Hudson (33 page)

“I had one final move to make.” I wonder briefly if she really thinks that’s what all of this is for me—another game. She’d loved once upon a time. Doesn’t she remember?

A familiar stab of guilt strikes me, low and hard in the gut.

And then it’s gone.

It’s been so easy to blame myself for her choices. But sooner or later, we have to take responsibility for ourselves—just as Dr. Alberts said. I may have taught her this life, but she’s the one who chose to embrace it. Now, as I try to show her another way to live, she refuses to see it.

I’m not responsible for her. It’s the final snipping of the cord that bound us together. The last strand between us clipped, and now we’re both completely free.

Celia sees it too. She lets me go with a long, slow hiss of air. “It’s checkmate, is it then?”

“You tell me.” It’s almost admirable how she plays to the very end. Once upon a time, I would have been impressed. Now, I’m weary.

“What are your plans for Werner Media?”

This is a fair question. “At the moment, I have no plans. The company’s doing well as it is. Warren Werner is definitely the right man to be in charge. However, if there were any reason that I felt his presence was no longer needed…” I trail off, letting her fill in the blanks.

“He’d be devastated.” Her brows are pinched, and her usual stone-cold expression has been replaced with despondency.

I feel a flicker of relief. I’d gambled here. My entire plan only worked if Celia still had the capability to care for someone other than herself—namely, her father. It’s further proof that she’s only living like she’s heartless because she chooses to.

Though I don’t rule out that her concern may be monetary—I’ve been convinced for ages that Celia lives off her daddy’s wealth. And while he’d still have it even if I stole his title, it’s less likely he’d feel as generous. It’s well-known that a happy Warren is a sharing Warren.

“I imagine he’d be devastated just to learn he no longer holds controlling interest. For now, the fact is still hidden. He has no idea that he’s no longer in charge. Would you like that to change?”

“No,” she says.

“Do you plan on doing anything that might cause me to alter my current business plan?”

Her shoulders sag. “No.”

“Then yes, it’s checkmate.”

We sit silently for several minutes. It’s been a long battle. And this is the official end of our friendship. It deserves some mourning. Memories flip through my mind like a bunch of stills in a photo slideshow. Some are from so long ago, I can’t date them accurately. Others so imprinted in my soul I’ll never forget the details. Her winning backhand stroke in a game of tennis that had been so close. The bottle of champagne we opened at the end of our first successful play. Her hand on my back, and her soft, sincere confession—
I love you
.

This is all the time I’ll spend grieving for what we once were. It’s brief, but I let myself feel it.

Eventually, she stands. “I guess it’s time for me to go.”

“It is. I’ll walk you out.”

I check my watch as we cross the floor together. I need to leave for my parents’ in half an hour or so. Today is Mirabelle’s planned intervention.
A day of hard words
, I think. And hard emotions. It’s as if I can make up for a lifetime of non-feeling in just a few days’ time. It’s something I hope to never have to do again.

I open the door for Celia and hold it wide for her to cross past me. She doesn’t look at me as she does. Or I don’t look at her. I’m not sure which. I start to shut it behind her when my gaze hits something unexpected—a duffel bag on the floor. It’s Alayna’s. I’m sure of it.

Or is that wishful thinking?

No, it’s hers. I packed it for her on our trip to the Poconos. But what is it doing here?

A sudden burst of anticipation shoots through me, and I scan the room, hoping against all hopes that I’ll see what I so want to see.

I do.

My eyes lock on hers. She’s kneeling on the floor at the threshold to the bedroom. Her posture suggests that she’s not here to stay, that she didn’t want me to know she was even here at all—the duffel is misleading. Still, I’m elated. I’ve missed seeing her face, missed connecting with her even on such a base level.

I’m desperate to stay and talk to her. Eager to find out why she’s here. And, I realize suddenly, she’s seen the ending of me and Celia. I couldn’t have wished for her to witness anything else that might better prove my love for her.

But though I’m desperate and eager and so yearning to stay, I know that if I do, I’ll never get out of here in time for my mother. It’s an obligation I can’t ignore. Something I need to do before I can say my demons are slayed, and I’m able to be the man that Alayna might be able to call hers again.

