Turning Point Club Box Set

by JA Huss

  “Why?” I ask.

  He shrugs. “That’s what friends do.”

  I just stare at him. And now my eyes are glassy. “I’m fucked up, Ix. I’m really fucked up. That girl, that night, here… she called it playing games. She played a game with me. And somehow I took that and made it who I was. Somehow—”

  But Ixion has crossed the small space that separates us. He sits down on the couch next to me, puts his arm around my neck, and pulls me in to a hug.

  Not a bro hug. A real hug.

  “Somehow,” I continue, “I took her game and made it mine.”

  “So what?” he says, still hugging me. “So what?”

  I pull back, wiping my eyes. “So I fuck with people. The way she fucked with me. I scare them, and make them uncomfortable, and I like it. Because she did that to me and I hated it. I want to be her, the one in control, and not me, the scared kid. I want to hurt people, Ixion.”

  “You’re stupid,” he says. “Who have you hurt?”

  “You,” I say. “Augustine. Alexander. I ruined everything because I played these stupid games. I ruined all of us.”

  “Come on,” he says. “You’re not that important. You’re not that powerful. You can’t take credit for my fuckups. Those are all mine, asshole. And you’re certainly not gonna take credit for my happiness, either. Also all mine.”

  “You took the blame for me,” I say. “Why did you do that? And don’t say that’s what friends do. No one takes that kind of blame to save a friend. Not when said friend fucked you over.”

  He smiles. Shakes his head a little. Then frowns. “Because you always had a future, and I never did.”

  “You’re a goddamned billionaire, Ixion. Your family had more money than God. You did have a future before I fucked it up. And now look at you! You’re—”

  “I’m fucking perfect.”

  “Your whole family is dead!” I say. “That’s what Evangeline and I are hiding from you! That house I live in? That beautiful empty mansion that used to hold a family? Well, they all died last year in a car crash. That’s why I’m here. It made me realize what I took from you—”

  “Stop being an asshole,” Ixion barks. “They died in a car crash. A drunk driver killed them.”

  “But they all died thinking you made that sex tape. They all died thinking you were a criminal. And you were sitting in jail and didn’t even get to go to the funeral. They all died thinking—”

  “They died thinking of me the way they saw me, Jordan. My father never said, ‘Tell me what happened, Ix. I’m on your side. I’ll believe you if you say you’re innocent. I’ll help you if you say you’re not.’ He never said that. He said…” Ixion pauses.

  “He said what?” I ask.

  Ix swallows hard and takes a deep breath. “He said… ‘I always knew you’d end up this way.’ And yeah, maybe your dad’s an asshole. No, he is an asshole. But at least… at least he always had your back. My dad never had my back. My dad accused me of stealing his good cognac, and fucking things up with his mistress, and—”

  “That was me!” I say.

  “I know, dumbass!” And then he laughs. “I know it was you! He probably knew it was you too! But he wanted it to be me. He wanted it to be me, Jordan.”

  There’s a long silence in the room. I think we’re both holding our breath.

  “He wanted it to be me, so it was. He hated me and that’s all there is to it. He said he was cutting me out of the will. And if they had died a few days later, he would’ve and I’d have been left penniless. But they didn’t, they died that day. And I had nothing to do with it. And you had nothing to do with it. And fuck it, right? I miss my little sister. She didn’t deserve that. But… but I refuse to feel guilty because they died and I lived. I did that already. I spent eight years doing that. And then you know what happened? One day Jordan Wells pulls me out of a jail cell, cashes in a favor he didn’t want to use, and gives me a second chance at happiness. So fuck off with your bullshit guilt, Wells. OK? Just fuck off. Because what I’m really here to say is…”

  He reaches for my shoulder. Grips it with his hand and I’m holding my breath again.

  “Is thank you, man. Just… thank you. Things go the way they go and what comes out the other end is exactly what you put into it. That’s all there is to life. What you get is what you give. And you give a whole hell of a lot, Jordan. A whole helluva lot.”

