Turning Back (Turning #2)

by JA Huss

  “Why?” I ask, smiling through my heartbreak. “Why? Because I fucking loved you, that’s why.”

  “You did love me? Or you still do love me?”

  I shrug. “That’s the part I don’t know about.”

  “So I’ll ask again. Why are you here? Why get involved?”

  “Because Bric asked me to.”

  “So you’re here for Bric?” She laughs.

  I really want to call her a stupid fucking bitch right now. I really want to yell and cuss her out. And tell her she’s all kinds of bad things just to make her feel what I’m feeling. But I keep my mouth shut. It’s nothing but a way to make me feel better at her expense and that will make everything worse.

  “I’m just fucking mad,” I finally answer. “You just stumbled into the house at four-thirty, drunk. And the only thing on your mind is passing out. You can’t help that. You’re drunk. You’re not in control. You just need to sleep it off. But I want to say things mad people say. Except it’s pointless. It’s not going to help because you’re drunk. You won’t hear me. And even if you did, you wouldn’t remember when you wake up later. So I’m not going to say them.”

  “I’ll just have to guess then?”

  “At least you’ll know what it feels like.”

  We both let out a long breath of frustration. When I look over at the baby, she’s staring at me, big blue eyes looking up at me like, Who the fuck is this guy? “She doesn’t even know me, Rochelle.”

  “She doesn’t know Bric either.”

  “Bric isn’t her father.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I just know.”

  Rochelle is silent after that. Probably coming up with all kinds of comebacks. I don’t know for sure, but I feel it. Adley is my daughter. Mine.

  “I missed everything, you know. So I’m mad about you leaving, I’m mad about you never calling me, and I’m mad that I missed the birth of my daughter. I’m just fucking mad, OK?”

  “So leave, then. If you’re so mad, then just leave.”

  “God, you just don’t get it. I don’t want to leave. I never want to let you out of my fucking sight.”

  “You make no sense.”

  “I know,” I admit. “I know I make no sense. And the answer to your question is yes. I’m staying the night. I might stay every night and say fuck the rules. I’m gonna sleep with you in that fucking bed. Or wherever you plan on sleeping. In the second bedroom or on the couch. I’m gonna be there. Because I have lost all sense of… trust, Rochelle. I have become that girl. I want you to stay with me forever. I don’t want you to ever go out and get drunk with the guys again. I don’t ever want to text you at midnight desperate to know where you are. I don’t ever want to be sitting up at three AM wondering if I should call hospitals to see if you’re alive. I never want to let you out of my sight because I’m afraid, Rochelle. I’m afraid if I leave you, you’ll leave me too. And then you’ll disappear again. You’ll walk out and find another new life. Only this time, you won’t bother coming back in a year.”

  Rochelle frowns. “I don’t know what you want from me.”

  “That makes two of us,” I say. “I don’t know what I want from you either. I just know I have no trust. And it makes me mad. And so fucking sad. Because last year I had so much faith in who we were. What we were to each other. And so I’m mad that I lost that. I guess that’s all I’m trying to say. I’m mad that I lost you. And I’m sad that I’m now being forced to consider the possibility that we will never be that way again. That we might be over.”

  She starts to cry. A stream of silent tears fall down her cheeks.

  “I don’t want us to be over, Rochelle. I don’t. But it’s not really something we have control over, is it? Because I’m working off fear right now.” I stop and look at her, surprised at how easy this is to articulate out loud. “It’s all based on fear.”

  I take a deep breath and let it out, waiting to see what she says to all that. I wouldn’t blame her if she told me to leave. And even though I told her I was staying, I would. I’d leave. And I might not ever come back.

  Adley begins to fuss. She’s sliding down in her chair a little, looking very uncomfortable. There’s a noodle stuck to her face and her jerky fists are trying to swipe at it, with no luck.

  Rochelle’s chair scrapes across the wood floors as she pushes back from the table. She sighs, wiping her tears off her cheeks with both hands, then starts messing with Adley’s high chair. “I need to give her a bath. We’re out of sorts right now with all the changes.”

