Complete Fixed: The Complete Fixed Series: Books 1-5

by Laurelin Paige

  He flew up from his chair and grabbed my arm with a tight grip. “Have I done anything to betray your trust before this?”

  I was too surprised to try to pull away. “You went behind my back to transfer David…”

  He yanked me closer to him. “That was for us.” His eyes widened as he emphasized the last two words. “Have I done anything that makes you think I don’t have our relationship’s best interests in mind? Have I done anything to make you believe that I don’t want to be with you? That I don’t…” His voice cracked and he swallowed before continuing. “That I don’t care…for you with everything I have?”

  I shook my head, unable to speak.

  He relaxed his grasp on me, but didn’t let go. “Everything I’ve done since we’ve been together has been for you and me. Trust me when I tell you this isn’t important.” With his free hand, he brushed my hair off my shoulder. “This doesn’t affect us.”

  “How can it not affect us? This was the night of the Stern Symposium. The night you said you first saw me.”

  “Yes, it was the night I first saw you.” His voice was softer. Soothing as he cupped my neck. “But this was before that. Separate. You need to forget about this.”

  Separate. I held onto that word, absorbing it, searching for its meaning. But how could it be separate? It was the same night.

  Looking into his eyes didn’t clear up anything either. All I saw there was him pleading and begging to lay this video to rest.

  But that wasn’t the person that I was. He’d told me once that he would always be manipulative and domineering, even when he wasn’t playing games. It was who he was.

  Me, I would always be obsessive. I’d always question. Even when I was healthy. Asking to forget about this was defying my nature.

  I swallowed. “What if I can’t let it go?”

  His expression filled with disappointment. “Then it means you don’t trust me.” He let me go, straightening his back. “And I don’t know how we can continue on with our relationship without trust.”

  My knees buckled and I put my hand out on his desk to steady myself. “Are you saying that I have to choose? Trust you about this or we’re over?”

  “Of course not.” His confidence was missing from his words. “But I have nothing else that I can say. Whether you can live with that or not is the choice you have to make.”

  I brushed my fingertips across my eyebrows and down my face. The situation felt so surreal, it was almost as if I had to be sure I was still physically there. How had I gone from a question about Hudson’s past to an ultimatum about our future?

  And even if I could bring myself to live with his terms, what kind of a future could we possibly have?

  I shook my head. “That’s a trap, Hudson. How could anyone live with that? How can we ever move forward when everywhere I turn there’s a wall?”

  “There are no walls.” His jaw tensed and his voice tightened. “I’m here with you. I share everything with you.”

  “Except your past.”

  “Except this one thing in my past.”

  “No. There’s more.” My throat and eyes burned. “It’s not just the video, Hudson. It’s your secrets, the things you can’t say. You can’t tell me what that night was about. You can’t tell me how you feel about me. You can’t tell me what the true nature of your relationship is with Celia, with Norma—even with Sophia!”

  “Jesus Christ, Alayna. I’ve told you exactly the true nature of my relationships and you—” he pointed a finger into his desk for emphasis, “refuse to believe what I’ve said.”

  “Because there’s proof over and over again that says otherwise.” I slammed my hand against my thigh each time I said over. “And if I’m missing the whole picture, than maybe you should stop leaving all the vital parts out.”

  He closed his eyes briefly. Then he stepped closer to grasp my forearms. “Nothing of what I’ve kept from you is vital to our relationship.” His voice was low and sincere. “It has nothing to do with us.”

  I threw my arms in the air. “It does! It has everything to do with us.”

  Hudson slammed past me to the other side of his desk, but he didn’t go far. He rocked on his feet, his back to me, and I felt he was deciding. Deciding what, I didn’t know.

  I circled after him until I was within an arm’s length. I could reach out to touch him with my hands, but I kept them at my side. “Don’t you see, Hudson? I want to know everything about you. I want to be everything with you. How can I when you don’t let me in?”

