She rolls her eyes. “Pssh.” Then she considers, letting the suggestion settle over her. “Maybe,” she concedes finally. She thinks about it another few seconds before shaking her head. “But let’s not talk about me right now. Does Alayna know about…?” She looks around to make sure no one’s listening and then lowers her voice. “You haven’t told her, have you?”
I know what she’s talking about without her spelling it out. The game. The experiment that brought Alayna into my life in the first place. The weight of this secret slumps my shoulders. “No. I don’t think I can.”
“You can’t.” She’s adamant, her eyes ablaze with her insistence. “Not if you want to keep her. Trust me on this. I’ve been scammed by you before. There’s no way she’ll love you after that.”
This isn’t news. But the confirmation coming from the one person who could possibly understand Alayna’s position is jarring. I don’t want to hear this. I don’t want to believe that there is anything that could make me lose Alayna’s love.
Celia steps toward me, her expression regretful. “I’m not saying that to upset you. I just—”
“I know.” I don’t need Celia to feel bad about this. “It’s the truth. I have to keep it from her. It’s only you and me that know—”
“And I won’t tell her.”
It hadn’t crossed my mind that she would, but now I have to secure that she won’t. “I hate to ask this, but do you swear that?”
“I swear, Hudson. Not only because you asked me not to, but because it’s the code. We don’t speak about the game to anyone. Even if we’re not playing anymore, old rules apply.”
“Thank you.” I look again toward the restrooms, but my thoughts are on Celia. She has a streak of darkness in her that I can’t deny. She’s a sadist. While my experiments were always a sterile study of human behavior and emotion, she repeatedly felt glee at the expense of others. It’s made me wary of her.
Yet, even though I’m the one who taught and nurtured her perverse nature, she’s never turned it back on me. Time and time again, she’s stood by me, been my only confidant, shared the deepest bond in the keeping of our ruthless secrets.
And now, she’s supporting me in a way that I’d never expected. Letting me move on when I always held her back. “You’ve been a better friend than I’ve given you credit for.”
“Back at you.” She squeezes my hand. “A really good friend, Hudson. You saved me, you know.”
I meet her eyes. They’re still watery, and she blinks several times, probably trying to keep her tears from spilling. It occurs to me that I owe Celia the same acknowledgment. If not for her pushing me to the game, I wouldn’t have Alayna now. I don’t have the time or the words to explain the extent of my gratitude, so I simply say, “You saved me too.”
She squeezes my hand once more before letting it go. “I have to go back. Good luck, Hudson. I mean that.” Then she leaves.
Alayna and Mirabelle appear with impeccable timing. The ache that always fills me when Alayna’s not with me eases at the sight of her. But my mind is tied up in the encounter with Celia. Long after we’ve left the restaurant and are buckled in the back of the limo, I’m replaying phrases, coming to a fuller understanding of truths that were exposed in our brief conversation.
I dwell most on what I’ve done to Celia throughout our friendship. And also on what I’ve done to Alayna, what I’m still keeping from her. These thoughts send me into a spiral of self-loathing and deprecation that I haven’t ever experienced. Not at this level.
When we arrive at the penthouse, I’m so consumed in myself that I send Alayna away, telling her I have work to do. I can’t be with her when I’m like this. She doesn’t deserve this. I don’t deserve her. Still I won’t let her go. I can never let her go, no matter how unworthy I am.
But how long before she discovers the worst of me and leaves? More and more, I feel the inevitability of that day. And then will it destroy her like it destroyed Celia? I can’t bear the thought.
The cursor blinks on the empty document open on my computer screen, keeping me locked in my pitiful trance as the night passes. I’m aware of Alayna in the background—always aware of her. She runs on the treadmill, her music blaring through the house stereo as she does. She showers. Then the house quiets, and I assume she’s gone to bed.