I’m not the only one who’s not ready—she’s not ready either. I feel it deep in my soul. She needs more time to process, and rushing it will do me no good for the long-term.

So I have to hold on to this moment to get me through. Hold on to the love that still shines so clearly in her eyes and hope that it can eventually be enough.

“Hold the elevator,” I call after Celia without looking away from my precious Alayna. It’s always so hard to leave her. But right now, I’m feeling strong, and I shut the door behind me.

Celia’s waiting in the elevator holding the
door open
button. I step inside, and the door closes. We travel silently for several seconds before she says, “Well, this is awkward.”

Honestly, I’ve forgotten she is even there. I’m still back in the loft, my heart and my mind fixed on Alayna. I pull myself from there to the present. “Is it really? I haven’t ever lost this big. I wouldn’t know.” I blame my condescension on the rush from discovering our eavesdropper. But I may have been just as cocky had Alayna gone unseen.

Celia does not seem to appreciate it. “You’re an asshole.”

“It’s a fraction of what you deserve.” The smallest fraction, though, and I try not to dwell on the list of myriad worse things I could do to her. It’s satisfying to contemplate but more focused on the negative than I’d like to be.

Celia crosses her arms over her chest and eyes me. “You know, my father is going to retire someday. What will you have over me then?”

I roll my eyes. “Please. Your father’s going to work until he dies. I give him another twenty years, at least. If you’re still holding on to a revenge plot at that time…well, I don’t think you could call anything you do a win then. You aren’t that pathetic.”

A sideways glance at her says that maybe she is that pathetic. The idea of her still perpetuating this scheme against us years from now enrages me. I level my gaze at her and steel my voice. “But if you need further reason to drop this game, let me give one to you. I tied your hands legally. I’d prefer not to use other methods to stop you, but hear this—I’d kill for Alayna if it came down to it. Please don’t test me on that.”

She shrugs dismissively. “It was only a question. I didn’t mean anything by it. The game is over, and I’m bored with you both.” She purses her lips. “I certainly hypothesized incorrectly on this one, didn’t I? I’d never have pegged you for a hero.”

It’s a backhanded compliment, and it makes me smile inwardly. She’s not alone. I certainly never would have bet on me to fall in love.

But wait—why was she pegging me at all? “Who exactly was your subject on this experiment, Celia?”

The doors open, and she exits without answering. Stunned by my realization, I’m a few steps behind her. I’m not about to run her down, but I call after her again. “Celia?”

Surprisingly, she turns back. “What?”

I close the distance between us, my heart that had skipped a beat a moment before now racing. “You were never really playing Alayna, were you? It was me. You were playing me.”

The spark in her eyes say I’ve hit the nail on the head.

The pieces fit together suddenly: the reason why she was so reluctant to let this one go—Alayna was only the pawn. All along, Celia had been studying
my
emotions,
my
behavior. It was
me
that was the subject of her scheme.

It’s ridiculous that I haven’t seen this before, that I never expected it. Didn’t she owe this to me all along? I deserved her retaliation. Sleeping with my father was punishment, but it never equated to the kind of manipulation I’d put her through. This though—this does. Questions race through my mind. How many years has she planned this? Did she want me to fall in love? Or was her goal to prove I actually couldn’t? Did she want me to hurt, or just know how it felt to be deceived? Would she have played me if I hadn’t quit? Was this always her goal? Was our entire friendship really just a long game?

I’m blown away.

And impressed. And angry. Really angry.

And, also, the tiniest bit grateful. Celia is to credit for my relationship with Alayna, after all. I’m smart enough to know I would never have gone after the woman who enamored me if my old friend hadn’t pushed me to it.

It doesn’t redeem her. But it eases an ache of sorts. She’d always said I’d saved her by introducing her to my world—was that true or part of her scheme? Whether it was or not, now she’s saved me. She’s given me this life with Alayna.

Perhaps nobody won this game after all. Maybe we’re simply, finally, even.