  “I’ve let you in further than any other human being I’ve known. You know things about me that I never planned to share with anyone.” He turned his head to look at me. “Doesn’t that count for something?”

  “It does.” I reached out to caress his cheek and he moved the rest of the way to face me. “It counts for so much. But see,” I dropped my hand to my side, “that’s where we’re stuck. Because you’re asking me to give up so much of who I am in order for you to keep your secrets, and that will tear me apart. I can’t do it. I can’t function. I obsess, Hudson. I’ve never kept that from you. Now, I’ve had a history of obsessing over things that weren’t valid, but this time, it’s not in my head. There are real things you’re hiding and can you not see how I’m going crazy over it? Everything you fixed about me is unraveling and I don’t know what to do.” I took a deep breath. “And I’m not even sure you care.”

  “I care, Alayna.” He brushed a tear off my cheek—funny, I hadn’t even noticed I was crying. “I care more than I can stand it, and I will do anything to make this better.”

  He braced his hand behind my neck and leaned his forehead against mine. It would be so easy—so easy to lean up and let him kiss away my pain and insecurity. His lips on mine could erase all darkness, could soothe any pain. Until that afternoon, I’d believed that like some people believed in their religion—Hudson could fix me, every time.

  Except this time he was the problem.

  And it wasn’t his touch that would fix me. It was words. Words he wasn’t willing to give. “Then tell me what I need to know,” I whispered.

  He straightened and took a step away from me. “No. I won’t.”

  He turned away, heading back toward the living room.

  Once again, I chased after him. “Were you together? Did you fuck her? Did you fuck her that night? The night you met me?”

  He paced the room. “No. No. No. And no. I’ve told you this before and if those words aren’t enough, why should I believe that any others would be any different?”

  “Because those words aren’t the words I need. I don’t need denials. I need truths. What happened, Hudson? What is she to you?”

  “Alayna, leave it alone.”

  “I can’t!”

  He stopped suddenly. After a beat, he said, “Then I need to leave.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I swallowed. “Like leave to cool down?”

  He shook his head. “It means that we need to take some time apart.”

  “What? No!” I’d thought my heart had hit rock bottom before. Apparently there was a whole chasm left for it to fall into—a chasm so dark that it obliterated my previous notion of darkness. And the cold and the ache of that place made every pain I’d ever felt pale in comparison. The death of my parents, my journey from crazy to sanity, even the betrayal from Hudson when he didn’t choose me over Celia—those were flesh wounds next to this.

  “It’s for the best,” he said as he retrieved his jacket from across the back of the couch.

  It seemed I needed to say something—anything—to make him stay. But I couldn’t figure out what that would be. All I could hear were his words repeating over in my head—time apart. Because why? Because I’d needed him to be honest?

  This couldn’t be happening. “You tell me you care about me more than you can stand and now you want to break up with me?”

  He glanced over at me, his eyes filled with sadness. “No, not break up, precious. Jus
t take some time apart. Time to figure out how we want to deal with this.”

  His words were compassionate and sweet, but they weren’t enough to mollify my hurt and anger. “You mean time for me to get my shit together.”

  “Both of us, Alayna.”

  I swiped the tears from my face with the back of my hand. “I don’t know where you get your definitions, but that sure sounds like breaking up to me.”

  “If that’s what you want to call it.”

  “I don’t want to call it anything. I don’t want it to happen!”

  “I hope it will be temporary.” He swept past me, careful not to touch me as he did. He grabbed his briefcase from the hall then patted his pockets, apparently satisfied that he had what he needed.

  Oh my god. He was really leaving. Really, really leaving. “Hudson!”

  When he turned to me, I rushed to him. “Don’t go. Please don’t go.” I clutched at him.

  His body remained cold and impassive, his eyes not meeting mine. “I’m doing this for you, Alayna. For both of us.” His words were warm, though he still wouldn’t look at me or touch me. “I can’t bear that I’m hurting you, and it will destroy me if I lose you. But there are some things that I can never tell you. And now we’re at an impasse, as you said. Because you say you can’t go on not knowing and I can’t go on without your trust.”