Lyrics from one of the songs she played stays with me—a woman’s voice singing about her darkness, wondering if her lover could love her dark side. It’s apropos, and I wonder if Alayna realizes it. I wonder if my distance tonight has pushed her away already. I don’t want to push her away; I want to pull her in.
Then what the fuck am I doing sitting alone at my desk?
I shake my head at my stupidity. I’d told her earlier that I was with her. Always with her. It was a promise that I’ve already broken because here I am wrapped in my self-hate, and that’s miles away from her and her love.
I turn off my computer and go to her. Undressing quickly, I slip into the covers and spoon behind her. She’s naked, and I know that it’s an invitation. So, though she’s sleeping, I wrap my hands around her torso and kiss along the angles of her body.
She sighs into me, opening her legs for me so I can slip my cock into her warmth. We make love like this, quietly, intently. In this silent act of passion, she brings me back—back to the man that can be trusted and loved and present.
Afterward, when we’ve found our breathing, when we’ve found each other, she asks, “Where did you go? Earlier.”
I nuzzle against her. “Does it matter? I’m here now.”
She wants more, words that I can’t give, promises that she’s not ready to hear, walls to crumble that are too strongly built. There are things I can’t tell her—not yet, not ever—but there are also things I can say. I pull her underneath me, stretching my body on top of her so she can feel the weight of my company. So that everywhere our skin meets, she can feel I’m with her.
I rock into her and begin whispering in the language of love. “Mon amour. Mon précieux,” I say at her ear. “Mon chéri. Mon bien-aimé.” My love. My precious. My cherished. My beloved.
I tell her this over and over in between kisses as I roll in and out of her. I tell her that I’m with her. Always with her. With all that I can give her. With every part of me that matters—the places that she’s awakened, the dark corners that she’s lit with her love.
I can’t give her all of me, but I can do this. I pray that it’s enough.
Chapter Nineteen
“Hudson.”
Celia’s voice on the other end of my office line surprises me. I haven’t spoken to her since my mother’s birthday four days before, but it isn’t the length of time between then and now that throws me. It’s the tone in her voice. There’s something I can’t identify beneath that one word. Something…off.
My body tenses immediately. “What’s wrong?”
“I need to see you. Now.”
I have a business meeting and two phone calls left before my day is over. Then I hope to convince Alayna to join me on my trip to Japan to try to win back Plexis. “Now’s not good, Celia. Can I call you tonight?”
“No. It’s urgent.” Her voice is tight with emotion. “It’s Alayna.”
She won’t tell me more than that, insisting that she has to see me face-to-face. There have been many times that Celia has snapped her fingers expecting me to jump. I rarely obeyed. This time, I do. Not only because she’s said the magic word—Alayna—but because her demeanor is so completely foreign. It’s fragile and fearful. These are traits I haven’t seen from my old friend since she lost her baby ten years ago.
I ask my secretary to cancel my afternoon and am out of the office within seven minutes. My mind wants to jump to conclusions, wants to settle on the worst possible reasons for this impromptu meeting, but I don’t allow myself to think about anything but getting to The Bowery. Celia’s riled me up so completely that I didn’t even argue when she declared the meeting place as my penthous
e. Though, as I take the elevator up, I remind myself once again that I need to take away her key.
Inside my apartment, I find she’s not alone. My parents are there as well, and a man that I recognize from pictures in Alayna’s file as her brother. I suddenly wish I’d tried to contact Alayna on my way home. Has she been hurt? Has there been an accident? Is that why everyone’s here, to tell me something I don’t want to hear? Something I can’t hear?
I’m on edge now, but I hide it.
I hold a hand out to the stranger. “Hudson Pierce.”
“Brian Withers.” His shake is firm enough, but I can’t help resenting him for the troubles he’s given Alayna. “Good to finally meet you.”
“You as well. Though you’ll pardon me for not being privy to the circumstances in which we’re gathered.” I direct this last comment to Celia. She’s the one who holds the answers.
