“Shhh,” I say, reaching up to place two fingers against his lips. “That’s enough of that.”
He takes my hand in his. Kisses my fingers. Then places it back in my lap. “I think it’s important to be honest about it. If I want to change, I need to be honest about it. To one person, at least. To you,” he says, looking down at me. “I hurt you. I left you when you needed my attention the most. I did it to win, Nadia. I’m obsessed with winning this stupid fucking game that means nothing. It’s nothing, Nadia. I’m so fucking stupid.”
I don’t think I’ve ever seen a man so vulnerable as this man right here.
“I did it to them. I wanted Rochelle to go away when she got pregnant with Adley. But then I wanted Adley for myself, even though I knew Quin was in love with Rochelle in a way I’d never be. Even though I knew Adley was his. Jesus fuck,” he says, wiping a hand across his brow. “She looks just fucking like him. And I didn’t care. I told them I was allergic to mango just to make them think I was the father.”
I don’t even know what that means. But it’s haunting him. And he needs to get it out.
“I would like to start over, Nadia.”
I think about that for a little bit. He waits. Patiently and in silence. “I don’t think we can,” I finally say.
He sighs. Deflates. His chest sighing with… sadness, maybe?
“I don’t think you can just erase the past, Elias. So I probably should start from the beginning as well.”
“You don’t have to,” he says. “Jordan filled in all the blanks.”
“Jordan only knows part of the story. It’s the parts he doesn’t know that haunt me. Just like your lies haunt you.”
So I tell him. I take a few moments to figure out where it all started and then I tell him everything.
“I don’t remember my mother. I never had a father. So meeting your family was something like… being in a fantasy, almost. I was born addicted to drugs. My mother gave up custody of me before she ever left the hospital. I went into foster care, was adopted, but they gave me back a few months later.” I stop. Because this was the part that always fucked with my head. “Who gives a baby back?”
“People who can’t cope, Nadia. It’s got nothing to do with the baby.”
“That’s the rational explanation. And I’m pretty rational, so I accepted that. Long time ago. I got adopted again. Couples all want babies. And I lived there for a long time. Until I was seven or eight. And then they divorced and the woman I was calling mom died. The man I called father walked away from me over it. And once again, I lost my family.
“From there I bounced around in foster families. My life spun out of control. I spun out of control. They tried to give me drugs to calm me down. Gave me a therapist. Nothing worked until one foster family put me in a free dance class they offered down at the local community center. Dance,” I say, thinking back on it. “Everything about dancing had to do with control. I was nine years old when I became a control freak. Everything in my life could spin, but when I was in dance class, I had complete control over the spinning.
“I became sexually active very early. And after being used a few times, I decided I was in control of that too. So I made the boys do things for me first. I’d make them steal things or buy me things. After I got tired of that, I’d make them get me off in unusual ways. And when that got boring, I’d make them touch each other.”
“You don’t need to tell me this, Nadia.”
“I do,” I whisper. “I really, need to tell someone. And I want it to be you.”
He smooths my hair. Tucks a stray piece of it behind my ear. “I’m listening.”
I take a deep breath and continue on the exhale. “Scott and I were together for a long time. I met him when I was at a party in the Hamptons two summers ago. And last spring, he took me back up there to his family’s house for a weekend. Logan came over. His family had the house next door. Things got… kinky, I guess. I took over. I was used to it. Scott liked it. Logan was intrigued, but standoffish. He watched me dominate Scott that first time. That’s it. But we kept going back on the weekends. And Logan kept meeting us there. And eventually Logan joined in. I had them both. They did whatever I wanted. They took me out and took me home. We were pretty happy for a few months.”
I sigh. Long. Slow. Exhale.
“But then Scott wanted Logan to go away. He didn’t want to do it anymore. And I…” I don’t know if I can talk about this part.
“And you did,” Bric finishes for me.
I nod. “I still did. I wanted Logan. He did anything I wanted. He never said no.”
“And you left Scott,” Bric says.
I nod, my eyes hot with tears.
“And he killed himself over it.”
I nod again. “I didn’t mean to do that,” I say, crying again. “I swear. I didn’t mean to make him so sad. I didn’t understand. He was only nineteen, Bric. We met the day he turned eighteen. On his fucking birthday. I corrupted him. I ruined him. I broke him.”
Bric is silent for a few minutes as he lets me cry it out. I have never told anyone this. Not my public defender. Not Logan. Not anyone.
“And his parents blamed you?” Bric asks.
“It was my fault,” I say.
“No, Nadia. Breaking up with someone isn’t a punishable offense. You’re not responsible for his actions.”
“He was only eighteen when we met—”
“Shhhh,” Bric says. His fingers back on my lips to quiet me.
“I won the criminal case,” I say. “But his family got a restraining order. Logan’s family too. They told a judge I was dangerous. I was subversive. And that I had a long history of psychological manipulation.” I look up at Bric. “And that judge believed them.”
“That judge was a dick, Nadia. Someone paid his ass off.”
“What?” I ask, squinting my eyes at him.
“Please. Subversive? That’s not grounds for a restraining order. They lied, that judge was their friend.”
“No,” I say.
“Yes,” he says. “Come on. I know you’re young, but… the whole world runs on money, Nadia. These guys come from old money. They wanted to punish you. And when they lost their legal case, they wanted to humiliate you. It’s bullshit. All of it.”
“Except the part where I killed someone.” I sniff wildly. But my crying has stopped.
“You didn’t kill him, Nadia. It’s not silly or stupid to think that. It’s normal. It’s even got a name. Survivor’s guilt. But you need to let it go. Did you know Jordan brought you here?”
I nod my head. “He told me last week.”
“Did you know he brought you here for me?”
I nod again.
“He told you that last week, too?”
“That’s why I begged you for a second chance. Jordan said you were worth it. He said we were perfect for each other in some odd way. That’s what he does, he said. He fixes people. I know he has clubs and—”
“What are these fucking clubs you’re talking about?” he asks. “Jordan doesn’t own any clubs.”
“Yes, he does,” I say. I even smile. Because Bric… all-knowing, all-powerful Elias Bricman, has no clue who Jordan Wells is. “We went to it that one night, remember? When I got to dominate and you had to watch.”