  “I do trust you. I’ll learn to live with this if I have to. I’ll figure it out. I just can’t lose you!” I was desperate, making promises there was no way I could keep.

  Finally, he connected his eyes with mine. “You’re not losing me. We’re simply stepping away. Maybe I can…”

  He trailed off and I grasped onto whatever alternative he might be offering. “Maybe you can…what?”

  But he had none to offer. “I don’t know. I need time.” Gently, he unwrapped my fingers from his clothing and pushed me away.

  “But where are you going? This is your home.”

  “It’s your home too. I’ll stay at the loft.”

  Without looking at me, he stepped toward the elevator.

  “Hudson! Don’t do this. Don’t leave.”

  He reached out as if he were going to touch me then pulled his hand back. “This isn’t forever, precious. But I can’t watch you like this.”

  “Like, what? Like crazy?” While I’d always feared that Hudson wouldn’t be able to take me at my worst, I’d begun to think he’d be with me always. Like he promised so many times.

  I’d been wrong. Again. “Yeah, I’m crazy. This is who I really am, Hudson. You see it now. Here I am, exposed. It always scares people away, but I never thought it would scare you. Yet here you are running. No wonder you think I can’t handle your secrets. Because you probably think I’d react just like you are now. But I’m not a coward, Hudson. I can take it. I won’t run from you.”

  His face fell. “I’m not running from you, Alayna. I’m saving you.”

  “From what?”

  “From me!” We stood in silence as his exclamation rung through the foyer. Then he hit the elevator button. “I’ll talk to you later. Tomorrow, maybe.”

  “Hudson!”

  “I…I can’t, Alayna.”

  He stepped inside the elevator, his focus fastened to the floor as the doors closed.

  Then he was gone.

  Chapter Thirteen

  After Hudson left, I cried so long and so hard that it seemed like I should have passed out from exhaustion. But I didn’t. I tried curling up in bed, but it felt too big. And no matter how many blankets I had, I felt cold. Eventually, I wandered out to the library where I had a few more shots of tequila to warm up and turned on a movie from my AFI’s Greatest Films collection. I chose Titanic. I was already heartbroken, after all—might as well wallow in it.

  Sometime before the ship sunk, I passed out on the couch. I woke the next day with swollen eyes and a splitting headache. My first thought was that I needed caffeine. But there was no smell of brewing coffee in the penthouse, and that’s when I remembered that Hudson wasn’t there. Every day before he left for work, he set the Keurig to brew for me. This simple missing gesture threatened to start a new round of tears.

  But maybe he’d called.

  I fumbled around for my phone and found it buried in the cushions. Fuck. It was dead. I’d been too consumed with grief to charge it for the night. After setting it up at the library charging station, I made my own coffee and found some Ibuprofen in the bathroom cabinet.

  I showered then, hoping the warm water would relieve the swelling of my eyes. Perhaps it did, but I didn’t feel any better. Afterward, I stood with a towel wrapped around myself and stared into the steam-clouded mirror. This was what it was like to see Hudson now—through this fog, knowing that something more lay underneath. If only it were as simple as stretching my hand out and wiping away the condensation to see the man beneath. If only he’d let me in, maybe it would be that easy. Maybe then my touch could finally bring him into focus.

  But it wasn’t that simple. Instead, all I could hope for was a message or a missed call. I dressed and settled back on the couch to power up my cell.

  There was nothing.

  So I sent one to him: Come home.

  When I didn’t have a response after five minutes, I considered sending another. He was at work. I shouldn’t bother him. But I was supposed to be important. If he still cared at all, he’d answer me.

  I battled with myself over it. In my past, obsessive texting and calling had been my biggest weakness. For more than a year after I started therapy, I didn’t even allow myself to have a phone. The temptation was too great. In the height of my obsessing, I could fill a voicemail box within an hour. Paul Kresh had to change his number after I texted him nonstop for three days straight.

