“So no… quad?” he prods.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” I pan one hand down my completely disheveled outfit of leggings and t-shirt, lack of makeup, and fucked-up slept-on ponytail hair. “Do I look like I’m playing another sexual fantasy game here? I’m a new fucking mother, Elias.” I wince at my f-word. I’m really trying not to swear in front of the baby.
Bric runs his fingers through his hair like he’s frustrated. “I’m just trying to understand. You left everything we gave you behind.”
“Because I didn’t need it.” I’m rolling my eyes at his stupidity. Did he really think I was spending thirty grand a month while I lived with them? On what? It just shows me how goddamned clueless he is.
“So you left it all behind to get rid of us? All of it? Put us away and just forget it ever happened?” He stops and scratches the shadow creeping down his jaw. He’s one of those guys who needs to shave every day. Something I always enjoyed about him when we spent our nights together. “So you saved your money and you pay for all this yourself?”
That little question mark at the end is almost cute. He’s so… un-Bricman-like right now. He came here thinking I had a sugar daddy. I almost laugh at his insecurity. “I have a lot saved still. I bought a nice Lexus. And I put most of it in a trust fund for Adley. But I do get that payment every month, so I’m not strapped.”
“What payment?” His eyes narrow.
“The ten grand that gets deposited into my account every month. I assumed it was from you. No?”
“No,” he says. “Maybe it was Smith? Maybe you’re his new project.”
“Ha.” I laugh. “Good one. It’s probably Quin then. And even though I don’t feel like I owe you for it, I do… appreciate it.”
It has helped. I had more than a million dollars saved when I left them and I only spent a hundred grand on the car. Which was stupid, but I justified it because I wanted to drive places instead of flying. I don’t fly.
“So he’s been paying you.” He says it more to himself than me. “And you’ve been accepting it.”
“I figured it was child support.”
Bric points a finger at me. “Right. Because this child belongs to us.”
“To me,” I clarify. “I will fuck you over six ways till Sunday if you came here to pull some custody bullshit on me, Bricman. I’m not even messing around right now.”
He holds his hands up, palms facing me. “Back up, sister. I’m not here for the kid. Come on. Get real. I just…” He sighs. Walks over to a chair and sits. Leans back and closes his eyes as he massages his temples. “You have no idea what your little stunt did to Quin.” He opens his eyes. “No idea.”
I shrug. “It hurt me too. When you said abortion—”
“I never told you to get a fucking abortion.” He looks at Adley and lowers his voice. “I never said that, Rochelle. I just said you had a few options.”
I shrug again. “I heard what you weren’t saying. I know you better than you think. I know what goes on inside that head of yours. I’ve seen it, Bric. Experienced it first-hand. And I already knew Quin wasn’t into me like that. So I did what I had to do.”
“You left Chella in your bed? That’s what you had to do?” he says, voice rising again.
“Oh, so it worked, huh?” I smile at that. “How’d that go?”
Bric sighs. “She’s practically engaged to Smith now.”
“What?” I laugh. “What the hell?”
“I know, right?” I get a small familiar smile from Elias Bricman. The friendly one. The real one. One I hardly ever saw when we were together. He only brings it out for special occasions and I was never special enough. “They hit it off. In fact, we all liked her. She played well. But it didn’t last. She quit and went with Smith.”
“Well, damn. I never saw that coming.”
“But Quin—”
“Bric. I can’t. It was hard for me too. It hurt so bad when I left. But I did leave. And I had a good reason.”
“What was your reason? Because he’d be into the whole baby thing if he knew.”
“He doesn’t know?” I’m shocked. But he put money in my account every month.
Bric shakes his head. “I never told him. He thinks you had the abortion. I never told him you called me last summer.”
“Sorry about that,” I say, looking away. I walk over to the couch next to the chair and take a seat. “I had just given birth and my hormones were all out of whack. Plus I felt like a total failure because I couldn’t get the hang of the breastfeeding thing. I was really looking forward to that. But I shouldn’t have called.”
“We would’ve been there for you, ya know. Even me, Rochelle. Even Smith. He’s the one who went looking for you first. He couldn’t stand to see Quin so unhappy and confused.”
“Hmm. I never saw that coming either. The Smith looking for me part. Not Quin. I knew Quin would be hurt but… he hurt me too, Bric. You have no idea how bad.” We sit there in silence for a minute. Adley is playing with my hair as she drinks her bottle, wrapping long strands of it around and around in her tiny fist. “If Quin didn’t know… then why was he sending me money all year?”
Bric shrugs. “He loves you. He probably wanted to make sure you had what you needed.”
“He doesn’t love me.” I roll my eyes.
“Shit, Rochelle. He’s a fucking mess. He won’t even talk to me these days. He’s so mad about how it ended.”
“You’re… not playing the game anymore?” I almost can’t believe it. Elias Bricman is nothing but a game. I can’t even imagine this man living a normal life. Not just the sexual stuff he’s into. But everything. His whole life is wrapped up in controlling people.
“Not with him,” Bric says. “Not with Smith either.”
“Then who?”
“That new guy. Jordan Wells? Did you ever meet him?”
I shake my head. “But just one guy?” That’s not like him either. He likes to keep things off balance. Anything less than plural is just not dynamic enough to satiate his dark appetite.
“I’m not really here to talk about that game, Rochelle. I’m here to beg you for a favor.”
“I’m not going back. I told you that. In fact, you’re lucky you came today. I’m about to move again.”
“Where?”
I shrug. “Dunno yet.”
He exhales loudly like he’s really frustrated now. “I really think I need to know.”
“You don’t deserve to know where I’m going.” My own frustration is building. Where does he get off? How in the world does he figure I owe him something?
“Not where you’re going,” he snaps. “If I’m the father.” His head is downcast, but he looks up through a wave of hair. It’s longer than I remember. Not long. But shoulder-length. And some of it falls over his face until he runs his fingers through it, putting it back in place.
“Why?” I ask. “It’s not like you ever wanted kids.”