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

by Laurelin Paige

  That was all he had to say.

  Six months later, after the birth of my twins, I was in the height of my postpartum OCD. Whatever threats he'd gotten then, of course he wouldn't have shared them with me. It would've been against the advice of everyone around him, against the advice of my therapists, against his own better thinking.

  God. Poor Hudson. Having to deal with this and me, all at the same time. He must have felt so alone. Some partner I’d been.

  "Alayna, don't you dare blame yourself for anything," he said sharply from across the table, reading my mind.

  I pulled my eyes up quickly to meet his gaze. "How do you even know what I'm thinking?"

  "Because I know you. And it's not your fault. Whatever you're blaming yourself for. I didn't want you to be concerned with it. That's why I didn't tell you. Not because I didn't think you couldn't handle it. Or because you weren't strong enough."

  I appreciated his kind, comforting words. I even thought he partially believed them. Believed that the reason he hadn't told me was because he wanted to do this on his own, and not because he worried about breaking me.

  But we both knew who I'd been back then.

  "Thank you, H," I said, reaching my hand across the table to wrap it around his. "Thank you for bearing all of this alone. I wish that I had been there with you, because I hate for you ever to have to bear things alone. But I'm so very grateful that you are the kind of man who does. Who looks out for me and his children like that."

  He squeezed my hand back, and began to rub his thumb along the back of my palm, caressing it. "The last two letters have come much more quickly. None of them have had fingerprints, none of them have led to any substantial location. All of them from random post offices in New York City. The last one was delivered to the penthouse—"

  I inhaled sharply. I hadn't known that.

  "It's when the picture of you arrived. That was last Friday. The bodyguards came after that."

  Last Friday. The night of Nash King's birthday party. No wonder Hudson had acted so distant and preoccupied. And without something concrete to assign it to, I’d immediately blamed myself for not interesting him.

  You really can’t take the crazy out of the girl.

  "Do you have any leads? Any suspects?" I asked him.

  "I don't know if you caught them, but there are specific references to a scheming manipulative Hudson. While those could be coincidence, Jordan and I are assuming that they indicate whoever is sending the letters is someone from my past, someone who was part of one of my games."

  "I thought as much." I hadn't realized the references were vague to him as well. I had hoped they would have led to something more concrete.

  Hudson went on to tell me more about the tactics he and Jordan had used to go through potential suspects, the lists Hudson had drawn up of people he could remember in the past that he had wronged, people whom he believed might still be out to get him.

  "There are so many, it's like looking for a needle in a haystack. I kept a digital journal in the early days of my experiments, but once I began working with Celia, she took over the journal writing. There have been too many years, too many casualties… Honestly, until that photograph of you, I'd begun to believe it was someone who just wanted to vent. But if he—or she—is upset enough to go to the trouble of following you, of taking your picture and sending it to me… Well."

  "I know," I said so he wouldn't have to say whatever he was imagining. The idea of someone following me and my children, being so close, it turned my insides to ice. That had to be exactly how Hudson was feeling. How scared. How beside himself.

  Thoughts of the children and Hudson's past suddenly reminded me of something I hadn't told him. "Does Judith Cleary have something against you? Could it possibly be her sending the letters?"

  Hudson’s brow rose. "Judith Cleary? However did you hear that name?"

  I told him about Mina not getting into New Park School, about the reason why, and about my confrontation with Judith Cleary and the message she had for my husband. "She's on the Board of Directors. She obviously has it out for you. Why is she so against you?"

  He frowned. "I did not manipulate or scheme Judith Cleary." He hesitated. "Much."

  I sat back in my chair. "Obviously, she has some kind of grudge against you."

  "And I have one against her. That woman is petty, narcissistic, and self-involved.” His jaw was tensing with irritation. "She had Mirabelle kicked out of their girls’ club after Sophia showed up to one of the parent meetings drunk. While I don't condone my mother's behavior, she most definitely shouldn't have taken it out on her child."

  Awesome.. Judith Cleary was actually a bitch, and not just because I wanted her to be one in my head in order to justify my behavior that day. I did like it when things worked out.

