Turning Back (Turning #2)

by JA Huss

  By noon I’m regretting my decision to stay home tonight. What the hell was I thinking? I almost call Bric to see what he’s up to, but decide that’s probably a bad idea. He’ll be at the Club. He’s always at the Club. Nothing about that guy’s schedule ever changes. He is the definition of habit.

  By six PM I’m counting the hours until Smith shows up in the morning.

  What a sad life it is when a Monday morning coffee visit from Smith Baldwin is the highlight of my weekend.

  It’s been like this for a while now, though. I’ve been like this for a while now.

  How long should I punish her? How long do I refuse to let her in? How long do I have to torture myself in order to trust her again?

  I almost want to call her up. See if her weekend has been spent the same way. Has she been sitting around feeling sad? Has she been thinking about me too?

  Are we in fucking high school or what?

  By nine, I’m sitting on my couch staring at the clock over the fireplace. It’s modern and artsy. A chrome thing with a second hand. Which I watch, relentlessly, as it sweeps around the center point, counting off minutes.

  Minutes that turn into hours of me sitting here alone in the silence. No lights on except the ones pouring in through the two-story walls of glass from outside.

  At ten minutes to midnight, I give in.

  Did I ever think I wouldn’t?

  I drive over to LoDo, which is still pretty busy for this late on a Sunday, and park in my designated spot between Rochelle’s Lexus and Bric’s BMW.

  I have to think about that for a second. Take a moment to wonder how I feel about him being here on my night. Reevaluate how I imagined she spent the weekend.

  Was he here the whole time? Did they just spend two days together? Alone?

  I’m just about to start the engine and leave when I make myself be rational.

  Bric will stay with her. He doesn’t want her for himself, but he does want her. So he will stay. And he’s not a thinker, like me. He doesn’t dwell on shit. He gives in to his wants and needs and just goes for it.

  So if this bothers me, I’ll need to be the one who takes care of it. Who sets things straight. He never will.

  I get out of the car, close the door, and call for the elevator with my code. The doors open immediately, then close after I step in, and eight seconds later I’m in the loft.

  It’s quiet and dark, except for soft light flowing out of Adley’s room down the long, wide hallway. Her barn doors are open just enough to let the glow escape.

  The doors to the master bedroom are closed.

  They’re in bed together.

  I glance at the kitchen as I walk by and see the remnants of dinner.

  They ate together.

  I walk towards the master, but a soft rustling makes me turn towards Adley’s room. I slide the doors open just enough to slip inside and take it all in.

  I guess that crib came. And a whole bunch of other stuff. Adley’s room has been transformed into an elegant nursery. The deep purple and light yellow color scheme reminds me of Rochelle’s apartment above the Club. The velvet curtains and tulle canopy over her crib add rich textures against the pale walls. There are baskets filled with toys and stuffed animals. An open closet made out of that artistic piping Bric has lining the walls along the ceiling shows me dozens and dozens of baby outfits hanging on small, appropriately-sized wooden hangers. A wooden dresser along the exposed brick wall, which obviously matches the crib, has a small crescent moon-shaped lamp, which is where the glow of light emanates from. And a rocker, upholstered in light yellow fabric, sits in the corner, next to a changing table.

  His new princess, I guess.

  Princesses, I correct myself.

  I sink into the rocker with a sigh, not one bit surprised that Elias Bricman is making the most of this situation. Making the most of my absence. Not that he’s trying to crowd me out. I don’t believe that at all. But Bric is not only a man of habit, he’s an opportunist, and I left the goal wide open for him to score.

  “Hey,” Rochelle says in a soft voice.

  I turn my head to look at her. One hip cocked against the wooden frame, head tilted. She’s wearing a light-colored silk robe. Maybe yellow, maybe cream, maybe white. It’s hard to tell in the low light. Her long, golden hair flows over her shoulders, one pale breast almost visible, the sleek fabric slipping.

  “Hey,” I say back.

  “You said you weren’t coming.”

  “I changed my mind.”

  “Are you mad?” she asks.

