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

by Laurelin Paige

  No, I didn't want to talk about it.

  And I did at the same time.

  In some ways, talking about it confirmed it was over, a thing of the past, not something I was currently living through anymore. Unless I was wrong. Unless Celia was triggering me again.

  I rolled my neck from one side to the other, suddenly aware of how tense my shoulders were. "I guess it was like most of the other times when I got crazy—" I corrected myself. "When I obsessed over someone. Except this time I was fixated on the twins. I worried if they were eating enough. If they were clean enough. I washed their clothes so many times that some onesies fell apart after they'd only worn them a couple of times. Their bottles never seemed clean enough, and I'd buy new ones, and put them in the sterilizer, and then be convinced that the sterilizer wasn't working, and then I'd order a new sterilizer. I don't even know how many sterilizers we bought. Poor Maya, I yelled at her to scrub everything ‘better.’ Disinfect everything ‘better.’ Do everything ‘better.’ I’m lucky she still wants to work for me."

  I didn't mention the intrusive thoughts, constant worries that I would hurt them somehow, accidentally. That I'd maybe choke them with my breast while I was nursing. That I'd maybe slip and drop them while I was carrying them. That I might accidentally smother them with their blanket. Those thoughts were nonstop, like movies that played over and over in my head, on the screen even when other people were talking to me, even while performing other tasks, even when I smiled and pretended everything was fine.

  Same face, different person underneath. The other Alayna.

  "Every mother has a certain amount of those feelings," Gwen said, in that thin voice that indicated she didn't quite know what else to say. I couldn’t blame her. This was exactly why I hadn’t invited her to counseling. I didn’t love the way people looked at me when they knew how my mind worked.

  "Right. They do. It's natural, to an extent. But normally, our brains will have the thought, decide it's an incorrect thought, and dispose of it. My brain got stuck there." Fixated to the point of exhaustion. "The breaking point was when I showed up at Hudson's office with both twins strapped to me, my hair a mess, no makeup. No bra. Leaking milk through my T-shirt. Hysterical because I was suddenly convinced that the penthouse wasn't safe enough. And we needed to move. Right. Then."

  Hudson had seen it then. If he'd been too exhausted himself to not notice before or if he'd been in denial, I wasn't sure, but as soon as it clicked, he acted immediately. He canceled his entire day and arranged for a therapist to meet me in the loft.

  He canceled his entire month, actually. He’d done everything for me. He was everything for me.

  "So now, I have medication and therapy, and a second nanny, and it’s like none of that ever happened. I'm much, much better." I was much better.

  Why didn't I sound more confident when I said it?

  Because I worried my fixation had merely changed course.

  "You look better, too. And you're obviously thinking pretty clearly to be able to come up with this amazing plan for The Sky Launch." She leaned forward, bracing her elbows on her knees. "Maybe working has been good for you. Maybe the time off was more of a detriment than a help."

  "I agree. With all the help around here, I've been bored out of my mind." We both laughed, because it was sort of funny. That any woman with two kids under one could be bored out of her mind. Only another mother could understand the exhaustion of chasing children all day, and the simultaneous tedium of not being intellectually challenged.

  "Then Hudson is going to totally understand, Laynie. You just need to tell him. Tell him what you're thinking. Come back to work officially."

  I did feel horrible keeping it from my husband, especially when we'd promised no more secrets between us. It was additionally terrible to make Gwen part of the cover-up when her family had dinner with ours every Thursday night. Forcing her to keep my secret was an awful friend move.

  And Hudson would support me. He'd always supported me in my work.

  If I was truly well.

  And there was the sticking point.

  "What are you not telling me?" Gwen could read me like a book.

  "I do feel better, but there are some things I'm still obsessing over. I guess that's the right term for it. Like…” I hesitated before giving voice to my latest thoughts. “Did you hear about Chandler and Genevieve? Their engagement?"

  "He proposed? He said when they moved in together that he was going to wait at least a year!" She shook her head. "That boy has it hard, doesn't he?"

