After leaving the garage, declaring he was taking the "company car," figuring tit for tat since that stupid genius Walter had blown up his ride, Toby remembered the company car was still in Tahoe. ("Good luck figuring out how you're getting that back," he thought.) That stupid genius had left his car, seven hours away from them, in Tahoe, after driving up there to barge in on the girl he loves on a romantic, getaway vacation with another guy. (What a mess.) So, with no other choice for a ride, Toby begged Happy to give him and Sylvester a lift in her truck. (No, he was not about to waste money on a stupid Uber driven by some stranger. He'd rather sit in awkward silence with his girlfriend, who he is currently in the midst of their biggest fight with.)
And thus they were, sitting in awkward silence; Happy in the driver's seat and Toby riding shotgun.
They had just dropped off Sly, who was the whole source of conversation in the car, and were heading to Toby's place.
"I'm sorry," Happy said, finally breaking the silence, as she pulled out of Sylvester's driveway.
"Wha-?" Toby said, turning his attention from staring out the window to her.
"I'm sorry I can't tell you everything just yet. I know that's making this all harder for you. I'm sorry I can't give you the answers you need."
Toby didn't speak. Maybe it was because he didn't want to ruin the first peaceful moment they've had in too long, or maybe it was because he was sorry too, for the abrasive way he realizes he's acted, though justified by how hurt he is, so he just sat there, tapping his fingers nervously, staring out the window at the light and dark of the LA night.
Toby can't deny it. He loves this woman, he truly does, even when she's breaking his heart. And he wishes – no, he doesn't wish that weren't true. He just wishes the moment he thought about and planned for weeks went the way he dreamed.
She was supposed to say yes. She was supposed to say yes and they were supposed to happily kiss the metaphorical life out of each other. Kiss each other all the way back to his place, where he'd make love to her until they were both too tired to move. And when they were exhausted, he'd pull out the picnic he prepared as a mid-night snack - some wine, cheese, crackers, chocolate, fruit, and their favorite soda, for after they finished the bottle of wine - to refuel til they were ready to go another round. But, instead, he was blindsided and had lost, yet another, bet.
In the past, when he was in this much pain, he would drink himself under the table (check!) and lose it all at said (card) table, but he made a promise to Happy he wouldn't gamble anymore, in fear of losing her, and gosh darn it he was going to keep that promise, because he really doesn't want to lose her. He wants to marry her, for Pete's sake. He wishes – no, he doesn't wish that weren't true. Deep in his, albeit currently hurt and angry, heart, he knows he's going to love her til he draws his last breath, even if his death is caused by her shoving a dagger through his heart, like some Romeo & Juliet / Shakespearean shit. He is going to love her til death do they part, even if it means being patient with her. Because he does love her and she loves him, which she FINALLY said. "Fuck, why did I have to ruin that moment?" he thought. "I waited how long to hear that and instead of being happy, pulling her in my arms, and kissing her, I was my usual asshole self. Fuck me!"
Toby was pulled from his thoughts by Happy's voice, which to his ears sounds like music being played just for him.
"So, I'll see you at work tomorrow," she asked, pulling into Toby's driveway.
He looked around. Sure enough, he was home.
He must've gotten so caught up in his head that he lost track of where they were.
"Yah," he said, leaning across the seat to kiss her cheek. "Love you."
He jumped out of her truck and they headed their separate ways. Til tomorrow.