She spins on her heels, leaving me reeling from my revelation. Of course, she delivers parting words, thrown flippantly over her shoulder. “Take care, Hudson. If you ever decide to rejoin the game, you know where to find me.”

***

My mind spins all the way to my parents’ place. After turning over my keys to the valet, I stand in the lobby and attempt to gather myself before going upstairs. It’s difficult to set aside the events of the afternoon, but I focus on Mirabelle and all I owe her. Then I step in the elevator and head up.

I’m the last one to arrive for this intervention, even though I’ve gotten here early. The whole family is present, as well as Adam. Madge Werner is here too. She must not blame my mother for Celia’s night with my father ten years ago, though she does carefully avoid any eye contact with Jack. She doesn’t seem to be too happy with me either. I suppose my participation in the lie is enough to make her dislike me. She’s uncomfortable, yet she’s still here in support of Sophia. It’s admirable.

It goes as well as any of these types of things can. There’s lots of crying, mostly from my mother, who sits on the sofa clutching Madge with silent tears streaming down her otherwise stone face. Everyone speaks. Chandler says he wants a mother he can bring a girlfriend home to. Adam talks a lot about the kind of environment he wants to raise his baby in. Madge reminisces about an earlier time in their friendship when neither of them touched alcohol.

Mirabelle gives the heaviest ultimatum. “Be sober or don’t be in my life.”

It’s after this that Sophia agrees to go to rehab. She’ll do anything for that grandchild.

But even with her acquiescence, there are two of us left to talk, and we will not be skipped. Jack goes first. “I know the man you married disappeared a long time ago with the woman you once were. If I’m asking you to be her again, then it’s only fair that I find him again as well. You’ve always been the love of my life, Sophia, even though the life I created for you—for us—was a shitty one. But, hell, we’re still young. There’s no reason we can’t start a better life together now.”

My mother doesn’t say a word, but she pats the cushion on the other side of her after Jack’s speech. He moves to her immediately and wraps her in his arms. It’s now that she crumbles, her face buried in his chest. Mirabelle and I exchange a stunned glance. We’ve never seen such affection between our parents. It’s quite moving.

I go last. Careful not to include Celia’s involvement—Madge is here, and this isn’t the place to unearth more secrets that aren’t mine—I share the nature of my relationship with Alayna. How I became involved with her. How I fell in love and betrayed her. It’s shocking and disappointing, and I can feel the anguish in the room grow heavier, and for a short second, I wonder how shocked and disappointed they would all feel to know that Celia had done the same to me.

God, I still can’t believe it.

But I can’t go there because then I have to reveal the whole story behind Celia and me, which is neither here nor there at the moment.

So I stick to Alayna.

It’s a short confession. This isn’t my intervention, after all, but my tale is relevant.

She doesn’t look at me, but I end directly addressing Sophia. “I no longer know what came first, Mother—your drinking or my emotional withdrawal. It’s like trying to answer the age-old question of the chicken or the egg. While blame is not important, I do know that our behaviors are directly correlated. That I’ve contributed to your addiction. That you’ve contributed to mine. With that in mind, I think that if I get well and you get well too, then both of us will have a better shot.”

My mother shifts, raising her eyes to mine.

I feel my throat tighten, but I talk through it. “We’ve both been hiding our flaws behind these crutches. It’s time we face them. I’m back in therapy. I don’t want to be that person anymore, and I vow that I’m going to change. For myself. For Alayna. For you. Will you change too? For all of us? For me? For you?”

It’s a simple nod that she gives, but it’s everything. We’ll never be able to repair our past. I know this. We will always be strained and awkward and, perhaps, even cruel toward one another. But we will forever have this one moment where I asked her for her love, and she gave it. It’s enough to last a lifetime.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

It’s the day after my mother’s intervention, and already that seems like a lifetime ago. I’m sitting in the dressing room of Mirabelle’s Boutique, wallowing. I hadn’t planned to come to the reopening—I’d promised I wouldn’t, in fact.

But I was convinced otherwise. By Jack, of all people.

