Turning Point Club Box Set

by JA Huss

  She just shakes her head and tries to wriggle free.

  But I’m not going to let go. Because she needs me to make things right. “Be still now, OK?”

  “I can’t,” she says, her voice breaking. “I need to dance.”

  “No, Nadia. You need to be taken care of, that’s all.”

  “I don’t want your pity. I don’t want you at all, Elias Bricman. I hate you.”

  I nod my head as I hold her close. “I deserve that hate.”

  “I don’t want to talk to you and I don’t want to see you.”

  “Well, you’re in luck,” I say. “Because I’m going to do the talking and we’re in the dark right now, so you don’t have to see me.”

  She starts to cry.

  I pet her hair and say, “It’s OK. You can cry. All this is normal. Not normal,” I say, trying to figure out a way to explain it. “It’s expected. All these feelings. This manic desire to do something. I took you to a special place Friday night.”

  “You took me to hell,” she says, sniffing back her sobs.

  “I took to you heaven, Nadia. And then I left you in hell. I’m sorry. I didn’t know about Logan—”

  “You had that police report! You shoved it in my face!”

  “I didn’t know the whole story, Nadia. I swear.”

  “You told me that night when we went out to Jordan’s party—”

  “Jordan’s party?”

  “—that I like little boys.” She’s crying so hard now, I can barely understand her.

  “I didn’t mean it like that, Nadia. I swear. I didn’t know about Scott.”

  That name is the last straw for Nadia Wolfe. She collapses. Like one of those toys held together by taut string. The ones that fall to pieces when you press on the button underneath them and release the tension. A push puppet. She’s a push puppet and I hate myself for it.

  I pick her up off the floor, hold her in my arms, cradling her like a baby, and carry her out to the living room.

  We sit on the couch. Her still in my lap. I hold her close, her head tucked in under my chin, and play with her hair.

  I don’t say anything for a long time.

  I just hold her.

  Chapter Thirty-Four - Nadia

  For the first time in days, I relax. Bric holds me tight, his thumb swirling small circles on the hot, sweaty skin of my shoulder. But then all the heat of the dance pours out of me and I begin to shake uncontrollably. I close my eyes, willing my heartbeat to slow. It’s beating so fast, I almost think it will never go back to normal. Almost panic about it. Almost need to get up and dance again to put it out of my mind.

  But Bric is there, his lips on my head, saying, “Shhh, Nadia. Be still.”

  I try. But it takes me a long, long time for my heart to catch up to his command. My body stays tense with shivering for so long, it freezes me from the inside out.

  But after a little while, with his warm body pressed against mine, I start to relax. The convulsing wanes. The tears stop. And I am just nothing but wiped out.

  I let it all go and close my eyes.

  “When I was growing up,” he says, finally finding his beginning, “I had no idea we were different.”

  His sister Keren talked to me a lot while Bric was busy getting drunk last weekend. She showed me photo albums. She hardly knows him, she said. They are so far apart in age, Elias was gone before she was out of diapers.

  And my response was, “I hardly know him either.” So she showed me the photo albums.

  “I thought everyone had two moms,” Bric continues. “I thought everyone had four brothers and sisters. It was just us five back then. But one day, when I was like… maybe six, I guess, I got two more moms.”

  I try to imagine that in my head but can’t. “I have no moms,” I say.

  “I’m sorry. I don’t even know what it would feel like to have no moms.”

  “We’re opposites,” I say, my breathing finally slow enough to allow me to talk normally.

  “Black and white, Nadia Wolfe.”

  “Big and small, Elias Bricman.”

  “Good and bad,” he says.

  “Light and dark,” I finish.

  “You’re the light, Nadia.”

  “No,” I say. “I’m the dark part of this relationship.”