  I supposed she wasn't to be expected to jump to the same issues that I had at the announcement. She didn’t have a past with Celia. She had a past with Chandler. Her thoughts weren’t even in the same arena as mine.

  "I do think they’re really in love. I'm not doubting that. Just, a marriage means that now we're going to be tied to Genevieve's family. And Genevieve's father is married to…" God, I didn't even want to say her name.

  "Oh. Right." Her body sagged as she understood the situation. "And you're worrying about Celia interfering with your life?"

  "It seems ridiculous, I know. She has a baby now. I'm sure she's preoccupied with motherhood. And her husband. And probably never thinks about us." My stomach twisted and writhed, like snakes in the bottom of a basket. "But what if I'm wrong? I have more children than her, and I manage to find plenty of time to brood. What if she is still obsessed with us? What if we're not safe from her?"

  She nodded. "But that doesn't sound necessarily like crazy thinking. That's more just... history."

  That wasn’t exactly comforting.

  In my experience, history had a way of repeating itself.

  4

  Hudson

  My phone rang as the limo pulled up to the curb in front of the Bowery. Since I'd had to leave the office early, I hadn't driven to work. We'd be needing the large car later. It didn't make sense to swap out vehicles. Besides, my inner workaholic relished putting in just that much more time handling business before going off-duty. These days, I refused to let much of anything take my evenings away from the kids and my wife, but that meant getting less accomplished in a day than I liked to.

  I answered the call. "Jordan, hang on a moment." I put the phone against my chest while I gave instructions to the driver. "Once you're back here with Mirabelle, text me. Alayna and I will be waiting in the lobby. We’re already running late."

  I grabbed my briefcase, stepped out of the car, and resumed the call as I strode into the building. "Why haven't I heard from you sooner?"

  "Because you aren't going to like what I have to say," Jordan answered, point-blank.

  "You found something?" My pulse sped up a notch.

  "No, just the opposite. I have gone through—"

  "Mr. Pierce," the doorman called after me as I rushed past him.

  "Hold on again, Jordan." I tried to keep the irritation out of my face, and voice, as I turned back to the doorman. "Yes?"

  "Someone left this for you earlier."

  I snatched the envelope out of his hand, not bothering to read it before continuing on my way to the elevators. I was eager to hear what my head of security had to tell me, good news or not. "So you've narrowed down the names I've given you," I prompted Jordan.

  "And I can't find anything suspicious from any of them. It's going to take some closer investigating than I can do from a distance. I'm going to need to talk to them personally to get a read on their reactions."

  I closed my eyes as the elevator doors shut, wishing that the gesture could block out the ring of truth in Jordan's words. I wanted this to be easily handled.

  But I knew he was right. "Do you have a plan of action? One that doesn't involve opening old wounds?" The elevator was going up but my stomach felt like it was sinking.

  "I have an idea. It probably will open old wounds, but it will be safe. I'll tell you more about it on Monday. Enjoy your night at the party. Try to relax this weekend, okay?"

  "Relax? Wh
at's that?" The doors opened in my penthouse foyer, and I stepped out. "How did Atlantic City go?" He’d been there since Monday's meeting, making sure none of the dismissals caused any problems.

  "Everything's good. I don't foresee any problems there."

  "Daddy!" Mina, dressed in a yellow ball gown from some Disney show, appeared out of nowhere and wrapped herself around my leg.

  "I mean it, Pierce. Take your weekend off from this. I've got it." Without a goodbye, the line clicked, and Jordan was gone. Easier said than done, but I knew Alayna too well to think I could continue to be troubled over this without her noticing.

  I also knew myself better than to think I could truly stop trying to solve the problem.

  In an attempt to take his advice, I set my briefcase down, threw the envelope onto the foyer table, pocketed my cell phone, and reached down to pick up my little girl into a hug.

  "Why, who is this lovely thing? I don't believe I've ever met anyone so breathtakingly beautiful."

  "Daddy," Mina giggled. "It's me. It's Mina."

  "Couldn't be. Mina's four years old. A little girl. She doesn't wear grown-up ball gowns. She's not a stunningly beautiful woman,” I teased her as I carried her into the living room.