We’d just gotten to the addiction center to drop off my mother when my father handed me the keys. “I’ve called for a ride for me and Chandler. Take the car, go to Mira’s and fight.”

So I did.

And then I lost.

I put everything on the line, and Alayna still turned me away. I’m not giving up, but I haven’t quite gotten the strength to figure out my next move yet. Maybe I’m waiting for direction. Which is why I’m still here when my sister bangs on the door, nearly an hour after Alayna’s left. Frankly, I’m surprised she hasn’t shown up earlier. I suppose her grand reopening celebration kept her occupied. I knew she’d find me eventually.

Mirabelle enters without invitation, peering first around the door—looking for Alayna, I assume—before shutting it behind her.

I rise from the bench I was sitting on and scratch the back of my neck. “She left. I’m sorry.” I’m pretty sure Alayna was done with her part of the show, though, so I don’t really feel that bad.

Mirabelle walks up to me, places her small hands on my chest and shoves. “What the hell, Hudson? You weren’t supposed to be here.” She shoves me again for good measure.

I wrap my hands around her wrists. “And you’re supposed to be watching your blood pressure. Stop shoving.”

She wriggles out of my grasp and puts her fists on her hips. “If my blood pressure’s spiking, it’s not because of the shoving. It’s the man who’s being shoved that’s causing me anxiety.” She moves again to push me, but this time I catch her first.

“There’s no reason for me to be causing you anything. Everything’s good. Sit down.” I direct her to the bench where she sits without any pushing. “Do you need me to get you some water?”

“No,” she snaps. “I’m perfectly hydrated, thank you very much.”

Something about her demeanor sparks a similar confrontation. Her rehearsal dinner. I’d pulled her away from her party then too. God, I’m such a fucker of a brother.

For old time’s sake, I ask, “Don’t you need to be with your guests?”

“I’m on a potty break. It’s fine.” Her narrowed eyes show a hint of humor, and I know she caught my reference. Then she’s animated again. “And what do you mean everything’s good? Did you talk to Alayna?”

I lean a shoulder against the door. “I did.”

“And?” She’s almost as eager as I am to have us back together. It’s nice to have someone in my corner.

“And I proposed.”

“Um…what?”

“You’d be proud of her. She said no.” It hadn’t been one of my finer moments. I’d been desperate and bold and brazen. I hadn’t had a ring. It had been the solution I’d concocted on my ride back into town. I thought that proving the lengths I’d go for her was the answer to our problems. As if lack of dramatic gestures had been our issue.

“Which is understandable.”

Alayna already explained it in hard-to-hear words—she loves me, but she can’t stand to look at me. She can’t ever trust me again. I’m an idiot to think that she’d want to spend her life with me.

But I’m feeling masochistic and think maybe I should hear it again. “Is it?”

Mirabelle’s nicer about her response. “You broke her heart, Hudson. You don’t fix that with a proposal.”

I want to ask,
then how
do
you fix it?

But I don’t voice the question. I’m afraid the answer is
you don’t
.

So instead, I slump on the seat next to her and assume an air of confidence. “It’s good, though. I’m going to win her back. I’m not giving up until I do.” They were the words I’d shouted after Alayna when she’d walked away from me earlier. She didn’t look back. I pretend that doesn’t mean anything.

Mirabelle lifts her head to study my face, surprise etching her expression. “When the hell did you turn into a romantic?”

I shake my head. “I didn’t. I just remembered that I’m a man who gets what he wants.” And I want Alayna. Need, actually. I need her like I need air to breathe.

“Yeah, don’t use that line with her. That’s not romantic at all.” She makes a face to further prove her distaste.

I hadn’t meant to use the line, but now that Mirabelle’s scoffed so openly at it, I have to know. “Why not? It’s worked before.”

“Maybe to get laid.” She pauses for a second. “And now that I think about that…ew.” She shudders. “Anyway, cocky and dominating is not what’s going to win back trust and affection.”

“How the fuck do you earn back trust?” I don’t mean to be so crass, but I’m frustrated.

And, also, I get it. There’s nothing—
nothing
—that Celia could ever do to earn back my trust. Is that how Alayna feels about me? She probably should. As she said, there’s no forgiving that kind of betrayal. Now I know.