  “Then one day,” he says, picking his story back up, “I was twelve. I know that for sure. I remember this day like it just happened. I see it in vivid detail. I was in town with my brother Abrem. He’d just gotten his license. Benjamin was with us. Just us boys rambling around in an old truck. Candace and Delilah were at home. They didn’t want to come and they were helping with the babies, anyway. And these kids came up to us and started saying things that made no sense to me. I knew by then that four moms was wrong. Not wrong as in sinful, or whatever. But wrong as in… out of the ordinary. They said a lot of awful things about me and my brothers and sisters. My moms and dad. I didn’t go to school. I think that’s why I liked Smith so much when I first met him. He never went to school ever. I was homeschooled until I got a scholarship when I was fourteen and left for Denver. I never really went back after that. Just… left it all behind. Put it away. Forgot about it.”

  Elias Bricman is telling me everything, I realize.

  “I met Quin first though. And Quin is like… perfect, ya know?”

  I don’t know Quin. But I saw him through the tea shop window when I was talking to Rochelle and Chella the other day.

  “Quin comes from the perfect family. One mom. One dad. No brothers or sisters. One small house, with two small bedrooms. He had everything I ever wanted. He’s been my best friend since I was sixteen. But I have this problem, Nadia.”

  I look up at him. He’s staring off into space. I can barely make out the outline of his jaw in the dim light filtering up from the city outside. “What problem?” I ask.

  “I like to hurt people, I think. I must like it.” He looks down at me. “I must like it a lot. Because I do it all the time.”

  I don’t know what to say to that. I feel there’s something deeper inside him, but I don’t even know him, I realize. Not at all.

  “I love Quin. And Rochelle. But I hurt them on purpose. Both of them.”

  “They seem OK,” I say. “And they still love you.”

  “Yeah, they are. And they do. But that’s because I lied to them. They have no idea how much I was fucking with their heads. I like to do that too, you see. We’ve been playing this game forever because I need them, Nadia. They don’t need me. They don’t need anyone but each other. I need them. I was jealous. And I like to manipulate people. I like to hold power over people. I like to—”

  “Shhh,” I say, reaching up to place two fingers against his lips. “That’s enough of that.”

  He takes my hand in his. Kisses my fingers. Then places it back in my lap. “I think it’s important to be honest about it. If I want to change, I need to be honest about it. To one person, at least. To you,” he says, looking down at me. “I hurt you. I left you when you needed my attention the most. I did it to win, Nadia. I’m obsessed with winning this stupid fucking game that means nothing. It’s nothing, Nadia. I’m so fucking stupid.”

  I don’t think I’ve ever seen a man so vulnerable as this man right here.

  “I did it to them. I wanted Rochelle to go away when she got pregnant with Adley. But then I wanted Adley for myself, even though I knew Quin was in love with Rochelle in a way I’d never be. Even though I knew Adley was his. Jesus fuck,” he says, wiping a hand across his brow. “She looks just fucking like him. And I didn’t care. I told them I was allergic to mango just to make them think I was the father.”

  I don’t even know what that means. But it’s haunting him. And he needs to get it out.

  “I would like to start over, Nadia.”

  I think about that for a little bit. He waits. Patiently and in silence. “I don’t think we can,” I finally say.

  He sighs. Deflates. His chest sighing with… sad
ness, maybe?

  “I don’t think you can just erase the past, Elias. So I probably should start from the beginning as well.”

  “You don’t have to,” he says. “Jordan filled in all the blanks.”

  “Jordan only knows part of the story. It’s the parts he doesn’t know that haunt me. Just like your lies haunt you.”

  So I tell him. I take a few moments to figure out where it all started and then I tell him everything.

  “I don’t remember my mother. I never had a father. So meeting your family was something like… being in a fantasy, almost. I was born addicted to drugs. My mother gave up custody of me before she ever left the hospital. I went into foster care, was adopted, but they gave me back a few months later.” I stop. Because this was the part that always fucked with my head. “Who gives a baby back?”

  “People who can’t cope, Nadia. It’s got nothing to do with the baby.”

  “That’s the rational explanation. And I’m pretty rational, so I accepted that. Long time ago. I got adopted again. Couples all want babies. And I lived there for a long time. Until I was seven or eight. And then they divorced and the woman I was calling mom died. The man I called father walked away from me over it. And once again, I lost my family.