  He stares at me. Waiting for my reaction. His eyes almost pleading with me to say something.

  I breathe. Internalize. And then say, “You wanna kiss me, don’t you?”

  He pushes me away, laughing. “Fuck you.”

  But then… but then he reaches for me again. And he does.

  He kisses me. It’s a nice kiss too. Right on the lips. No tongue or anything like that. No passion or romance. It’s just innocent, and nice, and perfect.

  And when he pulls back he says, “That’s all I got for you.”

  And I say, “It’s more than I deserve.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  We take separate cars back to Denver because—obviously. And he goes his way and I go my way, except… I don’t know where to go.

  I don’t want to go home. I don’t want to think about that house. But I don’t want to go to the Bartos house either. I could go to work, but the day is pretty much over and my father might be there.

  I do not want to see him right now. I have not even begun to sort through those feelings yet.

  So I go to the only place I can go.

  Chella’s.

  Is it weird that my new best friend is a married woman?

  “What the fuck?” Smith says when he opens their front door. “Dude, why are you always dropping by?”

  Obviously her husband thinks it is.

  “Because she’s on maternity leave and I can’t just pop over to her tea room.”

  “Is that Jordan?” Chella calls from somewhere inside the house. “Yay! Company!”

  I give Smith a smug smile and push past him and make my way into the living room at the back of the house.

  “Hey!” Chella says.

  “Hey,” I say back, leaning down to kiss her cheek. “Wow, look at this guy! He’s adorable.”

  She sighs as she holds her sleeping newborn son in her arms. “I know. He’s so perfect. Such a good sleeper already.”

  Smith grunts and takes a seat in the chair across from the couch.

  “What?” Chella says. “Four hours at a time—that’s like a miracle, Smith. And he’s not bothered at all by the dogs when they bark. He’s already an animal lover. He’s so… easy-going.”

  “So you say,” Smith says. Clearly new fatherhood is taking its toll on him because his eyes are bloodshot and he’s got the beginnings of dark circles underneath.

  “Hmm. He must take after you, Chella.”

  Smith shoots me a look. “So what is it now, Wells? What problem do you have that only my wife can solve?”

  “If it’s a bad time—”

  “It’s not,” Chella insists, standing up and walking over to a bassinet and laying the baby down. He fusses and coos for a moment and Chella shushes him as she pats his back. “No one is coming by to visit me. I feel like a shut-in.”

  I glance at Smith and he looks appropriately guilty. He’s been keeping people away.

  “No one but this guy.”

  “I never got the memo,” I say, kinda glad I dropped by. And not just because it drives Smith crazy, either. But because they’re so normal now. It gives me hope. Like… maybe I have a future. Maybe I’m not hopeless.

  I mean, they were me when they met. Maybe even worse than me. They were some pretty fucked-up people a couple years ago. Smith and his weird quirks. Chella desperate to get over her past.

  Separate they were lost, but together… together they are a spectacular team.

  “You ever worry…” But I stop. Because I shouldn’t bring my bullshit in here. They’re so happy. And it was a tough road for them. It wasn’t
easy but they pulled it off.

  “Do we ever worry what?” Chella asks.

  “Never mind.”

  “No, say it,” Smith says. “Do we ever worry about what?”

  I run my fingers through my hair. “Do ya ever worry you’ll fuck him up?” They both just stare at me. “Forget it,” I say hurriedly. “Never mind. Of course not, you guys are—”

  “A fuckin’ mess?” Chella says. She smiles at me. “Because we are? Because we’re human and we make mistakes. And we all have this baggage we carry around. And then yeah, you get pregnant and all those fuck-ups your parents made suddenly come rushing back.”

  “And you ask yourself,” Smith says, picking it up. “‘Will I do the same? Will I fail him?’”

  I nod. “Yeah. All that.”

  “I think if we didn’t have that fear,” Smith says, “I’d be more worried about us.”