But she also told me that she still loved me. Even if she hadn’t said it, I saw it in her eyes, on her face. I felt it in the way she had to fight to keep from running into my arms. If she’d said she hated me, maybe then I could let her go on with her life. Without me. But because she still has love, well, I can’t give up on that.

Huh, maybe I did turn romantic after all.

“Time,” Mirabelle says. I hadn’t expected her to answer. “Give her space. Let her know you’re still fighting for her. But don’t do anything that will get you a restraining order.”

Time and space.
Every second away from her kills me. Every inch between us feels like miles. But I can try. If that’s what she needs, I can do my best to give her that.

Mirabelle rubs a hand in small circles over her belly. “Do you have anything specific planned to show her you’re still thinking about her?”

In truth, that’s why I’m still sitting in Alayna’s dressing room—I was paralyzed, trying to figure out my next move. So far I’d come up with nothing.

Except as I’m caught in the hypnotic rhythm of my sister’s hand motion, I suddenly remember something from long ago. “Someone once told me,” I say, “that the way to win a girl’s heart is to do things that prove you’ve noticed who she really is.”

I’d used that wisdom to win me girls in the past. Always as part of a scheme, and that made it hard to consider it as a tactic now. Yet it had been good advice.

Mirabelle eyes me. “You’re seriously going to develop your game plan based on something I told you as an inexperienced teenager?”

I frown at her word choice. “Not a game, but yes, my plan is based on your suggestion.”

She raises a brow, and I assume she’s unhappy with my idea.

“Do you have anything better?” I hope my exasperation isn’t too apparent.

“No. The idea’s great. Simple. Romantic. It’s really the best you got.”

“Then what was that look for?”

She breaks into a grin. “You. Asking my opinion about your love life. I told you that you would one day.”

Her smile is contagious. “Don’t get cocky. It’s not good for the baby.” I poke at her ribs where I know she’s ticklish.

She bats at my hand and squeals. “Stop it. You’re making me laugh, and my bladder can’t take it.”

“Go take your potty break.” I stand and help her to her feet. Then I open the door and stand back to let her pass.

In the hallway, before she goes toward the bathroom and I toward the back door, she asks, “Are you going to be okay?”

I pause. “Yes. I think I am.” Because Alayna seemed like she was going to be okay. And that’s what matters most to my happiness. Still, until she asks me not to, I’m going to keep trying for another chance.

By the time I’m in my car, I’ve already bargained with myself regarding giving Alayna space. I can’t stay completely away, and though that’s perhaps the last thing she needs, I know she can understand being all-consumed. I decide that I can physically keep my distance, but only if I’m with her in other ways. A list of gifts is already forming in my head.

Most anything I’ll need can be ordered online, but there is one purchase I need to make in person. I head directly to Tiffany’s. Alayna said no to my first proposal, but I still have every intention of one day making her my bride. When I have the chance to ask again, I’ll be prepared. I purchase a three-carat brilliant cut diamond flanked by two baguette stones in a platinum setting. As soon as I see it, I know it’s hers. It’s beautiful and precious, just like she is.

That night, I start my gift giving. I have the Kindle delivered to her at work. She may hate it. She may give it away. She may throw it to the ground like she did her phone.

Or maybe she’ll accept it. Maybe she’ll even love it. I don’t know. I’ve never so easily second-guessed myself. Like everything new Alayna has taught me, this is another new concept—how to grovel.

When a text comes through a short while later, it’s her cell number. I close my eyes and say a silent wordless prayer before opening up the message.

Man, ur quite the talker. This is Liesl, btw.

I’m disappointed and confused for a moment. What did she mean by talker? Then I realize she’s referring to all the texts I’ve sent.
Has she read any of them?
I ask.

No. But I read a few. :)

I don’t care that she did. I’ll shout my words from the top of the Empire State Building if there’s a chance Alayna will hear what I have to say.

While I have Liesl’s attention, I take the opportunity to ask more about Alayna. I saw her today, but I want to know really.
How is she?