  “From there I bounced around in foster families. My life spun out of control. I spun out of control. They tried to give me drugs to calm me down. Gave me a therapist. Nothing worked until one foster family put me in a free dance class they offered down at the local community center. Dance,” I say, thinking back on it. “Everything about dancing had to do with control. I was nine years old when I became a control freak. Everything in my life could spin, but when I was in dance class, I had complete control over the spinning.

  “I became sexually active very early. And after being used a few times, I decided I was in control of that too. So I made the boys do things for me first. I’d make them steal things or buy me things. After I got tired of that, I’d make them get me off in unusual ways. And when that got boring, I’d make them touch each other.”

  “You don’t need to tell me this, Nadia.”

  “I do,” I whisper. “I really, need to tell someone. And I want it to be you.”

  He smooths my hair. Tucks a stray piece of it behind my ear. “I’m listening.”

  I take a deep breath and continue on the exhale. “Scott and I were together for a long time. I met him when I was at a party in the Hamptons two summers ago. And last spring, he took me back up there to his family’s house for a weekend. Logan came over. His family had the house next door. Things got… kinky, I guess. I took over. I was used to it. Scott liked it. Logan was intrigued, but standoffish. He watched me dominate Scott that first time. That’s it. But we kept going back on the weekends. And Logan kept meeting us there. And eventually Logan joined in. I had them both. They did whatever I wanted. They took me out and took me home. We were pretty happy for a few months.”

  I sigh. Long. Slow. Exhale.

  “But then Scott wanted Logan to go away. He didn’t want to do it anymore. And I…” I don’t know if I can talk about this part.

  “And you did,” Bric finishes for me.

  I nod. “I still did. I wanted Logan. He did anything I wanted. He never said no.”

  “And you left Scott,” Bric says.

  I nod, my eyes hot with tears.

  “And he killed himself over it.”

  I nod again. “I didn’t mean to do that,” I say, crying again. “I swear. I didn’t mean to make him so sad. I didn’t understand. He was only nineteen, Bric. We met the day he turned eighteen. On his fucking birthday. I corrupted him. I ruined him. I broke him.”

  Bric is silent for a few minutes as he lets me cry it out. I have never told anyone this. Not my public defender. Not Logan. Not anyone.

  “And his parents blamed you?” Bric asks.

  “It was my fault,” I say.

  “No, Nadia. Breaking up with someone isn’t a punishable offense. You’re not responsible for his actions.”

  “He was only eighteen when we met—”

  “Shhhh,” Bric says. His fingers back on my lips to quiet me.

  “I won the criminal case,” I say. “But his family got a restraining order. Logan’s family too. They told a judge I was dangerous. I was subversive. And that I had a long history of psychological manipulation.” I look up at Bric. “And that judge believed them.”

  “That judge was a dick, Nadia. Someone paid his ass off.”

  “What?” I ask, squinting my eyes at him.

  “Please. Subversive? That’s not grounds for a restraining order. They lied, that judge was their friend.”

  “No,” I say.

  “Yes,” he says. “Come on. I know you’re young, but… the whole world runs on money, Nadia. These guys come from old money. They wanted to punish you. And when they lost their legal case, they wanted to humiliate you. It’s bullshit. All of it.”

  “Except the part where I killed someone.” I sniff wildly. But my crying has stopped.

  “You didn’t kill him, Nadia. It’s not silly or stupid to think that. It’s normal. It’s even got a name. Survivor’s guilt. But you need to let it go. Did you know Jordan brought you here?”

  I nod my head. “He told me last week.”

  “Did you know he brought you here for me?”

  I nod again.

  “He told you that last week, too?”

  “That’s why I begged you for a second chance. Jordan said you were worth it. He said we were perfect for each other in some odd way. That’s what he does, he said. He fixes people. I know he has clubs and—”

  “What are these fucking clubs you’re talking about?” he asks. “Jordan doesn’t own any clubs.”