  "I am too! I'm wearing a costume, Daddy! It’s still me! And," she said, tilting her head and giving me an expression that made her look oh-so-very-much like her mother, "you shouldn't tell a girl that she’s beautiful all the time."

  "I shouldn't?" This one truly did puzzle me. Though, seventy-five percent of what came out of her mouth puzzled me.

  And delighted me.

  "No. You should tell her she's smart and funny and brave and enough."

  I stopped walking and gazed proudly into her chocolate brown eyes. "You are right, smart, brave, funny, more-than-enough Mina. I stand corrected." I kissed her on the forehead, and then set her on the ground. "Is that what you're going to wear on your date tonight?"

  She nodded. "Mommy said I could," she added quickly, as though she thought I might object.

  "Perfect choice. You’ll wow everyone with your smart, funny, brave, enough choice in clothing. Now, go find some shoes." She ran down the hall, and I glanced at my watch. By my estimation, I had just enough time to sneak in on Alayna while she was dressing. It had been a crazy five days, and I’d barely seen her between my schedule and the kids. Rather than go to a dull party in Larchmont, I would much prefer to cancel everything and take Jordan’s advice by relaxing, buried inside my wife. More than ever, I wanted her to ground me.

  But we had obligations.

  So I’d settle for fooling around in her closet.

  I started toward our bedroom, when a high-pitched squeal pulled my attention down the hall. Brett was pushing her walker around the corner of the playroom and the piercing happy noise had been her spotting me.

  She fell to her knees, abandoned her toy, and crawled fast to reach me.

  I bent down to pick up my baby girl. "Hi there, moonbeam." She smacked her hands happily along my jawline, babbling dadada and a mixture of other random syllables that had become my favorite sounds in the world. "You know, you are so close to walking. I bet you could've made a couple of steps if you’d tried. All you had to do was let go of that walker. You might have fallen, but it’s going to get easier. I promise."

  I rubbed my nose along her ear, inhaling her fresh baby shampoo scent before planting a series of kisses along her scalp. Selfishly, I was glad she hadn’t taken her first steps yet without me around.

  "There she is," Peyton, the evening nanny said, coming out of the toy room. Holden was braced on her hip. "I look away for five minutes to change this guy’s diaper, and the other one disappears. I know I need to keep the door shut, but —"

  I finished for her. "It gets stuffy in there, I know. I need to have someone come and look at the ventilation in the room. Remind me to do that, please. Are you feeling better?" Part of the reason that week had been crazy was that she had been out with a virus.

  "Much. Thanks for asking. If you’ll hand her over, it's dinner time."

  I passed off Brett, making sure to say hello to my son before the three of them headed to the kitchen. Again, I checked my watch. Still good.

  This time I made it to the threshold of our bedroom before the front buzzer sounded.

  Shit.

  I walked to the intercom and reluctantly told the doorman that he could send our visitors up. When the elevator arrived and Chandler and Genevieve stepped into the foyer, I greeted my brother with a complaint. "You're early. You’re never early.”

  Chandler shrugged. "I’m never early for work. This is different, big bro. I’m excited for this.” He patted me on the back as I threw him an annoyed scowl.

  I turned my attention to Genevieve, pretending Chandler wasn't there. "I hear congratulations are in order.” It was the first time I had spoken to her since my brother had popped the question.

  She flushed as she grinned. "Thank you. It was unexpected, but I'm truly excited."

  Her British dialect was pleasant to listen to. For that alone, I could see why my brother liked her. I glanced down at her left hand, finding it empty.

  "No ring?" I addressed the question to my brother.

  "It's being resized," Genevieve answered anyway. "I have pictures, though." She opened up the snap on her purse and pulled out her phone. After unlocking her screen and swiping a few times, she handed it over to me.

  I took it from her, gesturing for them to follow me into the living room as I examined the image.

  "There's a few of them, if you scroll," she advised, walking behind me.