Good. Considering. She won’t use the vibrator I offered.

I chuckle. And then I’m thinking about sex with Alayna. Missing it. I’ve tried not to let those thoughts enter my mind. We spoke to each other through our bodies, and remembering her beneath me, her mouth on me, her tongue sliding against my own—it adds a deeper level to the constant pain I feel for her. I’m hard at the memories, but I won’t touch myself. I’ll suffer because I know that beating off will only increase the loneliness.

Ignoring the ache, I concentrate on my texts.
Is she eating? Sleeping?

She eats. She drinks. A lot. But that’s getting better. She’s sleeping on my couch. It’s a futon.

So we’ve both been sleeping on the couch. Somehow that gives me comfort.
Are you home? Can you take a picture?

A few minutes pass, and then an image of a thin, worn mattress shows up on my phone screen. A message follows.
You better not want this for something kinky.

Nothing kinky. And thank you.
I just want to know where she’s spending her time. I want to be able to picture her as she sleeps.

If that’s not completely psycho, I don’t know what is.

I stare at the image a moment longer. I have the idea for my next gift now. I’ll order a new mattress for her. And one for me, just so I can feel we’re connected in our sleep.

Another message comes through.
R u going to keep texting her?

I am. Do you think that’s okay?
God, when did I get so needy?

Yeah. I do.

She sends another right away.
I’m putting this down now. So u can go back 2 ur pining. I’ll try not 2 read 2 many of ur messages.

I know Liesl is on Alayna’s side, but I let myself think that maybe it’s also our side.

I’m restless before I even attempt to sleep. It’s the couch and the sleeping alone. I haven’t slept well in days.

Tonight, I decide to try something different. I pull out my iPad and look for a radio station. I tend to usually listen to the classics—Mozart, Brahms, Wagner. Alayna, on the other hand, loves to listen to modern songs, songs with words, music with a beat. Tonight I want to listen to what she’d be listening to if she were here. Something like it, anyway. I don’t know which label best describes what she usually plays so I select one at random from the Adult Contemporary section.

I don’t pay too much attention to the first song that plays—it’s halfway over and I’m settling in with my pillow and blanket. But the second song comes on, and I’m caught up in it immediately. The piano is lonely, haunting. A male tenor enters with the melody. It’s simple. Bluesy. Soulful.

And the words…

They tell the story of a man who’s drowning in his love for a woman. Drowning, but he can still breathe fine. The woman’s flawed, but to him, she’s perfect. She makes his head spin. She’s distracting and inspiring. And he’s so enamored with her that every part of him loves for every part of her. It’s a song about being open, about having no barriers. About loving with “all of me” and asking for “all of you” in return.

It’s everything that I feel for Alayna. Everything I want to say to her.

I sit up and look at the artist’s name and song title. John Legend, “All of Me.” I purchase the album and put the track on repeat. I have it memorized before I fade to sleep.

As I straddle the line between consciousness and unconsciousness, I decide that tomorrow I’ll go back to Tiffany’s. Alayna’s ring needs an inscription, and I know just what to say.

***

Sunday, she starts returning some of my texts. I’m elated, but I think I manage to keep my cool.

I continue sending her daily gifts, reminders from our relationship. I leave each one on her desk for when she arrives at work. Thursday, though, I leave nothing. Instead, I come into The Sky Launch during her shift and take a seat at the end of the bar. She barely speaks to me, but I’m happy just to sit and watch her. It’s meant to be reminiscent of the first time I spoke to her. The night before her graduation.

It seems like a lifetime ago now. So much has changed, and yet so much hasn’t. Her smile still lights up my world. Her eyes still draw me in and keep me hostage. She still is the most intriguing thing I’ve ever encountered.

I nurse a Scotch for an hour. Finally, I leave her an envelope with a hundred and a gift certificate to my Poughkeepsie spa. Then I leave.

I’m halfway to the parking garage when she calls after me. My heart pounds against my chest as I wait for her. I’m worried about the reasons she wants to talk to me. Also, I’m so fucking happy that she wants to talk to me.