  “No.” I shake my head. “No, I’m not mad.”

  Rochelle walks over to me, her bare feet padding softly across the wide-planked wooden floors, and straddles my legs, settling in my lap. She wraps her arms around my neck and places her head on my shoulder. She’s completely naked under that robe. I can smell her sex when she opens her legs.

  “How do you guys not get jealous?” she asks.

  I shrug and place both of my hands on her hips, enjoying the weight of her body in my lap. “It’s Bric. He doesn’t want to take things from me, he wants to share them with me.”

  “Do you love him?”

  “Yes,” I say.

  “Do you love me?”

  We already talked about this the other day. And I lied to her. I mean, there’s still a part of me that feels like I was duped. That she tricked me into believing she was this person, and then she was someone else. Someone who would pick up and leave without a note. Someone who would walk out.

  “Yes,” I answer.

  “Are you going to leave now that you know he’s here?”

  “I knew he was here before I came upstairs. I saw his car in the garage.”

  “He’s moved in, Quin. He brought his clothes over this morning.”

  “OK,” I say.

  “You should bring your clothes over too.”

  “Is that what you want?” I ask. “Both of us. Full-time?”

  “He’s not full-time.” She laughs, but softly, so as not to wake Adley. “He’ll be at the Club every day. And most nights, too. Every weekend for sure.”

  “He obviously wasn’t there this weekend,” I say.

  “No, but the nursery furniture came in. So he rearranged his schedule to see to that.”

  “It’s nice,” I say. “Lovely, really.” It’s not what I would choose for our daughter. But I don’t say that.

  “It is,” Rochelle admits with a sigh. She sits up straight and places her hands on either side of my face. Leans in and kisses me.

  I kiss her back.

  “I want you,” she says. “And if you want him, I want him too.” She pauses to stare down at me. I can just barely make out the swirls of blue and green in her eyes. “Do you want him?”

  I think about this for a second. When was the last time I had a couple relationship? Have I ever had a couple relationship? Sure, Rochelle and I pretended. We were together as a couple two days and nights a week. Sometimes we’d even cheat and I’d come over on Saturday night, after I knew Smith’s time was over, and we’d get in the Suburban and drive up to the mountains. Spend all day Sunday together when it was supposed to be her day alone. Two days turned into three every once in a while. That’s how we spent the summer boating before she left. That’s how we took that trip up to Jackson Hole.

  But when was the last time I wasn’t sharing with Bric and Smith? Aside from a one-night stand, which I have never been into on any kind of regular basis.

  Never, I decide. I’ve never been in a real relationship before.

  “I need him, Rochelle.”

  “I see,” she says.

  We’re silent for a little while. I can hear Adley’s soft breaths from across the room. “Do you like the nursery?” I ask her.

  She nods, but stays quiet.

  “It’s nice. It was nice of Bric to do this.”

  “Do you want to come to bed?” she asks.

  I glance down at my watch. It’s a little past one in t
he morning. I’ll have to leave very early to be back at my condo before Smith shows up.

  Rochelle doesn’t wait for my answer. She gets up off my lap, her pale breasts fully visible now, since the silky tie around her waist has slipped, and holds out her hand.

  I take it and she pulls me to my feet. Leads me out of the nursery and into the master bedroom.

  The city lights filter through the sheer curtains covering the window. Bric is sprawled out on his stomach across the king-sized bed, arms and legs all over the place.

  He makes me smile.

  Rochelle drops her robe to the floor, where it becomes a puddle of gold, or cream, or white. She takes my hands and places them on her breasts, helping me caress her softly. When she lets go, she begins to undress me. Slips my coat off. Drapes it over a chair. Lifts my t-shirt up, her fingertips grazing the hard planes of my stomach. I reach behind my neck and pull it all the way off, since she will never be able to reach that high. She unbuttons my jeans, unzips my fly. Slides my pants down my legs. I step out as she reaches for my boxer briefs, her hand against my cock as it thickens from her pressure.

