish dumbass.” I rose to my feet. “I don’t even know why I’m here—”

“Toby.” Dylan was on his feet, too. His palm shot up, urging me not to storm out of his office. “This is a lot. I’m not bullshitting you when I say that you’ve taken a huge step coming here today. Can I ask… Are you into sports?”

“Uh, yeah. I played rugby growing up.”

“Okay.” Dylan lowered himself into his chair. “Imagine you’re the captain of a rugby team.”

“Easy.” I grinned. “I was.”

“I believe it.” He quirked a smile. Were psychologists allowed to smile? “So, you’ve been called up to play in a tournament where you can win a million dollars but can’t pick your team. On the day of the match, you rock up. One of the guys has a broken arm. Another guy can’t pass for shit. You’ve got someone sitting on the bench who’s sick of the whole thing. Do you play the game or go home?”

That was a no-brainer. “I play.”

“Even though the team isn’t the best?”

I shrugged. “Well, if you don’t play, you’ve already lost your chance at the million, right?” I sat down. Brainstorming sports. Yeah, not so bad. A complete waste of money, but I was here anyway, right? “What if all the other teams are shit, too? Plus, I reckon I could rally my guys. Maybe they just need the right person to motivate them and show them how it’s done.”

Dylan’s nod was thoughtful. “Yeah, that’s right. It’s not about fixing everyone on the team so they’re perfect. It’s about accepting and working with what you’ve got.” His head tilted, mind reading again. “Do you see how that might be what you need, too? What if you had the right guy helping you pick the tools to handle some of your situations? Talk through some options?”

“You’re saying you’re that guy?”

---