Push

6. He Told the Truth

TOBY

Gwen hadn't changed the locks.

Not yet.

I breathed a sigh of relief when my key turned and the front door clicked open. It had only taken a day and a hundred wrong choices to lose myself completely. The good man who chased down the asshole who ripped Gwen's handbag off her shoulder at the train station was gone. I was a coward now. No point denying it. I was escaping.

I didn't want to face what was happening on my front lawn. Strangers squabbling and haggling over everything I owned. Gwen's death glare just begging me to challenge her in front of the angry horde. My guilt. I didn't want to face any of it. It was easier to run.

The stairs groaned under my feet as I bounded up two at a time. I was busting for the toilet, but I shot straight past the bathroom. Past the bedroom, too. My gaze locked on the door with painted baby forest animals peeking out of swirls of green. One of Gwen's weekend projects. She wanted every bit of that nursery to be perfect. 

The door was cracked open, the room dark, and only a splinter of early morning sun peeked through the gap in the curtains. I pushed the door wider and slipped inside, creeping on soft feet toward the crib.

"Well, well, well." The sharp whisper was low but familiar. My eyes darted in every direction, but I saw nothing—no one—in the dark room. "Look who decided to show his face."

There was a snap. The mushroom light on the nightstand turned on, and the dull blue glow of its smiling cheeks revealed my sister. Tanya was sitting in the rocking chair, legs crossed and still wearing her green doctor's scrubs.

She glared at me over the top of her Kindle. "It's a three-hour drive from our nation's capital to Sydney. Explain to me how I still made it here before you?" She gave me a sharp once-over, her eyes growing narrower the more she saw. "On second thought, maybe don't bother."

I didn't bother. I learned after the Great Revenge Hair Bleach years ago never to argue with my sister. It started over a Tim Tam. It ended with my mother huffing and puffing all the way to the hairdresser to try to fix the mess Tanya had made of my hair. Good times.

I shuffled the last few steps to the crib. My hands gripped the sides. I swallowed. Peered over the edge. The fist that had squeezed tight around my heart since I heard Gwen's messages finally let go.

Noah was there, all snuggled up in a striped onesie on his belly, butt in the air, and his thumb stuffed in his mouth. Gwen fretted when he slept like that. She said it wasn't safe. I wanted him to be safe. I scooped my hand under his tummy and rolled him on his back. He grumbled a few sounds and stretched his tiny fists above his head, but his eyes stayed closed.

I ran my palm over his fuzzy hair, his chubby belly. He couldn't see me, but I smiled anyway. Never felt so relieved to see that little guy.

Tanya scoffed from the rocking chair. "Maybe you should wash off the skank before you touch the untainted skin of my precious nephew."

"Precious nephew?" It was my turn to scoff. "You hate kids. The last time you saw Noah, you refused to hold him because you were scared of catching the pregnants. Did Gwen seriously ask you to look after him?"

Tanya lifted a shoulder, eyes still on her Kindle. "She weighed up her options. Out of me and the artist, at least I have medical training. Who else do you think should be looking after your son? You?" She snorted. "Your mistress?"

My fingers curled around the crib, the wood digging in my palms. Tanya was poking at my nerves. It was working. "I don't have a mistress."

"Oh? Tell that to your wife. Better yet, tell that to your mistress. You've seen the photos your sidepiece tagged, right?"