  She gets me naked and leads me to the bed, crawls in first. I follow, slipping under the covers with her and Bric.

  He groans and turns on his side. Exhausted.

  I pull Rochelle in close, my hands slipping between her legs. I find her wet and that’s the only signal I need. My fingers play with her as she begins to breathe harder. We kiss as I slide my body on top of hers. Pressing my chest against her breasts, moving my hips until my cock finds her entrance.

  I slip inside her and move slowly, lifting my chest up slightly, so I can stare down at her face.

  Bric is there. Awake. Leaning in to kiss her face as I watch. His hand sliding in between Rochelle and me. Pressing on her flat stomach, pressing on mine too. He plays with her clit as I continue to move. Her eyes are closed in ecstasy when I leaned down and kiss her. Kiss him. Kiss them both.

  She moans into us, her hands reaching for Bric, who kneels on the bed, his hard cock aimed at her mouth. She opens and the tip of his head disappears. I watch as he places both his hands on her head and urges to take him deeper.

  But it’s a nice, soft fuck. Not usually how we do things as a group.

  And when I look up at him, he smiles.

  He’s got me, that smile says. He wins.

  I don’t care who wins. I just want to enjoy them. I lean down and kiss Rochelle. She pulls back from Bric’s cock just enough to slip her tongue inside my mouth. I reach under, holding on to her waist as I flip us over. Bric is there, positioned behind her. Ready to join in.

  But instead of taking her in the ass, like I expect, he eats her out from above while I continue to fuck her from below.

  Rochelle begins to moan.

  I begin to moan. Bric’s tongue lapping against my shaft. His hot breath and hard chin bringing me to the brink.

  I pull out before I come, because I want to be on top. Bric and I trade places. He places her on top of him, so she’s looking at me when his fingers press against her ass, before positioning himself. I watch as he enters her. Then I grab Rochelle’s knees to open them wide as I straddle one of Bric’s legs, my balls dragging along his thigh, and press my cock against her pussy.

  When I’m inside her—we—when we’re inside her—I just… float away.

  There is no dirty talk. There is no hard grunting or screaming. There is no “Yeah, baby,” or “Fuck me harder.”

  It’s just us.

  I come inside her, the muscles of her pussy clamping down on my cock as she comes too. Bric pushes us off him, kneels on the bed next to Rochelle, and comes in her throat.

  After that we’re tangled again. Like we used to be. How we should be. Arms and legs crossing. Hands here and there. Mouths kissing.

  And we all go still.

  Smith walks through my condo door just like usual. He drops the gym bag to the floor and two rat heads peek out at me from the partially open zipper.

  “What the fuck is that?” I laugh. “You got another rat dog?” Two of the little things now. Both with pink bows atop their heads.

  “Chella and I are thinking about having twins,” Smith says. “So we’re practicing.”

  “You don’t get to decide if you’re having twins, dumbass,” I say, looking in the bag he brought for my pastry. It’s a cherry sugar dumpling. Why do I work out every weekend when Smith just brings me this crap every Monday? I take a bite and ask, “Where the hell did you get this? My mom used to make sugar dumplings just like this when I was a kid.”

  Smith points a finger at me. “Chella bet me ten dollars you’d recognize it.”

  “Wait,” I say. “My mother made this?”

  “No, Chella made it. But your mom gave her the recipe. They’ve gone partners in the pastry recipe business, it seems.”

  I almost choke. “My mom is a pastry partner?”

  “Can you believe how fast things can change in a week?” Smith asks, taking the lid off his cup of coffee to gulp it. “You and Bric are back together, Rochelle came home, Chella and I have twins. Life is good.”

  “Hmm,” I say. “Why are you so upbeat? The last time I saw you, you were talking some major shit to Rochelle for coming home.”

  He gives me a sidelong glance. “I’m just looking out for you, man. And we chatted on Friday. I’m happy with her responses.”

  “What did she tell you?” I ask, going for my own coffee.

  “She told me…” He stops, like he’s thinking back on it. “We just came to an understanding. Let’s just leave it at that.”

