Page 116 of Turning Back

Rochelle looks at me, anger washing over her. “I think it’s ironic that I’m here, in a place filled with cheaters, being called a cheater. This Club is nothing but cheating. You people are the height of hypocrisy. And if you believe him—well, then I’ll happily pretend I never came back. Helen just accused me of being a stupid little slut, just like my mother. And now Smith Baldwin is going to say the same thing? After he used me for years, just like the rest of you?” She shakes her head. “No. I don’t think so.”

Rochelle lifts up her head, straightens her spine, and walks right past us, disappearing through the revolving doors.

Chapter Twenty-Nine - Rochelle

I will not cry. I will not cry. I repeat this over and over in my head as I make my way through the White Room and the lobby and right through the big revolving front doors. I don’t even have my car here. I’m fucking at the mercy of the drivers.

I wait.

Thankfully, they keep Bric’s car parked right down the block, so it pulls up and the valet opens the door for me. I scoot in, relieved to see that the car seat is still strapped in.

The door closes and I let out a sad sigh. So this is where it all falls apart? I should’ve known Smith would start more shit after he paid me that visit last week. Asshole.

And now I know the little secret he’s been keeping about me. Well, fuck him. Just fuck him.

The door opens again and Kitty Foster is standing there. “Oh, good. Hahaha.” It’s a nervous, happy laugh. “I was afraid I’d miss you.”

“Why, God?” I say out loud as I buckle Adley in her seat. She smells like champagne. That stupid bitch Helen. I cannot believe she threw a drink on me.

“Oh, honey,” Kitty says, still nervously laughing as she gets in the car and closes the door. “What’s a little public humiliation between friends, right?”

She smells like champagne too. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Foster.”

“No, no, no,” she says, patting my arm. “It’s Kitty. We’re family now.”

“Didn’t you just hear all that? She’s not Quin’s baby. Smith Baldwin is an asshole.”

Kitty looks at me sympathetically. “I don’t know what’s going on, but Rochelle, I have some idea. These boys…” She looks away. “Well, they like to think I’m naïve and innocent. But I just play along, honey. No mother wants to discuss her son’s sexual… preferences, right? Hahaha!” Another nervous laugh. Then she stops the laugh and says, seriously now, “Maybe proclivity is a better word?”

I just look at her, then lean forward to talk to the driver. “Can you take me home, please?”

“Sure, Miss Bastille,” he says.

“And button up the divider, huh, Ben?” Kitty says. “Us girls need to talk.”

“No problem, Kitty.” The glass between us and the driver slides up and we are left alone.

So. She’s a regular around here. I don’t know why that surprises me, but it does. I have never seen her around the Club. Was her husband a member? Is that why Quin’s a member?

Maybe that life he led wasn’t as normal as I first thought.

It shouldn’t make me feel better, but it does. I cannot believe how fucking all-American Quin Foster is. It makes me… insecure. Why would he want a fucked-up girl like me? Why? When he could have anyone he wants?

But no, that’s not right about his father being a member. Not at this Club, at least. This Club belongs to Smith and Bric. I know that for a fact. And they haven’t owned it that long.

But everyone seems to know her. And she knows about Bric and Smith.

“Listen.” Kitty leans into me and whispers. “I know what they do here.”

I feel even worse knowing she knows.

“And I know who you are. Quin has talked about you a little. But he’s not the one who told me about Adley.” She takes a moment to look at her. “It was Chella. Quin didn’t set this up to ambush you into meeting me, sweetie. I did. I talked Chella into it. So don’t be mad at Quin.”

“I’m not mad at Quin.” I sigh. “I’m not mad at him at all. There is absolutely nothing about Quin to be mad about. He’s perfect, in fact. Way too perfect for someone like me. And now that Smith just told him about that fight I had with—” I sigh again. Louder. Longer. “Well, now he’s gonna know what a total piece of shit I am.”

“Smith is Smith, Rochelle.” Kitty’s snapped into mother mode. “You know him far better than I do. But even I know how he is. He has some facts right, maybe?”

I nod my head and swallow hard.