His Turn (Turning #3)

“You broke her,” he says again. “I told you. I fucking told you I liked this girl.”

“So why did you leave her alone with me?”

“Because she was a gift, Bric.”

I just… stare at him for a second. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“I got her for you. I trained her for you. And I gave her to you. Because I trusted you. I figured, hey, if Rochelle and Chella think you’re a good guy, well, I guess everybody else is wrong. But I’m the dumbass who was wrong. Quin was right. About everything. You’re a dick, Bric. You’re a class-A motherfucking asshole. And you hurt her.”

I don’t actually have any words right now. Hearing the names Quin, and Rochelle, and Chella come out of his mouth just… stuns me silent.

“You’re just a coward. Hiding up here with the ghost of games past. I actually talked her into giving you one more chance. Did you know that? God,” he says, grabbing his hair with both hands. “I’m such a fucking jerk. I let you hurt her. I will never forgive myself. Ever.”

And then he goes still and stops talking. I don’t know if he’s waiting for an answer from me, or he’s just run out of things to say. So I wait him out. Because I have nothing to say, either. I don’t even know what’s happening.

“Do you know who that Logan guy was?”

I squint my eyes at him. “How did you—”

“He came to me too.”

I shrug. “I have no clue.”

He narrows his eyes at me. “Did you tell Rochelle to get an abortion? And don’t say no, Bric. Because I’ve already pictured that conversation in my head. I already know how it went. Just plant a little idea, right? Just hint around. Just fuck with her head, right?”

I say nothing.

“Just like you fucked with Quin about that baby. You wanted him to stick around and so hey, you figured, why not make him jealous, right? Why not just take what he thinks is his and make it your own. I see you, brother,” Jordan says, pointing at his eyes, then me. “I’ve been watching you all this time. How you manipulated him. And Rochelle.” Jordan laughs. But it’s one of those sad, pity laughs. “You’re a sick motherfucker, you know that? Very fucking sick. Quin and Smith love you too much to come to this conclusion. They want you back. They will always take you back. But you do not deserve them. If you cared about them, you’d walk out of their lives and never look back.”

I swallow hard and wait for him to walk out. But he doesn’t. He goes behind the bar, picks up a bottle of whiskey from the top shelf, and grabs two glasses. He slams them all down on a table that was not upended by our fight, and points to a chair. “Sit your ass down, Elias. Because it’s time someone stood up to your mind-fuckery and gave it to you straight.”

I sit. He’s so fucking angry, it’s confusing. I don’t know what else to do, so I just sit as he pours drinks. Then he takes out a piece of paper, which I recognize as the police report Logan waved at me last week. The same report I held up for Nadia Friday night. And he talks. He drinks and calms down. His voice goes low, and sad, and soft. He talks for almost an hour as I listen. And when I finally get the whole picture. When I finally realize what I’ve done… I feel… just as broken as Nadia must.

“I’m sorry,” I say, after he’s finished with her story. “I didn’t know.”

“You didn’t care, Bric. You’re out for you, one hundred percent of the time. You can fuck up your life all you want. I do not give a shit anymore. But you’re not gonna fuck her up again. Not when I just got her feeling better. So you’re gonna make it right. Do you hear me? I don’t care how long you have to beg and knock for her to open up that door. I don’t even care if you have to break the damn thing down. You’re gonna go over there and make it right.”

“I will,” I say. “I’ll make it right.”

He picks up the drink he poured before he started talking and downs it in one gulp, slams it down on the table, and stands up. He eyes me. Challenges me. And for the first time in a very long time, I’m not in charge of a situation.

He walks out. The bar and restaurant went back to normal a long time ago. The afternoon is fading. My phone buzzes in my pocket, and for a moment I have hope that it’s Nadia. That she’s not in the condition he just spent an hour describing to me.

But it’s one of my mothers. Sylvia.

I want to ignore it, but I can’t. Because I fucked that all up too. So I tab the accept button and say, “Hi, Mom.”

“Are you feeling better?” she asks.

“No,” I say. “Worse, actually.”

“I thought so. I know you don’t like us to call you and so I typically respect that. You have your business and we have ours. It’s worked for a long time. But I don’t think it’s working anymore, Elias.”

“No, I guess not.”

“Would you like to try again? Or would you like to move on?”

Her words stun me for a moment. Even more than the words that kept me silent for almost an hour with Jordan. I want to die right now. Because she wants to know if they should just leave me alone. Just forget about me. Write me off. Cross my fucking name off that page in the Bible like I never happened. That’s what I want, right? I want to keep them as far away as possible. Pretend they don’t exist. The two worlds will never meet.

“We’d like to try again, Elias. But it’s up to you. It’s always been up to you.”

“I… I don’t know what’s happening to me right now.”

“Bad things, I think.”

For second I think she’s pulling some religious crap on me. A guilt trip about sin and all that bullshit. Like she’s one to talk.

“Bad things happened when you run from your problems. Isn’t that what you’ve been telling us? That one day we’ll have to account for all this.” I can picture her waving her arms in the air. All this… meaning the family. “We can’t run from it. We know that. And even though people up here leave us alone, they know how we live. Someone tried to burn the barn down last Thanksgiving.”

“What?” I say.

“We got it put out in time. Not too much damage. Abrem and Benjamin fixed it already. And we found seven calves gutted in the field last spring. We tried not to think too hard about it. And no one could fix that. But we know why it happened. So you’re right. All things come due eventually.”

“Mom,” I say.

“I am your mother. You were my first, Elias. Charity got pregnant before me. Many times. So you came fifth. But you were my first and only child, Elias. You are my only child. And I love you. I don’t want this. I don’t want you to feel bad about this. It’s not your fault we live a life you don’t agree with. It’s not your fault I chose this and brought you into this family. So I want you to know, I won’t hate you if you walk away and never come back. I won’t.”

I rub my hand over my eyes and hang my head.

“We love you. But we know how we choose to live isn’t… conventional. So if you want us to leave you alone, we will.”

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