  The first picture was from the side and was hard to really see the diamond. I flipped to the next picture—I really was only looking so I could judge my brother. This image made me halt, my eyes wide. "Chandler, really?" The stone was so big it bordered on gaudy, particularly for a sedate young woman like her. "Can you afford this?"

  "Har har," he retorted, perching on the arm of my sofa.

  His fiancée giggled nervously. She sat on the sofa next to him, properly, like respectable people did. "It's perfect. I love it."

  What else could she say? After he'd spent half a million on the thing, she was obliged to love it.

  "It's beautiful," I lied, flipping to the next picture. Then the next.

  I froze.

  This image wasn't of her ring, but of Celia. Holding a baby. A little girl in a white christening gown, with deep blue eyes like her mother’s. The expression on Celia's face was one I hadn't seen in decades. Genuine emotion. Joy. Pride. Love.

  For a handful of seconds—while staring at an image of a woman I thought I had destroyed—something moved in me, something shifted. A door opened that I'd closed long ago. It was only digital pixels, but I was convinced it was proof that something had survived. That I hadn't ruined her completely. That somehow she'd found her way to her own salvation, the way I had through Alayna.

  And I was glad.

  Genevieve leaned forward to see what I was looking at. "Oh, that's my sister. And my stepmom." She held her hand out and I placed her phone into her waiting palm. "I guess there weren't as many pictures of the ring as I thought there were."

  Part of me wanted to take the opportunity to ask more questions about Celia and her daughter. To find out if the emotion I thought I saw was real. Was she enjoying motherhood? Was it all she'd imagined? What was her daughter's name? I’d never even bothered to ask anyone.

  But a bigger part of me only wanted the truth that I had settled on.

  I shut the door that I’d opened in my mind.

  "Where is it that you are taking Mina tonight?" I asked changing the subject abruptly.

  "Beauty and the Beast," Chandler answered. That explained the outfit my daughter was wearing. "We should be leaving soon if we’re going to make dinner before the show."

  "Mina was just getting her shoes on, if you want to help her." I feigned annoyance with my brother a good deal of the time, but I really di
d admire his close relationship with my oldest child. I offered my family a more tender side of myself, but Chandler was completely unreserved in his affection. Sometimes I envied him that. "She's in her bedroom."

  Without another word, he stood and headed toward her room.

  "Where is Laynie?" Genevieve asked. "I'd like to show her the ring—or the pictures, anyway."

  "I was about to check on her." I turned to leave, then thought to add, "I’d make sure she only sees the ring." Perhaps I was overprotective. I knew my wife was strong, the strongest woman that I knew. But I would still put her in a bubble, seal her off from any possible hurt in the world, if I'd thought she'd let me.

  Fortunately Genevieve knew pieces of the history of our families. She nodded in understanding. "Of course."

  Back to my mission, I made a beeline for the bedroom, praying that I could catch Alayna just in her bra and panties.

  Unfortunately, she walked out of the bedroom as I arrived.

  "You're dressed," I stated.

  "You sound disappointed. Don't we need to get going?"

  I dragged my eyes up her body—up her legs to where they disappeared under the wrap skirt, over the luscious swell of her hips, the indent of her waist, over her full, beautiful breasts. Finally, I met her gaze.

  "I was hoping I'd have caught you sooner," I admitted, my cock stirring as I pulled her into my arms. "You look fucking fantastic," I whispered at her ear, "and we have to share the car with Mirabelle so I can't do all the naughty things I wanted to do to you on the ride upstate."

  She turned her head so her mouth was inches from mine. "Save it for the ride back when we’re alone," she murmured before kissing me.

  I pulled her hips closer, rubbing my semi against her pelvis to show her how hard saving it was going to be.

  "Uncle Chandler helped me find my shoes!" Mina shouted, running down the hall toward us, waving her black sandals in the air triumphantly.

  With a groan, I moved quickly away from my wife. "Then he can help put them on, can’t he? You don’t want to be late for your musical.”

  “Uncle Chandler! Come on! The buckle’s hard.” She pulled him by the pinkie toward the living room.