  “OK,” I say, almost afraid to move. Afraid I’ll spook her even more than I just did. She talks softly to Adley as she picks her up and then disappears into the master bedroom, pulling the massive barn doors closed to shut me out.

  “Good going, Quin,” I mumble. “Way to go.”

  I’ve pictured our reunion in my head a million times over the past year, but none of those fantasies ever included me being pissed off and her being… indifferent. I know she said sorry. I know she’s here and that’s really all that matters. But things feel… off. Like why? Why did she come back? Did she plan on staying gone for one year? Is her return just another move in the game?

  The door buzzer goes off, so I push back from the table and walk over to the elevator. On screen is a guy, looking up at the camera. I press and hold the speaker button. “Yes?”

  “I’m from the Four Seasons,” he says. “I was told to drop a car off here.”

  “Right. I’ll be down in a moment.”

  When I get down there I take Rochelle’s keys from him. “Thanks. Did you change the oil?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And wash it?”

  “Yes, sir. It’s parked down a few spaces. Didn’t know where you wanted it.”

  “No problem,” I say, pulling out two twenties from my wallet and handing it over. “Thanks a lot, I appreciate it.”

  He nods and gets in a waiting car. They disappear and leave me there, holding Rochelle’s keys.

  I click the key fob and a white SUV a few spaces down beeps to life. She owns a Lexus. A nice fucking Lexus. I wonder who it’s registered to?

  I walk over to it, get in the driver’s side, and start it up. Then I reach over and pull open the glove box to find her registration. Rochelle Bastille.

  Not even trying to hide.

  So how come it was so hard to find her?

  I slam the glove box closed—because I don’t want to think about that answer—and back out so I can pull into her new parking space next to my Suburban.

  The back of her car is stuffed with a baby seat and all kinds of things. Nice designer luggage, something that looks like a folded-up baby crib, and a super-sized pack of diapers.

  Might as well bring it all upstairs for her.

  I spend the next ten minutes stacking all her worldly belongings next to the elevator, then punch the code Bric gave us to call it. A few minutes later, I’m back upstairs unloading.

  I don’t know where she wants any of this stuff, so I go over to the bedroom, slide the doors open, and peek inside. “Can I come in?” I ask.

  No answer.

  So I push the doors open a little more and slip inside. The bathroom door is open a crack, but it’s silent in there except for a few cooing noises from the baby.

  I push the door open and Adley is lying back on her mother’s breasts in the bath with one foot in her mouth. She smiles at me.

  “Hey, baby.”

  “I’m not sleeping,” Rochelle mumbles. “We’re just relaxing. We did this every afternoon in the hot springs. She likes it. Hell, I like it. I like it so much, I almost wish I was back in Pagosa sitting in my hot spring.”

  I dwell on that for a minute. Because it plays right into my fears, right? She could leave again. She could leave and never come back.

  But then Adley starts talking in that babble language babies have and I lose my train of thought. She is so fucking pretty. Both of them. So beautiful. I ta
ke out my phone and snap a pic.

  “What are you doing?” she asks, hearing my shutter click.

  “Your car came. I had them change the oil since you just drove hundreds of miles. And they washed it.”

  She opens her eyes. “That was sweet of you.”

  I shrug. “That’s me, right? The nice guy.” The one who always gets fucked, I don’t add. “I brought all your stuff upstairs too. Didn’t know where you wanted it, so it’s just stacked by the elevator.”

  “Thank you,” she says, still staring at me.

  I shrug and lean against the vanity, crossing my arms. “So she likes the water?” I ask, hating the new awkwardness of our… relationship. If that’s what this is.

  Rochelle smiles down at Adley, who is still sucking on a toe. “She loves it. She can swim. I taught her by accident. She always wears a floaty swimsuit in the hot springs. You know those ones that act as a life jacket?”

  I have no clue what she’s talking about, but I nod yes anyway.