  Even with Hudson, I carefully weighed each message I sent him. I didn’t send everything I was thinking. It was hard, but I had managed to stay in control.

  Today, I didn’t give a fuck about control.

  I typed a new message: Are you going to avoid me now?

  Five minutes later, I sent again: The least you can do is talk to me.

  I sent several more, delaying each by a span of three to five minutes:

  You said I was everything to you.

  Talk to me.

  I won’t ask about it if you don’t want to.

  This isn’t fair. Shouldn’t I be the one who’s mad?

  I was about to start another when my phone vibrated in my hand with a received text. It was from him: I’m not mad. I’m not avoiding you. I don’t know what to say.

  Hudson at a loss for words was the craziest thing I’d heard in the last two days. He always knew what to say, always knew what to do. If our separation had him so out of character, why were we apart?

  My fingers could barely enter a response fast enough. Don’t say anything. Just come home.

  I can’t. Not yet. We need time.

  I had hoped the new morning would bring clarity. But I still wasn’t even sure what I was supposed to be doing with the time that he insisted we needed. I don’t need time. I need you.

  We’ll talk later.

  You don’t understand. I have to talk now. I’ll keep texting you. I can’t help myself.

  And I’ll read every one.

  I almost smiled at his last message. After all the years of being ignored and called crazy, Hudson embraced my whacked out tendencies.

  But one sweet little text wasn’t enough to erase the hollow ache in my chest. I started to type out another message.

  Then I stopped myself.

  What the hell was I doing? Never mind old habits and what was healthy and what wasn’t—why was I chasing after this man so desperately when he’d already clearly indicated it would have no effect on him? Besides, he’d said over and over that he liked my obsessing over him. It made him feel loved.

  Well, fuck that.

  If Hudson wanted to feel loved, he could come home and work things out. Yes, we had troubled pasts and
were inexperienced with relationships. Still, sooner or later we had to grow up and take responsibility for our actions. More than anything in the world, I wanted to do that with Hudson. But if he wasn’t ready, it didn’t matter how much I loved him. I couldn’t be the only one fighting. He had to fight too.

  In one of the strongest moments of my adult life, I set down my phone and walked away.

  Since I wasn’t insane enough to believe my strength would last, I decided to get out of the house. And I needed a run.

  I called Jordan. “Hey, you’re a runner right?”

  “Ms. Withers?”

  “You were Special Ops. You had to stay in shape for that, right?” The idea had crossed my mind before, but since Hudson had been so opposed, I’d never pursued it. But now Hudson wasn’t around. “And I imagine that makes you a fairly good runner.”

  “Yes, I suppose so.”

  “Good. I want to go for a run and Hudson won’t let me go without a bodyguard. I’ll be ready in fifteen.”

  He hesitated for only half a beat. “Be there in ten, Ms. Withers.”

  “Thank you.” It had been surprisingly easier than I’d expected. Might as well see what else I could get. “And, oh my god, Jordan, please call me Laynie. Please, please, please. I know you’re not supposed to, but I don’t care about Hudson’s stupid rules. I’m having a bad day and I could use a friend. Even if you aren’t really my friend, pretend. Please.”

  “You should know me well enough to know that I’m not much good at pretending.” The phone jostled as if he were getting ready while he talked to me. “But I am an excellent runner. Be ready to have your ass handed to you. Laynie.”

  I was almost grinning when I met him in the lobby. This was new for me—life actually going on in the midst of heartache. Who knew it was possible?

  True to his word, Jordan handed me my ass on our run. The six miles we did around Central Park barely seemed to faze him, while I nearly had to be carried back to the penthouse. The physical discomfort was welcomed—it matched my sullen mood. The adrenaline and endorphin rush did little to improve my spirits, but it did make the act of living seem just a bit more bearable.