  "So what did you do? Because you must've done something for her to be mad at you." I'd already decided that whatever it was, I was in full support of it.

  Hudson smiled slyly. "I had her kicked out of the country club. For unfit citizenship."

  I laughed. "You would think she would've learned her lesson. Here she is trying to take it out on another kid. What a bitch."

  His face grew serious. "I'm sorry I ruined Mina's chances for going to our legacy school. I will call Judith and grovel. See what I can do."

  "Please don't bother. We don't want that kind of school, our daughter playing with those kinds of people. We can find something better. Besides, there’s no way you’d apologize convincingly."

  He didn’t disagree as he took the napkin from my lap, dabbed at my lips and set it down on the table.

  Together we looked out over the city, lit up with lights. It was beautiful, being on top of the world. Breathtaking, thrilling, a little overwhelming, but worth it.

  I tilted my head and peered over at my husband. "I know we've had many rooftop dinners in our marriage, but this was nice. I mean, the conversation sucks, but the rest of it I'll keep."

  “I know something we’ve never done on a rooftop.”

  “We’ve had sex on a rooftop before, H. You’re losing your memory.” That wasn’t a night I’d ever forget. It had been his mother’s birthday, but I’d been the one getting the gifts. Hudson always had been good with his mouth.

  “Sex was not what I was referring to. And don’t you dare think I don’t remember that night.” His reprimand was low and serious. It made my spine feel tingly at the base.

  Still. After all this time.

  I grinned. “Then what are you referring to?”

  Instead of answering, Hudson pulled out his phone and flipped through a few pages on his screen before setting it down between the two of us. His Spotify app was open to one of my playlists.

  "You follow me on Spotify? I thought you just used that app to play lullabies for the babies." All these years, and the man could still surprise me.

  "I saw you added this one a few weeks ago," he said, standing from his chair and walking over to mine. He reached over to his phone and pushed play, then held his hand out to me. The familiar strains of our anthem came out of the tiny speakers. "The babies love this particular song," he said, pulling me from my chair and into his arms.

  "What are we doing?" I asked, though it was obvious.

  "We're dancing. We've never danced on a rooftop." He turned me gently to the beat, and I relaxed into his arms. "This is good, right?"

  "Super good. And it's our song." It was strange how I felt like I could melt and come together all the same time. How he could undo me and fix me simultaneously. I pressed my face against his, listening carefully to the words of All of Me as they played. It was a new version, not the John Legend original that Hudson had first played for me all those years ago. This one was a duet between a man and a woman.

  "I like this arrangement," I told him. "Before it was always as if you were singing it to me. John Legend's voice—I always imagined it was you telling me that you were giving me all of you. But in this version, there's a woman s
inging too. And I like that because I feel like I'm saying it back to you. Telling you that you get all of me too."

  His grip on me tightened suddenly, and he pressed his lips to my temple. "This isn't how I dreamed our life would be," he said, his voice thin and stretched. "This isn't the future I dreamed I would give you."

  I leaned back so I could look him in the eye. "What do you mean? Our life is fantastic. I couldn't want for anything. You gave me three children. You’ve given me a home. Given me my nightclub. My books. My friends. My sanity. Everything I have that is good and wonderful is because of you, Hudson."

  He shook his head. "I also gave you my past. I gave you security guards. I gave you a reason to go to bed at night scared."

  “And I gave you OCD and obsessions and difficult pregnancies."

  "Those weren't your fault," he protested.

  "And neither is any of this yours now." I stopped moving, but held onto him at the shoulders.

  He attempted to move me again, to start the dancing, but I didn't budge. He gave a frustrated sigh. "The things that are happening now—these threats—Alayna, you have to face that they’ve come about because of somebody I once was. That they are happening because of things I once did. I caused this. I'm the one to blame."

  God, he could be so stubborn. Stubborn in his martyrdom.

  Well, I could be stubborn too.

  "You were the man you were because of terrible circumstances. Because no one showed you that you could be somebody else. Because your mother and father convinced you that you were unfeeling and uncaring, and you believed them." He started to try to speak, but I continued over him. "And it doesn't matter if everything you did was with your free will, because whomever you were before is what made you into the man that I fell in love with. The only reason there is any now with us is because there was once a then."