  “And one day about a month ago, her diaper leaked just before we were going to soak. Well, she likes her soak, so I took her in a regular swimsuit. And holy shizz, she could swim!” Rochelle laughs. “I looked it up later and some people say that all babies know how to swim. I think it’s bullshit, hence the floaty swimsuit. But Adley can. Of course, I’d been coaching her for weeks by that time. I’d hold her up and she’d kick her legs. Or I’d hold her around her waist and she’d paddle her arms like a dog. She got lots of water in her mouth, and she hated it, so she started holding her breath.”

  I picture it in my head as she talks, imagining them down there in picture-perfect Pagosa Springs, living a nice, quiet, peaceful life in a resort town. Soaking in the hot springs. Making a new routine. Playing their own game with their own rules.

  It hurts.

  “And that day I let her go—just for a second. Just to see if she learned anything. And she kicked and paddled away. I snatched her up immediately. It scared the hell out of me. And then I took her home and decided never again. But it was cool. I taught her something, you know? I barely had to try and I taught her something.”

  I want to be a dick about this right now. So bad. But I decide it’s a horrible idea. I can’t win. I can’t be mad, even though I’m so fucking pissed off. Being mad won’t make anything better. It will, in fact, make everything worse. My little analogy about the drunk boyfriend has already started to fuck things up and we just got back together. If I want to stay here with her—them, including Bric—I need to find a way to get past the anger. So I say, “Sounds amazing,” instead of, So glad you got all that alone time with her and I was left with nothing.

  “I wanted to call you,” she says, looking down at Adley instead of me.

  “When?”

  “That day. Every day. I wanted to tell you everything.”

  “So why didn’t you?”

  She shrugs and stands up in the tub, holding Adley close to her breasts. “Will you get a towel so I can wrap her up?”

  I grab a towel from a row of shelves filled with them, and then walk forward, holding it out. Rochelle pushes Adley at me and says, “Take her for a second, will you? I don’t like stepping out of the tub with her in my arms. I have a little floaty seat I usually set her in, but obviously I don’t have it right now.”

  I take a deep breath and take squirming Adley. She balks, twists, and there’s a moment when I just know I’ll drop her.

  I don’t. But it’s not a seamless transition, and Adley begins to cry.

  Rochelle steps out, grabs a white robe off a chair, and wraps herself up.

  I can’t take my eyes off her, but she’s not looking at me. She’s paying no attention to me at all. She only has eyes for very fussy Adley.

  I hand her over when Rochelle reaches out, kinda relieved. I have no clue what to do with a baby. I’m an only child so I never had nieces or nephews. None of my friends have kids. And Smith’s rat dog does not count, regardless of what he thinks.

  Fucking Smith. What was all that bullshit back at the hotel? It’s like he’s got a personal grudge against Rochelle. And while it’s flattering that he’s kinda protective of me, that he paid her money this whole year just so he could ambush her into an explanation if she ever came back, it’s also… very weird.

  Bric and Smith have been my best friends for so long, I sometimes take it for granted that we all want the same things. But I’m wrong. We don’t. And Smith’s quick exit from the game once Chella came along just proves it.

  “Can you grab the diaper bag?” Rochelle asks, walking past me and into the bedroom.

  “Sure,” I say. How hard can that be? But when I go back out to where Rochelle’s stuff is, I can’t decide which one it is. They all look like suitcases to me.

  “It’s this one,” Rochelle says, picking up something she brought with her when we first got here. I thought it was her purse.

  Nope. It’s a diaper bag.

  I suck at this new game.

  “Hey, Quin?” Rochelle asks a few minutes later.

  “Yeah?” I say back.

  “Can you put that little porta-crib in the second bedroom for me?”

  “Sure.” Porta-crib. It’s gotta be this massive folded thing, right? I feel confident it is, so I pick it up and take it into the second bedroom. Rochelle is busy doing a million things, it seems. She talks to Adley in a soft voice the whole time, like she’s trying to convince her to be happy.

  Adley is not convinced.

  I flip the crib open and have a moment of satisfaction. “See. I can adult.”

  I look over my shoulder to see if Rochelle heard me. She didn’t.

