Page 79 of Turning Back

But now she’s back. I have her back. I still can’t believe how quick life changes. So I do think about her. And Adley. What did they have for breakfast? What did they do all day?

I hardly ever see Smith and Chella on the weekends and I’ve gotten used to no Club and no Bric, even though that Club was my life for more than a decade.

I don’t call him. I don’t call her, either. And I get through Saturday by going into the office and working on a proposal for a new client who came in last week. And then I hit the gym for a few hours and go home with take-out Chinese.

But by Sunday morning, I’m hopeless. The entire time I run steps over at Coors Field, they’re on my mind. Adley and her big blue eyes and little chubby face. Rochelle and her curvier new sexy body. How much she’s changed. Her hair is longer, her tits bigger, her hips wider. And by the time eight AM rolls around I’m sweaty as fuck, my legs are aching, and I’ve imagined a million ways this can go wrong and only one way this can go right.

When I get home I shower, make a protein shake, and wish it was summer so I could go outside and sit on the terrace. It’s not snowing today but it’s gray and dim. I need a little sunshine in my life.

By noon I’m regretting my decision to stay home tonight. What the hell was I thinking? I almost call Bric to see what he’s up to, but decide that’s probably a bad idea. He’ll be at the Club. He’s always at the Club. Nothing about that guy’s schedule ever changes. He is the definition of habit.

By six PM I’m counting the hours until Smith shows up in the morning.

What a sad life it is when a Monday morning coffee visit from Smith Baldwin is the highlight of my weekend.

It’s been like this for a while now, though. I’ve been like this for a while now.

How long should I punish her? How long do I refuse to let her in? How long do I have to torture myself in order to trust her again?

I almost want to call her up. See if her weekend has been spent the same way. Has she been sitting around feeling sad? Has she been thinking about me too?

Are we in fucking high school or what?

By nine, I’m sitting on my couch staring at the clock over the fireplace. It’s modern and artsy. A chrome thing with a second hand. Which I watch, relentlessly, as it sweeps around the center point, counting off minutes.

Minutes that turn into hours of me sitting here alone in the silence. No lights on except the ones pouring in through the two-story walls of glass from outside.

At ten minutes to midnight, I give in.

Did I ever think I wouldn’t?

I drive over to LoDo, which is still pretty busy for this late on a Sunday, and park in my designated spot between Rochelle’s Lexus and Bric’s BMW.

I have to think about that for a second. Take a moment to wonder how I feel about him being here on my night. Reevaluate how I imagined she spent the weekend.

Was he here the whole time? Did they just spend two days together? Alone?

I’m just about to start the engine and leave when I make myself be rational.

Bric will stay with her. He doesn’t want her for himself, but he does want her. So he will stay. And he’s not a thinker, like me. He doesn’t dwell on shit. He gives in to his wants and needs and just goes for it.

So if this bothers me, I’ll need to be the one who takes care of it. Who sets things straight. He never will.

I get out of the car, close the door, and call for the elevator with my code. The doors open immediately, then close after I step in, and eight seconds later I’m in the loft.

It’s quiet and dark, except for soft light flowing out of Adley’s room down the long, wide hallway. Her barn doors are open just enough to let the glow escape.

The doors to the master bedroom are closed.

They’re in bed together.

I glance at the kitchen as I walk by and see the remnants of dinner.

They ate together.

I walk towards the master, but a soft rustling makes me turn towards Adley’s room. I slide the doors open just enough to slip inside and take it all in.

I guess that crib came. And a whole bunch of other stuff. Adley’s room has been transformed into an elegant nursery. The deep purple and light yellow color scheme reminds me of Rochelle’s apartment above the Club. The velvet curtains and tulle canopy over her crib add rich textures against the pale walls. There are baskets filled with toys and stuffed animals. An open closet made out of that artistic piping Bric has lining the walls along the ceiling shows me dozens and dozens of baby outfits hanging on small, appropriately-sized wooden hangers. A wooden dresser along the exposed brick wall, which obviously matches the crib, has a small crescent moon-shaped lamp, which is where the glow of light emanates from. And a rocker, upholstered in light yellow fabric, sits in the corner, next to a changing table.