  I nod again. “You guys are gonna kill this parenting stuff. I can tell.”

  “You will too, Jordan,” Chella says. “One day, when you find the right people”—and I laugh at that. Because she knows me. And she loves me anyway—“you guys are gonna rock the family shit. You’re one of the good ones.”

  “Fuck,” I say. But my throat is tight and my eyes are watering. “No, I’m not. What I do, what I did—”

  “What you did,” Chella says, interrupting me, “for me… that was a gift. OK?”

  And I don’t know what she’s talking about. Killing her father? Or just being her friend?

  I look to Smith for help and he gives me a weak smile. “She knows it was you. And I told her I paid you.”

  “He also told me you didn’t cash the check yet.”

  I shake my head. “No. I can’t take that money. I shouldn’t have played that game. I shouldn’t have played any of them. It’s all fucked up, you guys.”

  “What is?” Chella says.

  “Me,” I say. “I’m so fucked up.” I lean forward, elbows on knees, staring down at my shoes. A position of defeat I’m starting to get used to.

  “Is this about Augustine and Alexander? Did something happen?”

  I shake my head, unable to look her in the face. “No, it’s not about them.”

  “Then who?” Smith asks. “I’m fuckin’ buffed out these days, dude. Fighting those damn teenagers down at the gym has got me ripped. I can mess people up for you.”

  I can’t help it, I laugh and look up at him.

  “No shit, man. You need some muscle? I’m down.”

  “I don’t need muscle, dumbass. I have Darrel and Finn, remember?”

  He reaches out, fist first, and I lean forward and give him a bump.

  “Then who?” Chella asks.

  And then I have to make a decision. To pull out all my neatly-folded secrets or keep them packed up in that fucking suitcase I’m carrying around.

  And I don’t know what it is about Chella that makes me want to confess things to her. What makes me want to hear her opinions and ask her advice. But I do.

  So I start from the beginning. Not that night when I was twelve, that wasn’t the beginning. I start with the day the Club closed. How I drank myself unconscious. And then the games that came after. And Ixion, and all those messy feelings that come with him. And the house and why I can’t go home.

  It ends with the night at the cabin when I was twelve and then I let out a long breath and wait for their judgment.

  “Wow,” Chella says.

  I look at Smith. He says, “Fuck… that… asshole.” And then he stands up and paces the floor. “Just fuck him. You know what, Jordan?”

  “What?” I say, taken aback at his sudden anger.

  He points his finger at me. “You don’t owe him shit, OK? You don’t owe him shit. You don’t owe him an explanation about who you are or what kind of people you want to share your intimate moments with. You don’t owe him a goddamned success story or… or… a fucking law career. Or even a fucking promise to do your best. Because his job was pretty simple. Be. Your. Father. That’s it. And you need to tell him that.”

  “You think?”

  “Smith,” Chella says, interrupting. “I mean, he should do what he wants. Don’t tell him that.”

  “No,” Smith says, shaking his head. Still pacing the floor back and forth in front of the kitchen island. “No. I did that, Jordan. I didn’t confront them. And I don’t know Ixion but I know his story. He didn’t confront his father either. But you know what?” And now he’s looking at Chella.

  “What?” she says, pouting her lips.

  “We confronted your father.” He says it in a very low, even tone. Smith pivots his head to look at me now. “And that asshole didn’t have a regretful bone in his body. Fuck him. Fuck all of them. Why are people so uptight about this shit? I mean, good God, dude. He was afraid you were gay so he bought you sex at twelve? How does that even make sense?”

  “I dunno,” I whisper. “It doesn’t. I think that’s why it bothers me so much. Like… what was he thinking? How could he be so… I dunno. Careless with me?”

  “No,” Chella says. “No, it bothers you because it was wrong. It bothers you because he’s supposed to love you unconditionally. It bothers you because he was your father and in his eyes, you were less than perfect. And I know I’m going to make mistakes with Daniel. We both are. But we will never make him feel bad about being himself. Ever.”