  “Does she always sleep in a separate room?” I ask.

  “Yes,” Rochelle answers. “God, I made the mistake of sleeping with her when she was little and it took me weeks to get her to go to bed in the crib. I won’t do that again.”

  “Did you have a two-bedroom hotel room?” I ask, trying to imagine how much that costs. I don’t know why I’m so focused on her lifestyle while she was gone. But it’s sorta irritating that she was living like a princess this whole time and I was so damn miserable.

  “No.” She laughs, coming into the room with a bottle.

  They are both dressed now. Rochelle is wearing shorts and a t-shirt that is way too big for her. It says “Mineral Springs Resort” on the front. Adley is wearing a pink one-piece thing that looks like underwear, and says, “The coolest people are from Pagosa Springs, Colorado.” It’s like everything they own came from a tourist shop.

  “But I had her crib set up away from the bed,” Rochelle continues. “So she knew I wasn’t right there the whole time.”

  “Oh.” I watch her get in the bed with Adley and give her the bottle. Adley takes it eagerly, her tiny hands wrapping around the bottle like she won’t let it get away. Her eyes get heavy and begin to close immediately.

  So do Rochelle’s.

  I back out of the room and go watch some TV. I guess that’s all she needed from me. Why did I say I’d stay the night? I should just leave. Go home. Forget about it for a while.

  But I don’t. I just stare mindlessly at the TV. Because Rochelle owes me. She owes me that last fuck she skipped out on.

  She’s gonna make this up to me. Whether she knows it or not. One last time. I’m gonna fuck her alone one last time to wipe the past away.

  Because starting tomorrow, the only time I’ll touch her is with Bric.

  New game. New rules. New life.

  I’m almost asleep and I’m all caught up on sports news when Rochelle finally comes out of the second bedroom. She looks at me, then closes the giant barn doors as quietly as she can.

  “I was almost sure you’d be gone when I came out.”

  “I told you, I’m not leaving.” I take my feet off the couch to give her room and she gets the hint and sits down, pulling her knees up and tucking the giant t-shirt over her legs.

  She rests her hand on my knee. Tentatively. W
hen I don’t object she eases her head down on top of my thigh and lets out a long, tired breath. “I’m glad I’m back.”

  “Me too,” I say. I am. I’m happy she’s back. I don’t even want to think about all the days she was missing.

  “I missed you a—”

  “Take off your shirt,” I say.

  She squints her eyes at me, then grabs the bottom of her shirt and lifts it over her head, tossing it on the floor.

  I stare at her breasts. They were always spectacular but now they are even more tantalizing. “Play with them,” I say. “I want to see you play with them.”

  She cups them, her small hands squeezing. Then she pinches her nipples, both at the same time, and closes her eyes. “I want you to touch me,” she says. “I want it more than anything.”

  I ignore her request and say, “Turn around. Face that way.” I point to the other end of the couch. “And put your pussy in the air for me.”

  She bites her lip and draws in a deep breath, probably surprised by my directness. I was always the nice guy. The considerate lover. I had my rough moments with her. And Bric and I are always rougher with her together than I am alone.

  But why should I care? Why should I be considerate when she’s not?

  “Do it,” I say. “Or I’m going to sleep.”

  That look on her face might be confusion. But I don’t think so. I think I’m making her angry. Good. Now she knows how I feel tonight.

  She huffs out the breath she was holding and turns around, crawling forward a little until her ass is right up in my face.

  “You want me to touch you, Rochelle?”

  She looks over her shoulder at me. Her breasts are hanging down, almost begging me to play with them. “Yes,” she whispers. “Touch me.”

  I slap her ass hard as I stand up. She looks over her shoulder again. “What are you doing?”

  I say nothing as I undo my tie and pull it through the collar of my shirt. I take my suit coat off next, walking over to a chair and hanging it up so it won’t be wrinkled in the morning. When I come back I’m already unbuttoning my shirt. She watches my fingers very carefully. I slip the shirt off and place it over the jacket.