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Toby decided not to go to the club. Sure, seeing Happy with Chet might provide some closure, might help his brain to finally get the memo… But what could he say, self-destruction and self-punishment were more familiar things than right choices.
He thought about his favorite way of numbing feelings: a dimly lit room, sleazy characters, and the poker table. Yet, for some reason, even that didn't feel right. He remembered Happy's disapproving look the last time she'd dragged him home after another shitty night. Hell, he even thought of Amy — how she'd calmly placed the ring on the table, right on top of his bookie slips. She hadn’t thrown it at him like he deserved.
Back then, he’d tried to ignore what they both already knew: their feelings had burned out long ago. He wasn’t ready to face it, to face being alone again. The illusion of normalcy, the idea of it, had been too sweet. But reality was cruel and he hid. Instead of accepting there was no future, he’d made them both miserable. Amy had finally quit.
Even as he blamed Quincy for it, deep down, a nagging little voice — wearing a doctor’s scrubs — whispered the truth: there was only one person to blame. That’s why he made the call, to prove he wasn’t as bad, he was just in a bad place. That he’s a good guy. He’s not the trash he’d believed himself to be since them. Or since choosing college over staying to take care of his mother.
Amy had asked him not to call. He’d already ruined years of her life, wasted her time on an idea that didn't last. Of course, she knew better; he didn’t deserve to be happy. He didn’t deserve Happy.
And now, here he was again, repeating the same mistake: more gambling, more misery, instead of simply understanding that this was the end. If he didn’t accept it soon, he’d lose Happy for good. All those years of friendship would vanish if he couldn’t face the truth:
This was the end.
Hell, maybe there had never even been a real beginning.
Toby went to the gym. Not the one Cabe had shown him — just the first cheap place he passed on his way from the garage. He didn’t even bother changing clothes, just paid for the basic weekly pass and headed straight for the punching bag. He hit, and hit, and hit.
Instead of Chet’s face, he imagined his own. Every mistake, from the first to the last. The first time he sat at a real table with real stakes, he’d won enough money to feed the family for a month. He’d known it was time to stop. He was tired, less attentive. But the only alternative was to go home. So, he’d stayed. Then returned the next day to win back. And the next.
He thought of Walter finding him, all the arrests, the stupid brawls — how low he’d sunk. How low he still was. Amy’s face when she’d finally broken their engagement. Happy’s face that morning. His own stupid, sleeping face! Just a big disappointment to everyone.
Hit. Hit. Hit.
Dammit, he was so weak. Even a child could probably box better! The thought stoked his anger.
Hit. Hit. Hit.
Yes, Toby, you deserve this! His hands would probably hurt tomorrow, but who cared?
“Sir, we’re closing for the night,” a voice called from across the room. The gym administrator stood at a distance, looking at him with a mix of discomfort and fear. Yeah, Toby thought bitterly, I’d think I was some lunatic who had escaped from an asylum, too.
He took the boxing gloves off and walked through the empty gym, out to the deserted parking lot.
Even now, the idea of a night at the poker table didn’t appeal. Even those fleeting moments of adrenaline and excitement felt like too much. He needed to finally accept the failure, not run from it.
Maybe it’d be better just to go home and drink himself into oblivion.
Toby pulled out of the parking lot, cranking up the music as loud as it could go.
Thundering guitar riffs drowned out his thoughts, pushing them back just enough for him to keep going. The urge to slam the pedal down, to blow through red lights at full speed, was nearly impossible to resist. But he couldn’t allow himself to hurt yet another person. Enough was enough.
So, he shouted the lyrics of every song blasting from the speakers, his voice raw and strained.
“I just died in your arms tonight!” Toby yelled, the words ripped from his lungs with zero understanding. “It must have been something you said!” he continued the lyrics.
Then something shifted — something subtly fell into place.
“I just died in your arms tonight…” he croaked, his voice hoarse as he sang along with the Cutting Crew vocalist. But his mind wasn’t with the music anymore.
He yanked the steering wheel, turning the car around sharply. He knew he’d have to call Cabe for help later, but he didn’t care.
By the time he pulled into Happy’s parking lot, the song was just finishing.
He sprinted up the stairs and immediately knocked on her door. Maybe it wasn't a good idea, he thought, waiting for the door to open.
What if she isn’t home?
She’d had a date with Chet. Of course, she wasn’t home. She was probably still at the club, smiling and laughing at something Chet said. Maybe even dancing — even though she hates it.
Or worse, they were here, behind this door. They’d had one drink and then come back here. Chet would’ve made her laugh, helped her relax after her long, stressful day. And now they were both annoyed at the idiot banging on her door, interrupting their bliss.
At first, Toby had made her angry at the Smart House. Now, just as she’d started to relax, here he was again, ruining everything.
It seemed like all he was capable of doing was making her angry.
Maybe it was another self-destructive act. His subconscious just wanted her to end their friendship, instead of him accepting that she was with someone else. That she’s moved on.
“Doc? What are you doing here?” She looked even smaller than usual in her plaid pajama pants and oversized T-shirt, standing barefoot in the doorway. “Are you drunk?” she asked in a second, her eyes scanning his disheveled appearance.
“No, Happy, I just...” He stopped, forcing himself to gather his thoughts. Before he could finish, she gripped his shirt and pulled him inside, shutting the door behind him.
