He stormed out of the shack. What a horrible, ungrateful friend. Owen should be happy for him, thrilled thrilled for him, not all pissy. How dare he show his teeth like that? Toby wanted to walk back in there and kick them out, like he had Brutus's. Watch Owen spit fangs out onto the floor. He wouldn't be so inclined to throw a jealous fit after that, would he? for him, not all pissy. How dare he show his teeth like that? Toby wanted to walk back in there and kick them out, like he had Brutus's. Watch Owen spit fangs out onto the floor. He wouldn't be so inclined to throw a jealous fit after that, would he?

Toby really shouldn't have made the comment about visiting the other monsters. That was an awful thing to say. Cruel.

But, still, he wasn't going to beat himself up over it. Owen was the one being unreasonable. Owen was the selfish one who didn't want to see his friend happy if it meant getting in a few minutes less playtime.

Screw him.

Screw that stupid, selfish, murdering monster.

Toby didn't need him. What value did he bring to Toby's life? Some growling and some fucking hand signals? Wow, how could he ever live without that that? He might not get to hear Owen's one-word vocabulary anymore. "Toby." What a loss.

Toby got madder and madder as he walked away from the shack-the shack that Toby had done most of the work on, thank you very much. It wasn't an architectural marvel, but it was a shitload better than the filthy cave he was lurking in for two decades, and if Owen didn't appreciate his efforts, then Toby would just leave him out in the woods to rot. He could sit there and tear apart his beanbag some more and grow old and die and decay right into the wood.

And screw walking away. He was going to march back there and tell that asshole that he was on his own from now on. If he wanted to be a great big jealous baby, he could find himself another best friend, somebody with absolutely no life who had nothing better to do all day long than sit in a shack with an animal.

He went back and pushed open the door. "You know what, Owen, I just want to say-"

Owen rushed toward him.

Then threw his arms around him and gave him a hug.

Toby was still pretty pissed, but he patted the monster's back as they hugged. "It's okay. It's okay, buddy."

Owen pulled away. I'm sorry I'm sorry, he signed.

"You should be."

Owen looked so sad that Toby couldn't help but feel his anger fade away. He tried to keep it-Owen deserved to have Toby furious at him-but he couldn't.

"Everything's going to be okay," Toby assured him. "I'm not going to let a woman come between us. Nobody, no matter who it is, will ever come between us. We're friends forever."

Promise?

"Cross my heart. Hope to die. Stick a pitchfork in my eye."

Stay?

"Of course. I'm not going anywhere, Owen."

As he walked home, it occurred to him that he hadn't even considered the idea that Owen might try to rip a big chunk out of his chest. They'd been friends for a long time, but...wow, that could have gone terribly wrong.

And Owen had gone on a rampage before.

Toby needed to remember what he was dealing with here: an animal. Maybe one that was closer to a human than any other creature on the planet, but still, an animal that liked the taste of human flesh.

Perhaps he needed to consider moving Owen back to the cave.

Nah. If anything, he wanted his friend to be closer, now that he'd have less free time to spend walking through the forest.

There was no magical moment.

Toby would've expected one. He and Sarah would be sitting on the couch, watching a movie. He'd reach into the popcorn bowl, she'd reach into the popcorn bowl, their buttery fingers would touch, there'd be a jolt of pure romantic electricity, and suddenly they'd be passionately kissing, spilling popcorn everywhere.

Or, after months of angst, Toby would confess all, tearfully explain that he loved her, that he couldn't live without her, and that if she wasn't ready that was okay, he'd wait for her. And she'd tearfully say that she was ready, that she'd been ready for a while now, and they'd kiss and cry together and then make love.

It wasn't like that. For a few months, they just hung out like friends. Not dating-Sarah always paid her own way-and nothing more physical than pats on the arm and good-bye hugs.

And then they were holding hands while walking downtown, window-shopping. They didn't mention it, didn't acknowledge any kind of change this might mean in their relationship-it just felt natural to hold hands, and they did it without comment.

Then quick good-bye kisses.

Then quick hello kisses.

But it still felt like friends who just happened to be affectionate. No big deal.

She studied a lot, and during that time Toby hung out with Owen. Sarah and Toby shared secrets-she told him how she'd felt watching her husband die, and he'd told her about the freakish night when some sort of escaped animal slaughtered his girlfriend-but, of course, he could never tell her the whole truth.

More kisses.

Snuggling on the couch during a movie.

She told him that she wasn't crying over Tom as much these days, but didn't directly relate it to what may or may not have been a blossoming romance.

She asked him what he did in the woods, and he lied. He just walked through the trees, enjoying the fresh air and solitude, getting exercise, being one with nature.

