Page 105 of Taking Turns

“From when we were kids?”

“Kids?” I repeat, sounding like an idiot.

“And the Club, of course. I was the one…” He looks around the garage again. “I was the one with Quin and Bric last weekend. You were up in the observation room, right? With Smith? I know you had a mask on, but… we’ve all seen you with him.”

“What are you talking about?” I ask, deciding to feign ignorance.

“Chella.” He laughs. “It’s OK. I’m not going to tell anyone, I swear. I was on that fucking waiting list for five years before they let me in. I’m not about to get myself kicked out now. I just wanted to know if you remembered me? Because I remember you. From when we were kids.”

I search my memory for any recollection of this man. Where the fuck does he know me from? Which of the many, many fucked up times in my life did he witness?

“You came to my eighth birthday. And then I was at your ninth birthday party, remember?” he says.

I breathe out a long sigh of relief. Nine. Nine is OK. Nine, I repeat over and over in my head.

I have no clue who he is, nor do I remember him from any party other than the ones I’ve seen him at recently. “Sorry,” I say, shrugging. “I don’t remember. But don’t take it personally. I block out most of my childhood.”

“That’s OK,” Jordan says, coming around the side of his car. “Anyway, the reason I’m bothering you is because three years ago, when I got this assigned spot, you and I were here at the same time. Just like now,” he adds quickly. Like he needs to get all the words out as fast as possible. “And I said something so rude, it’s haunted me ever since. But you and I don’t work the same hours—days—whatever,” he says, lifting up his briefcase. “I’m a partner at Wells, Well, and Stratford. Couple blocks over. I work eighty-hour weeks. And you—” He laughs. “You don’t.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I say.

He takes a deep breath. “That first day I parked here, I said, ‘I don’t care who had to die for me to get this spot, I’m happy I got it.’” He frowns. Deeply. “And then I got into work and found out… it was your mother’s parking spot. And she had just died.”

Relief floods through my whole body. I smile. Like, big. And Jordan, confused, smiles with me. “Oh, Jordan. I’m so sorry you’ve felt guilty about that. I don’t even remember that day, but even if I did, believe me. I wouldn’t have taken it the way you assumed.”

He exhales a long breath of relief. “I’m so sorry though. I’ve been sitting here for an hour and a half waiting for you. Determined to make this right now that I’ll be seeing you regularly at the Club. I just needed to get that off my chest. I didn’t want you to think I was an asshole. I’m not,” he says. “I’m really not.”

“An hour and a half?” I ask, still quite uncomfortable, but I’m getting a handle on it.

“Yeah, and you know, I’ve wondered about you a lot over the years.” I’m back to being weirdly uncomfortable and it must show on my face, because he amends quickly. “Not in a stalker way, Chella. Just… a curious way. I was only a kid. I thought you were pretty. And then one day you disappeared. It was just strange for me. Of course, I know now what happened.”

I might fall over and die.

“You went to boarding school. But I didn’t even know about boarding school until I was sixteen and my parents sent me away.” He laughs. “I was so clueless. Anyway. I’m glad I got a chance to apologize.” He points off to his left. “Wanna walk together?”

I point to the opposite direction, still trying to process. “I’m going that way,” I say.

“All right.” he says. “I’ll see you around the Club then, OK? Have a nice day.”

Jordan walks off. He might be… whistling. Happy about his cleared conscience.

I’m not whistling as I walk over to work.

I’m fighting off a panic attack.

Chapter Twenty-Seven - Smith

I’m just getting out of the shower when I hear the doorbell down on the first floor of Chella’s townhouse. What the fuck? I wrap a towel around my waist and walk over to the bedroom window that faces the front of the house. There’s a black car outside, idling at the curb.

I smile as I think about what this might mean.

Jesus Christ. Last night was the best fucking threesome I’ve ever been in. Ever. And it definitely wasn’t Bric, because he’s been with me for all of them.

I wonder if they want me to go to the party with them tonight and that’s why they dropped by?

Shit, I’m not even dressed. But if they’re asking, I’m going. And I don’t want them to change their minds, so I yank my trousers off a hanger and pull them on, then hop down the stairs two at a time just as the doorbell rings again.

I pull my zipper halfway up as I jog to the door, then disarm the alarm and pull it open. “You lost your fucking key, or you just want me—”