“I’m sober,” he said finally. “Enough to realize how much of a jackass I’ve been. You saved my life, Hap. Not just with CPR. I know Walt and I know you. Several minutes and I’d be playing my donor card.” He gave a smirk, watching her expression.
“And instead of a simple ‘thank you,’ you went on and on about how much you didn’t need me.” She didn’t sound angry. There was something in her eyes — glimmering, not tears, but fragments of sadness.
“Yes. Hap, you saved me, and I didn’t even thank you. I came here because I realized how terrible that was.”
“Why?” she asked, crossing her arms tightly, as though she was close to hypothermia.
“Because I want you to know how much I appreciate everything you do. Even when I act like an asshole. Even when I don’t deserve your help. Especially when I don’t deserve it.”
“No,” she said, shaking her head quickly. “Why are you like this? Why were you like this today? And yesterday, and...” She took a deep breath and looked at him, saying nothing more.
A rough strand of hair had slipped loose from the messy bun, and for a moment, Toby felt an overwhelming need to protect her.
The truth was, she had saved him.
The least he could do was protect her from his own burning self-destruction and refusal to accept reality.
“I tried to distance myself from you,” he said, the words spilling out like they were the most logical thing in the world. Then he sank down against the wall and buried his face in his hands.
“I got it, Doc. This isn’t my first rodeo,” she replied bitterly. Toby sharply raised his head at the uneven and slightly trembling sound of her voice. “I just don’t understand why. What did I do wrong?”
Toby jumped to his feet and placed his hands on her shoulders. His touch was featherlight, as if he was afraid to get too close.
“You did nothing wrong! You’re perfect!” he said, crouching until his face was on the same level as hers.
He heard her whisper, “Then why are you casting me aside... like they...”
She didn’t need to finish. He knew exactly what she meant.
“I would never abandon you, Happy. You’re the most important person in my life, and I don’t want to lose you.” He gulped, closing his eyes briefly before continuing. “I just... I just need some time, okay? I just need to move on.”
Happy stepped back, her wide eyes locking onto his.
“What is it, Hap?” he asked, awkwardly shoving his hands into his jeans pockets.
“Nothing, Doc. I got it,” she said, her voice rough and clipped. He could see her invisible walls going up, layer by layer. “You want to move on? Good. Just do it without the big words. Don’t.”
And Toby lost it.
He thought he might shout at her, cry, or even punch the wall barehanded. He pictured her angry, disgusted face as she would tell him to leave and never come back. He knew that was what he deserved.
But instead, he took a step back and leaned against the wall, as if he needed it to hold him up, to steady himself for what he was about to say. To stay both as far away and as close to her as possible.
Because the truth was, it was impossible for him to give up.
“I don’t want to move on!” he finally exclaimed. “And that’s the problem. I want to spend time with you. Watch stupid shows on TV and eat takeout on the couch. Walk through the car salvage with you and hold all the things whose purpose I don’t understand. I want to wire the dollhouse with you and craft or buy those little things you call stupid and childish, but you still add to your collection — because you secretly like them. I want to make you smile, not angry.”
He couldn’t look at her. Couldn’t meet her eyes.
It was cowardice, yes. Just another thing to hate about himself.
“And I know you don’t want any of this,” Toby said, his voice breaking. “Not with me. You’re with Chet, and I have to move on. I swear I will eventually, just…”
“I want it,” her words were short and firm, and he hummed in response. Well, that’s your cue, Toby, he thought bitterly. Time to leave. Maybe it wasn’t too late to join a game and get beaten. “With you.”
Toby’s head snapped up so fast he almost made himself dizzy. Happy hadn’t moved. She stood rooted to the same spot, staring at the parquet floor.
“I’m not with Chet. His wife probably wouldn’t like that,” she said with a faint, self-satisfied smile. Then, more seriously: “I’m with you. I will be. At a slow pace. I thought.”
And then everything clicked.
He’d always been there for her — showing his feelings, ready to help. And then, suddenly, he wasn’t. He’d never come to work on the dollhouse, ignored her and started creating distance between them.
Happy had never told him much about her life in foster care, but you didn’t need a Harvard degree to see the pattern. At first, people would try to win her over, coax her into opening up and trusting them. But eventually, they grew tired of the new toy and abandoned her when the novelty wore off.
He’d done the same.
He’d made everyone miserable. Again.
“I’m sorry.”
Toby crossed the space between them and knelt in front of her — not to beg, but to meet her eyes. He didn’t want her to feel small. Didn’t want her to feel afraid.
She was. Happy — so strong and intimidating — was constantly scared.
And he, so full of himself, was full of self-hatred. But they could get through it, together.
“You said you’d never give up.”
“And I won’t. Not unless it’s something you want.”
“I don’t want it.”
“Neither do I.”
They were like that for a long time, Toby on his knees, his arms wrapped tightly around her. Happy’s hands rested on his neck, just above the pulse point.
“Stay with me.”
And he stayed.
In the morning, she would grumble about how he’d slept in his dirty gym clothes on her clean sheets and shove her biggest bathrobe at him. He would tease her about her child-sized robe. They would watch stupid shows on TV and eat takeout. And the next day, they would paint the walls of her dollhouse.