He took her with him, several times. It was a big forest. Plenty of places to go. She pretended to have a good time, but he called her out on it, and she admitted that she was much more of an indoor person, or at least preferred the outdoors without so many bugs. They laughed and happily found other things to do besides hiking in the forest.

She comforted him every time he got a rejection, which meant that she did a lot of comforting. They joked about killing comic strip editors.

When she wanted to go to an all-weekend bluegrass music festival, they went together. They sang during the drive, as loudly as they could-they loved enduring each other's vocals, as long as they didn't torment innocent bystanders.

Neither of them said anything, but it was understood that they would share a hotel room, and a bed.

They lay together, kissing gently, Sarah down to her bra and panties. Then the look of sadness from the support group appeared, and she pulled away from him.

"I'm sorry, I...you understand, right?"

"Of course I do."

They held each other all night.

The music festival got rained out, so they spent the day singing in the hotel room. They kissed some more after darkness fell, and she said that she was ready.

Then she warned him that she was ending a dry spell of several years and that he might be in very serious danger.

Somehow, he survived.

1986.

"What if we got married?" Sarah asked.

"Um, are you proposing to me?"

"No, I'm not trying to steal your thunder. I'm just throwing the idea out there. I love you, you love me, we want babies someday, so let's make them legitimate before they're accidentally conceived."

"Wow." Toby kissed her. "That's the most flowery, poetic-"

"I know, I know. But I'm serious."

"-heartfelt, romantic-"

She punched him playfully on the arm. "Enough! You know what I mean. Let's do it. We're not getting any younger."

"So, what, do I just drop to one knee?"

"No. You should get a ring first."

"How do you know I don't already have it?"

"Do you?"

"Yes. It's back at my place. If you'd been considerate enough to start this conversation there there, I could've run into my bedroom, brought it out, and it would've been this great big romantic deal. But instead, we have to drive eight miles."

"You're joking, right? Do you really have a ring?"

"Yes."

"Seriously, Toby, don't kid around. You really truly bought an engagement ring?"

"Let's go get it."

He'd decided to buy a ring the weekend after they made love for the first time. He knew it was too soon, way too soon, and that he might never get to give it to her, but he wanted to have the ring.

Owen had helped him pick it out. Toby had brought pictures of the top three possibilities, and Owen had tapped his talon against the princess-cut diamond, which was Toby's first choice, too. If he asked again with the same three pictures, Owen would probably point to something different, but that was okay.

He also had his mother's engagement ring in his top drawer. It was a beautiful ring-much more expensive than the one he bought for Sarah. But he couldn't give his future wife a ring that came from the finger of a woman who slit her wrists. He just couldn't.

As they drove toward his home, Toby wondered about the impact of his marriage on Owen. They'd have to move into a new home-his house was okay for himself, maybe maybe for the two of them, but definitely too small for an expanding family. for the two of them, but definitely too small for an expanding family.

She knew he loved the forest. He'd just have to insist that they get a home in the same general area. He'd start researching possibilities.

He made Sarah wait in the living room, then went into his bedroom and got the ring box. He walked back to her, got down on one knee, and took her hand.

"Sarah Habley, will you marry me?"

"Oh my God! You had the ring!"

"I wouldn't lie about something like that. So will you?"

"Yes!"

They kissed.

It was going to be wonderful. They'd get a new house, stay near the forest, and nothing would change. Maybe he'd have to visit Owen less often, but that was fine-Owen would just have to understand. He wouldn't abandon his friend. Not ever. Nothing would change.

Nothing changed after the wedding. They bought a wonderful little house at a great price, not as close to his old place as Toby would have liked, but still acceptable. While Sarah went to classes at night, Toby spent time with Owen. He and the monster weren't too old to make up new games, even if there was much less running around involved these days.

They'd planned to wait a couple of years before having kids. Not too long-they didn't want to be parenting from a nursing home-but long enough to give themselves time to travel the world and for Sarah to get her degree.

One positive pregnancy test and some quick calculations showed that she'd gotten knocked up during their honeymoon.

Things did change after that. Toby didn't go out to visit Owen on weekends-well, not every weekend. Owen understood. There were no more jealous rages.

Love her?

"I do. Who would've thought that a loser like me would ever get married, huh?"

As her belly swelled, Toby grew less comfortable leaving her alone. He still visited Owen, just not as often. He brought him extra treats to make up for it. Life was good. They were still best buddies.

The night Garrett Andrew Floren was born, weighing six pounds, three ounces, Toby held his son and vowed that nobody would ever harm his child.

Nobody.

For all these years, he'd allowed a monster to live in the woods outside of his house.

Not anymore.

CHAPTER T TWENTY-THREE.