Page 17 of Turning Back

It’s just one night without rules. I can handle one night, right? I’m a professional game-player. I did this for three years.

But if Bric came to get me, that makes him number one. And we all know why I shouldn’t fuck number one.

I’ll get attached.

And where will that leave Quin when I see him tomorrow?

Elias Bricman thrives on control. If I let him control me again, nothing will have changed. He’ll be the same guy, with the same motivations, as he was when I left last year.

I don’t want what we had last year. I need more than that.

“I change my mind,” I say.

Bric squints his eyes at me, frowning. “Which part?” he asks.

“All of it.”

Chapter Four - Quin

At nine AM on Tuesday morning I was one hundred percent sure I wasn’t showing up for lunch with Chella at the Club. By nine-thirty I was at a solid eighty-five percent.

You can see where this is headed.

I show up at Turning Point ten minutes early.

Margaret, Bric’s White Room manager, is gushing over me like a mother because I’ve been MIA for so long. She takes my coat and straightens my tie, asking me a million questions that both annoy me and make me feel special at the same time.

“I’m fine, Margaret,” I say, brushing her hands away from the lapels of my suit. “Stop it.”

“Sorry. I’ve just missed you.” Margaret stares up at me, hands clasped together in front of her, like I’m giving her a proud moment and she needs to soak it up. “Mr. Bricman and Mr. Baldwin are up in Mr. Baldwin’s bar.” Margaret shakes her head. “Both of you… back on the same day.”

“I’m here for lunch with Chella,” I say. “In the White Room.”

“Oh, she called a little while ago and said she’d be late. That’s why Mr. Baldwin is here, I suppose. And you know how he is about his privacy. Plus he brought a dog.” Margaret tsks her tongue. “Mr. Bricman was not happy about that. So lunch will be up in the Baldwin Bar.”

I turn around and look up, and sure enough, there’s Smith holding that little rat with the pink bow. He waves one of her paws at me, smiling.

I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to the dog-dad version of Smith.

I can’t see Bric from down here, but I guess I’m stuck seeing the whole thing through. I climb the stairs up to the second floor asking myself why I’m really mad at Bric. I believe him when he says he just gave Rochelle her options. So OK, he didn’t actually tell her to have an abortion. But the part where he keeps that little conversation to himself, even after she left and he knew I was devastated—well, I’m having more trouble with that.

He kept things from me. It’s on the verge of lying. Not quite, but very close. It was total betrayal. I don’t like lies. And I hate the feeling of betrayal even more. What we were doing was based on trust. And loyalty. He broke his oath with me.

Maybe he did mean to tell me about his conversation with Rochelle. But I don’t think so. I think he deliberately didn’t tell me she was pregnant because he didn’t want me to leave the game.

This, I decide, is the root of my problem.

Bric is selfish. Sure, he plays Mr. Philanthropist at Smith’s instructions. He looks generous and benevolent on the outside. Always in control, always ready with a big ol’ check to hand out just when people need it. But it’s not his money and it’s not his goal.

He’s like a paper-doll version of Smith. The mask Smith refuses to wear.

And I understand now—completely understand—that the reason he didn’t tell me about Rochelle being pregnant was because he didn’t want to make a change in his life.

His life.

Fuck her life and the problems she was facing. Fuck my life and the epiphany I was slowly realizing. If I knew about Rochelle’s pregnancy we’d both leave the game. And what would happen to Bric then?

Really, what would happen to him if he didn’t have Smith and me around? Keep him in check. That’s why we make such a good team. Smith and I keep him in check. The Club keeps him in check.