  “Yes, he does,” I say. I even smile. Because Bric… all-knowing, all-powerful Elias Bricman, has no clue who Jordan Wells is. “We went to it that one night, remember? When I got to dominate and you had to watch.”

  “What?”

  I actually laugh. It’s small, and sounds terribly out of place after all this serious talk. But I need this laugh so badly—I do it again.

  “That transient traveling sideshow-slash-rave?”

  “The one where you fucked me on top of your car in front of fifty strangers.”

  “Jesus. What else don’t I know?”

  I shrug. “You know way more than I do, that’s for sure. I don’t know what’s happening to me. I came here for ballet. And to get away from Logan. He’s not supposed to talk to me. His parents could slap me with contempt of court if he says I broke the restraining order. And I still feel bad about Scott. I didn’t love him, or anything. But he was my friend and I miss him.”

  Bric leans down to kiss me. “Don’t get lost in guilt, Nadia. Don’t do it. You can mourn him. You can miss him. But you can’t blame yourself for his actions. You’re not responsible for that.”

  I have wanted to trust Bric since the first time we met. I just didn’t know it. But I really want to trust him now. And I don’t know if I should. “I came here for a new beginning,” I say.

  “Then it’s time you got one,” Bric replies. He holds out his hand and says, “Hello. My name is Elias.”

  I stare up at him. Then take his hand in mine and shake it. He’s so powerful. And controlling. And wild. But he’s also gentle. And loving. And smart. “Nadia,” I say. “Nice to meet you, Elias.”

  “Would you like to be friends?” he asks.

  After a few moments I say, “Yes. I’d like that a lot.”

  Chapter Thirty-Five - Bric

  Dinner at Quin’s is awkward at first. Not for Nadia. She fits in immediately and is over in the kitchen with Chella and Rochelle drinking wine. But it’s like… it’s like Quin, and Smith, and I are all very different people now and we’re not sure where we stand.

  I hold Adley, who bats at my face with her chubby hands and drools onto my six-hundred-dollar shirt. “That tooth is adorable,” I say, smiling at Adley’s newest milestone.


  “Yeah.” Quin laughs. “I thought you’d appreciate that.”

  He’s sitting across from me in a chair. One ankle propped up on one knee. Smile on that golden-boy face of his. Looking like a motherfucking movie star who won the lottery.

  Smith is on the couch with his dogs, two of the rats curled up in his lap and the husky pulling on his pant leg. It rips, and the puppy runs off with his prize. Smith sighs, looking down at the leftover strings. But then he smiles too. Because he loves it. He loves every bit of his new life.

  “So,” Quin says.

  “So,” I say, setting Adley down on my knee.

  “You like her?” Quin nods his head to Nadia.

  I look over at her and nod. “I like her a lot,” I say. “She’s a ballerina. Great one, too.”

  Quin smiles at Smith. They share a look I know well.

  Because I know them. And they know me. Everyone in this room knows who I am now. And I think they probably see the same thing in me that I see in them. Happiness.

  Finally.

  We all won the game, I think. How could we be here, with these beautiful, smart, talented women, and not think we’re the luckiest men on earth?

  “Are you playing with her?” Smith asks.

  “No,” I say. “The game ended a long time ago. I just didn’t realize it.” I look at Smith and say, “I’m selling the Club.”

  “Well, it’s about time,” he says back. And then he takes a sip of his drink and smiles into his glass.

  I think that’s all they needed to hear. That I’m over it. That I’m OK with it. That I have a future that doesn’t center around manipulation.

  Dinner is better than expected after that. The food is good. The conversation never lags. We find our way through the unknown and decide, at the end of the night, that we’re still a team. We just added four new members to it, that’s all.

  Smith and I make plans to go into business together. Since I’m kind of a real-estate whore, we’re gonna build some low-income housing to augment the neighborhoods around his gyms.

  So I guess we’re gonna turn into a bunch of boring do-gooders.