“I was just getting to that, Hudson. Why don’t you sit down?” Her voice is heavy, as though she’s a doctor about to deliver a terminal diagnosis.
It’s unnerving, and again I’m struck with a cold bolt of fear. Please, God, let Alayna be okay.
Then I remind myself that though she sounds sincere, I’ve heard Celia use that tone many times when she’s not. So I remain wary. “I’ll stand.”
“Whichever you prefer.”
“I prefer you explain what’s going on.” There’s an edge to my words that I recognize as completely unwarranted. Celia had surprised me when she declared her support of me and Alayna, but I didn’t doubt her earnestness. Why am I so ready then to battle her now?
It’s because I’d rather a battle than any other news she could give me. I’d rather fight her than find I have no reason left to fight.
“Calm down, Hudson.” My mother is the last person who can calm me. Her presence alone is a distress. “Pour yourself a drink.”
“Of course that would be your solution,” my father mutters.
It’s the usual banter of my family. Normally, I would echo the sentiment. Right now I only want to hear what Celia has to say.
She senses I’m losing my patience and clears her throat, preparing to deliver what I can’t help but assume is a show. “There’s no other way to say this except to just come out and say it. Alayna has been…well, she’s been harassing me.”
I’m instantly relieved. She’s okay. There’s been no accident. No body waiting to be identified in a morgue.
But the respite is short-lived as a new storm of emotions overtakes me.
“Not just harassment,” Celia clarifies. “She’s been—I hate to use the word, but it’s the one that fits—stalking me. Calling me. Following me.”
“Stalking you, Celia?” I’m incredulous. Alayna knows not to spend time with Celia. She wouldn’t break that vow, would she?
“Stalking, Hudson,” she confirms.
Brian pinches the bridge of his nose. “Not this again.”
I want to punch him. Because even if I didn’t know to question the source of the accusation, I would not jump to believe anything spoken against Alayna.
But more than that, I want to punch Celia. I realize now why she’s included my family here. It’s the only way she can say these lies and stand a chance of being heard. “This is bullshit. Get the fuck out.”
“Hold on, Hudson.” Celia crosses to me. “Before you decide not to believe me, listen to what I have to say. I have proof.”
She hands me a stack of papers. I consider tossing them to the ground, but there are other people in the room. Throwing a tantrum will not win them to my side. My eye twitches, but I focus on the page on top. It’s a call log. Celia’s, to be precise. Several phone calls have been made to her from the same number. Alayna’s number.
“This proves nothing.” Celia must have stolen her phone somehow. Or paid someone to use it. Maybe someone at the club? I shove the papers back at her.
She doesn’t take them, ignoring them to answer the ding on her phone. My mother grabs the log out of my hand instead. She can have them.
“And look at this,” Celia says, turning her phone toward me.
On her screen is an image that seems to have been sent by text. The woman in the picture has her back to the camera, but it’s clearly Alayna.
“This is at the job site where I’ve been working this week. Fit Nation. She’s shown up there so many times to bother me that I asked the front desk guy to document it the next time she came in. This is from today, Hudson. Twenty minutes ago.”
I shake my head. “This is ridiculous.”
“You just don’t want to hear it.” She returns her phone to her slack pockets.
I get it now. I see her angle. She never meant the kind words of support she delivered at the restaurant. She meant to throw me off guard. It’s the next play in her game.
It doesn’t surprise me, but it stings. I’d wanted to believe that we shared something beyond the hateful schemes we concocted. I’d wanted to think that she actually…cared…for me. The way that I suspected that I cared for her.
No more. The blinders are off. If we’re meant to be foes, so be it.
I step toward her. We’re face-to-face now. Close enough that she can see I’m serious when I say, “Drop it, Celia. Let this go.” There’s no mistaking that this is a threat. She may hold things over me, but she can’t forget that I hold things over her as well.
She doesn’t back down. “There’s more. Besides the calls, Alayna’s shown up at restaurants while I was dining, left messages with my office, followed me on the street.”
