Page 24 of Turning Back

“He actually has,” I say, feeling the need to defend my friend. “A lot.”

Rochelle looks at Bric and shakes her head. “What can I say other than sorry, right?” She switches to me. “I’m sorry.”

“Whose baby?” I ask.

“I don’t know. If I knew do you really think I would’ve left without saying something? It could be either of you.”

“No one else?” Bric asks.

“What the fuck, Bric?” I say.

“I’m just asking to make sure,” he continues, his eyes squarely on Rochelle’s face.

“There’s no one else,” Rochelle says, looking at me. “I didn’t think you’d be interested.”

I rub a hand down my face and laugh.

“I didn’t think you loved me,” Rochelle continues. “I told you I loved you and you said nothing that night.”

“That’s no excuse,” I say, turning my back to her. “No excuse for what you did. You told Chella to get in your bed, pretend to be you—” I almost want to fucking choke her right now, that’s how angry thinking about that night makes me.

I take a deep, deep breath instead.

“I’m sorry,” Rochelle says again. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you—”

“You didn’t mean to hurt me?” I laugh so loud the baby cries.

Rochelle morphs into some version of herself I have no knowledge of. She shushes the baby, walks to the small counter where the hotel-room-sized refrigerator is, takes out a bottle, and then sticks it inside some contraption as she rocks the baby on her hip.

I look over at Bric, who is watching everything she does with a look of fascination. “What’s that thing?” he asks.

I kinda want to know too, but wasn’t gonna ask.

“A bottle warmer,” Rochelle says, turning to face us. “You came at a bad time. She needs to eat and then nap. We were on the road since early this morning. So we’re both tired.”

“Where did you come from?” I ask.

Rochelle pulls on her t-shirt. “Here.”

Pagosa Springs. “Where are you going?” I ask, wanting to tick off as many questions as I can before she boots us out. Because we are definitely being booted out of here in a matter of minutes.

“Jackson,” she says. “I was gonna go up to Jackson.”

“You have a place up there?” Bric asks.

“I’m gonna check into a hotel for a while.”

“Good luck with that,” I say. “There’s no rooms in Jackson the week after Thanksgiving. So unless you booked ahead, you’re fucked.”

“Swearing,” Bric says, tired of repeating himself.

I roll my eyes, which makes Rochelle smile. “I’ll be OK.”

“One night then?” I ask. “You came here for one night to what? Fuck with us again?”

“I called Chella, not you.”

“Yeah, I heard. Passing through. Don’t tell Quin.”