Page 95 of Push

Now, after asking for the third time, her hands landed on her hips. She’d had enough of me. “Stop being stubborn.” She pointed to the open door. “Kitchen. Now.”

My shoulders slumped, feeling small even though I towered over her, I trudged inside.

Gwen was first down the hallway, but she didn’t charge ahead with the confident stride I was used to seeing. Every so often, she flicked a glance over her shoulder. Her forehead wrinkled. She was worried. That was my fault, too.

“I’ll get something for your hand,” she said.

I nodded, and her wary eyes pinned me one final time before she headed to the fridge. Nervous energy shot through my veins. I hovered around the kitchen island, unsure what to do with myself. The fruit bowl was a good distraction. I started rearranging Noah’s prized bananas.

Gwen tugged open the freezer door and bent over, rummaging in the bottom drawer. “Where are they… Oh!” She reached over to slip a white tea towel off the oven door, folded it around a bag of frozen peas, and passed it to me like a perfectly wrapped gift.

I mumbled, “Thanks.”

The bruising and swelling on my hand weren’t that bad, but I pressed the peas down on my knuckles anyway. Gwen’s lips stretched. A grimace or a smile, I wasn’t sure. In the old days, she probably would’ve paced the kitchen or rage-scrubbed the sink as she hurled advice at me that would’ve been helpful if I hadn’t already done whatever dumb thing I’d done.

Now, she was quiet.

No cleaning. No advice. Her hip pressed into the countertop, and she tilted her head, watching me. My nerves sparked. I stacked the pears haphazardly in the fruit bowl. I didn’t know what else to do.

Gwen sighed. “I think you should stay tonight.”

A knot twisted in my gut. This wasn’t a “Hey, come hang out, and maybe we’ll screw around later” kind of invitation. She was worried.

“Gwen, this wasn’t a trick to get invited back into the house.”

“I know.”

“I’m fine.”

Her laugh was short. “Toby, you’re not even close to fine.”

I fussed around, readjusting the frozen peas on my hand. Anything was easier than seeing the deep line pinching between Gwen’s eyes. She wasn’t wrong. I wasn’t fine. I was in some dark limbo that I couldn’t laugh off. That didn’t mean forcing myself on her, though.

“I know you’re uncomfortable with me staying over,” I replied.

Gwen’s fingers drummed the countertop, thinking over my words. “Yeah,” she eventually admitted. “But I need to have eyes on you to know you’re okay.”

“I’m sorry, Gwen. I shouldn’t have said—”

“Yes, you absolutelyshouldhave. You and I aren’t good at talking about important things, but we’re trying, aren’t we?” She didn’t quite smile, but the hint of one still reassured me. “No matter what’s happening between us, I still care about you. It doesn’t mean I forgive you or that I have any clue what happens next, but Idocare. I want you to stay tonight.” She grimaced. “But not, um—”

“Understood.”

I spared her having to say out loud that I needed to be banished to the guest room or the couch. Honestly, I would’vecamped in a tent out back if that was the only option. The chance to be home with Gwen and Noah—to be useful—for a whole day released the crushing squeeze around my chest.

“I know you’re working,” I said. “I’m sure I can do plenty of things around the house to keep busy.”

I found more than plenty.

The house was quieter than a museum with Gwen locked away in the study and Noah at daycare. I dug my overnight bag out of the car, showered, and changed into something not covered in the blood of my alleged best friend.

Time to get busy.

I emptied the trash, raked the leaves out front, oiled the front gate, and caught up on the laundry—so muchlaundry. Noah had a more active social life than royalty, but I stood there, staring at the hamper in disbelief. How didonebaby go throughsomany clothes? Oh, well. If I was doing it, I was doing it right. I got out my phone and watched two tutorials about washing and drying baby pajamas so they came out extra soft and fluffy.

I was fine plugging through the long to-do list until I stopped to take a breath. Something about standing on the patch of lawn out the back punched me in the gut.

I was home, but for how long?

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