“It’s a bunch of goddamned lies.” I narrow my eyes, accusing. “This is what you wanted to happen, and when it didn’t, you made it up.”
“I didn’t want it to happen, Hudson.” Celia leans in so that I’m the only one who can hear her. “Not anymore.”
Her expression is not only genuine but desperate. It’s not a look I’ve seen before on her. She can be cold, calculating, but this…this is different. Why does she care so much that I believe her? She can cause her trouble without me. She’s never cared if we were on the same side. So why this time?
My conviction wavers.
What if she’s telling the truth? I’m fully aware of how “proof” can be fabricated. I’m also aware of how past addictions can call to you. How easy it is to fall into old patterns. Has Alayna really fallen off the wagon, so to say? We pushed her toward this. Did we achieve our goal?
“Why would Celia make it up?” My mother, ever the clueless, pipes up from her place on the couch.
I could school her on that, but it would break every rule of the game. Or has Celia already broken every rule by making up this entire scheme? I’m suddenly uncertain of everything.
“Because that’s what she does.” Jack’s snide remark reminds me that he too has been played by Celia. He’d been old enough to know better when she’d shown up on the doorstep of the guest house, but she was manipulative enough to fool even the wise. “Ah, and many of these questions can now be settled because the subject at hand has arrived.”
In sync, every eye in the room turns toward the newest occupant.
“What’s going on?” she asks, her gaze pierced on me.
“Alayna—” God, I wish I could steal her from this moment. It’s going to be a bloodbath, and all of it, whether there’s any truth to Celia’s accusations or not—am I really considering that there is?—all of it has come about because of me.
I wanted to protect her. I thought I had succeeded. I was wrong.
The room is abuzz around me as Alayna is brought up to speed. I don’t hear most of it, lost in my own battle. The urge to dwell on my fault in this scene is overwhelming. I try to deny it, but it freezes me. Coupled with the desperate plea from Celia, I’m reminded that there is more to this than simply believing her or not. How I choose to handle this will have repercussions. Repercussions for all of us.
I want to dismiss everything Celia’s claimed. It would be the easy thing, to cross the room and stand by
the woman I love. But will that be the right decision? I’d have to explain why I think that Celia is lying. How far can I answer that without exposing the game? Without acknowledging my own part in it? And if I am able to save myself from blame, will Celia point the finger at me instead?
As Alayna defends herself, I realize a worse truth—she’s broken her promise. She was seeing Celia behind my back. She’s lied to me, and it’s not the first time. She kept her past relationship with David a secret that I only just recently worked out. Then her ex who had saddled her with a restraining order, reentered her life, and she kept me in the dark there as well.
Now I find that she was seeing Celia covertly on top of all that—what does that mean for our relationship? Can I stand by her when she’s so unwilling to stand by me?
Yes. I can. I will.
But can I so easily assume that Alayna has betrayed me? Perhaps she hasn’t at all. Maybe all of Celia’s claims are true, and I’m ignoring the bigger picture, the mental illness that resides in her. It isn’t what I want to face, particularly when I’m aware that if she’s fallen into old habits, it’s my fault. Yet, if she has—I’ll do anything to help her. Anything to keep her sane and with me. She has to know that I’m on her side.
So which is it? I’m with her no matter how she needs me, but which way is that?
Celia rests a hand on my arm, pulling me back to the present conversation. “I told you that night, remember?”
What night are they talking about? I replay the last few seconds of conversation in my head. There was something about my mother’s birthday. What had she told me that night?
Oh yes. Celia had said that Alayna had harassed her then. Had that been an early sign that I’d ignored?
I pull my arm away from her. “I don’t need a reminder.”
“He refused to believe me then too,” Celia tells the room.
I hadn’t refused. I’d chosen to believe the harassment was born of a different cause. Is this twisting of the truth evidence that Celia’s fabricated it all?
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