  My phone buzzes on the counter. I pick it up and read the text from Bric. Come to the Club for breakfast. I need a favor.

  “So how’s things?” Smith asks, nodding at my phone.

  “We’re working it out.”

  “Hey, men of habit,” he says. “The both of you.”

  I have often wondered how invested Smith was in the game before he and Chella got together for real. I mean, I cannot see Bric leaving it behind. Ever. I can see myself leaving, but it’s such a trade-off for me, it’s not going to be easy. So whatever, maybe we’re both men of habit, just like Smith says.

  But Smith didn’t second-guess his decision when Chella walked out. He left with her. Cold turkey. One day we’re a quad, the next day they’re a couple. No turning back for him.

  I craved it all year. And the past six months, when I wasn’t talking to Bric, it was… a longing. Some deep part of me that was missing.

  Today, I feel whole again. Like things are back in place. Like life is good, and this is the first day of the rest of my life. And all the other clichés that run through your head when you get exactly what you always wanted.

  “You’ll get over it though,” Smith says, picking up his twin rats and slumping down on my couch. “One day you’ll wake up and be like, ‘I’d like Rochelle all to myself.’”

  “Well, that’s not going to happen,” I say. “Because Rochelle and Adley are a package deal. And we don’t know who the father is.”

  “So as long as you don’t know, you’re both the father, is that how this works?”

  “Why not?” I say. “That’s how everything works. You don’t know what you don’t know.”

  “Or you just stick your head in the sand and hope it goes away.”

  “What the fuck?” I laugh.

  “You need a DNA test, Quin.”

  “Why? We’re doing good for now. If we know, that’ll spoil it.”

  “That’ll set things straight, not spoil it. Once you know you can decide how to move forward.”

  “We already have. Me, and Bric, and Rochelle, and Adley.”

  “You think this game will last forever?” he says.

  “It’s not a game when no one’s playing, Smith.”

  “Well,” he says, kicking his feet up on my glass coffee table. “I hate to break it to you, but everyone’s still playing.”

  “You don’t know what yo
u’re talking about.”

  “I know more than you think,” he says. “And I’m not trying to be a dick, but I’m serious. You need that DNA test. You need to know who the father is. And beyond that, Adley needs to know too.”

  “She’s six months old.”

  “I know, but kids grow up, Quin. And secrets tend to stay secrets. Don’t fall for it.”

  “It’s not a trick,” I say, starting to get pissed off.

  “Fine,” he says, slapping his hands on his knees and standing up. “I’ve gotta go beat the shit out of some thugs at the gym. Little bastards kicked my ass last week. But I’m ready now.” He tucks his little rats back into the gym bag and hikes it over his shoulder. “You’re gonna show up on Saturday for the opening, right?”

  “What opening?” I ask.

  “Oh, Chella didn’t tell you? I guess she was gonna do that tomorrow at lunch. The Tea Room is having a soft opening on Saturday to nail things down before the grand opening next week. Chella told her about the baby. But don’t worry, I’m running interference for you, bro. I’m gonna make sure—”

  “My mother?” I ask, cutting him off. “She knows about the baby?”

  “See,” Smith says. “This is why you need that test. That cute mother of yours is going to fall in love, Quin. And if that baby isn’t yours, it will break her heart.”

  I think about this for a minute and decide he’s probably right.

  “And yours,” Smith adds as he opens the front door. “You need to get that info soon, Quin. Because Bric is falling in love with that kid too.”

  Chapter Seventeen - Rochelle

  I knew three things when I found Elias Bricman four years ago.

  One. He was hot.

  Two. He was half-owner of Turning Point Club.

  Three. He liked to play games.

  If I had to make a list of three things I know about Bric now, none of those things even come close to mattering.

  I didn’t even know who Quin was until Bric took me to dinner at the Club the day after we met. He was sitting up in Smith’s bar—both of them were—when Bric brought me upstairs for a chat. That’s what he called it. A chat. That chat ended up being an offer to play the game. Which was the whole reason I was there.