  Smith just looks at her. He looks at her like she’s a goddess. Like she’s an endless fountain of wisdom and strength. Like there is no love greater than this love he feels for his wife. And then he gives her one of this infamous Smith smiles and nods. “Ever,” he echoes.

  I end up staying the night in one of the second-floor guest rooms. And in the morning Smith hands me a suit from his closet and says, “Gotta run. But we’re pretty close to the same size, so have a suit on me. Coffee’s in the kitchen, Chella’s sleeping, and if you need to sleep here tonight too, just… you know.” He shrugs. “Show up. You’re always welcome here.”

  “Thanks,” I say.

  “Hey, I once spent years bouncing around from friend to friend, making them support me because I refused to own anything, that’s how afraid I was of turning into my father. I get you,” he says, pointing at me. “We get you. And we got you, too. You need someone to kill your old man?”

  I laugh, I can’t help it.

  “I’m your guy, Jordan. Just say the word.”

  “Thanks,” I say, grabbing the suit. “I needed to hear that. But,” I add quickly, just in case he’s serious, “I’m gonna pass on the offer.”

  He shoots me with his finger. “Offer stands. Forever.”

  It occurs to me, as I drive into work, that I have a lot of pretty cool friends.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  I want to avoid my father today, but of course there he is standing at the reception desk talking to Gail, who outs me with a cheery, “Hope you’re feeling better today, Jordan.”

  My father turns and smiles. Because he has no clue what’s inside me. None. I mean, why should he? It’s been more than fifteen years since that night at the cabin. If it ever bothered him, that passed. Long ago. “Sorry to hear you were sick, Jordan. Why didn’t you call your mother? She’d have brought you some chicken soup. You know how good it is.” He chuckles, squeezing my arm as we walk into the private reception area and head down the hallway to our offices.

  “It wasn’t that kind of sick, Dad. I just needed a break, that’s all.”

  “Oh. Things come up in your little”—he cups his hand to his mouth and whispers—“game?”

  “No, Dad. No. I was just overworked, I think. I just needed some time.” And this is something I don’t get either. The fact that he kinda knows what I do on the side. I mean, he doesn’t have details or anything, and he certainly doesn’t know anything about killing Chella’s father or taking down a couple of corrupt FBI agents, but he knows I run this little fantasy game.

  He claps me on the back and says, “I’m back with
you. So where have your friends been, Jordan?”

  For a second I think he’s referring to Augustine and Alexander. But then I realize he’s talking about Finn and Darrel. “They’re not friends, Dad. They’re business associates. And we’re…” I shrug. “Not very busy at the moment, so I dunno where they are. Doing whatever they do.”

  “Good,” he says. “Good. Is there a new girl in your life?”

  I stop in the hallway just outside my office. “Why are you asking me all these questions?” It comes out haughty. Because I am. Being haughty, that is.

  “You caught me.” He laughs.

  “Caught you doing what?”

  “Your mother. She’s been after me to get you over for dinner because she wants to set you up with the daughter of one of her friends.”

  “No,” I say. My mother pulls this at least twice a year. Most of the time I successfully avoid the painful blind date, but every once in a while, she sneaks one in on me and then pretends she didn’t have anything to do with it.

  “I told her you wouldn’t be receptive. But she wants to ask you herself. So I told her you’d come over for dinner tonight. Be there at seven.”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” I say, reaching out to grab his arm. “I’m not coming.”

  “Oh, tonight is not the date. There’s no surprise girl jumping our from under the dining room table, I promise you. Now I gotta go. First day back after the tests—”

  “Hey, how did that go?”

  “I’m fine,” he says, his smile wide as it ever was. “Just fine. See you tonight.”

  With that he walks off.

  I shut my office door, sit down at my desk, and pull up my calendar.

  Blank.

  I push the button on my phone for Eileen. “Yes, Jordan?”

  “Why is my calendar empty?”

  “Oh, your father said to clear it. Said you needed a day off.”