  I brought my hands up to his face, rubbing my thumbs along the rough five-o'clock shadow on his jaw. "We were both broken, Hudson. And we fixed each other. When you first played me this song, the perfect future that I dreamed of with you? Was any future with you at all. And you’ve given me that and so much more. I'm sorry if you find our life together disappointing, because it's been more wonderful than I could ever imagine."

  "No, precious, I didn't mean that. I haven't been disappointed for a single second. I'm only disappointed right now, through this. That I can't keep you safe and—"

  I cut him off. "I am safe. I'm with you. We are together, and that's all I need to be safe, remember?"

  He gave a curt nod.

  “We’re going to figure this out," I reassured him. It wasn't often that I was in this position, where I was the one bolstering my husband. He was usually the foundation, the anchor, the levity.

  Surprisingly, it comforted me to be able to be that for him now.

  He kissed me suddenly, locking his lips to mine and holding them in place for several long seconds. When he broke away, he said, "I'm still going to give you that future I dreamed of. We’ll get rid of this baggage from the past, and then we will be safe for good."

  He was so solemn, it was as though he was making a promise. As though he were adding to our wedding vows, and I took them in, placed the words inside me along with the other things he'd said, sworn to me on the day we pledged our lives to each other.

  "I believe you," I told him. “I’ll be here when it happens. I’m here until then too.”

  The song finished, but we held each other longer. Clutched each other tight.

  Then, when we finally broke away, I threw my shoulders back and said the words that I knew we were both thinking. "We both know what we have to do to make progress on this. And I'm ready. Are you?"

  "If you're with me, I am," he said earnestly.

  "Okay then." I took a deep breath, and tried to ignore the anxiety creeping along my skin. "It's time to call Celia."

  14

  Hudson

  There were a myriad of reasons I hadn't wanted to go to Celia Werner Fasbender.

  I didn't trust her.

  Any information she shared would come at a great cost.

  Seeing her would likely cause my wife stress. Seeing her would likely cause me stress, for that matter.

  I didn't necessarily want her to know there was someone threatening me and my family, didn't want her to know the predicament that I was in, for fear she'd take advantage of it.

  Because, as I'd mentioned before, I did not trust her.

  But, if I were being honest, Jordan and I were essentially stalled on the investigation. It took Alayna's insight for me to finally face that matter, to finally accept that this was not something I could handle on my own. While Jordan had continually pushed to take the issue to the FBI, it was only my wife who was brave enough to say that we needed to step into the dragon’s lair.

  Wasn't that where all journeys ended up eventually?

  It had to be handled delicately. I thought about it in great detail, how it would go, what she would say. Even after feasting on Alayna, loving her and pleasuring her to the point of exhaustion, the dilemma of adding Celia to our hunt kept me up all night.

  As soon as it was late enough in the morning for human interaction to be appropriate, I crawled out of bed and texted my old friend. I had considered calling, but I was sure I knew how that would go. With enough time to talk to her and enough information from me, she would have no reason to meet us in person, and I felt strongly that this was a matter that needed to be addressed face-to-face.

  Celia was a woman who was always playing some game. Every word that came out of her mouth, every side glance, every gesture was the move of a pawn. The slide of a rook. Even the text I sent had to be carefully crafted.

  I need to see you.

  She was already awake, or my text had woken her. She responded quickly. She was smart enough not to ask why or try to gather more from me here. It had to be that, because I certainly didn't believe she was still loyal, not even somewhere deep inside her, underneath all the hard, cold, thick layers that I had helped her build. Her only questions were where and when.

  With that settled, I left a note for Alayna, then went down to the office gym for a run. When I returned, she was awake. Coffee was brewing and she'd found the eggs in the refrigerator and was making omelettes.

  "Tomorrow. 6 PM. Celia will meet us at Randall's for drinks."

  Alayna—my precious, my world, my light, my life—she turned and smiled at me as though I had given her the key to a brighter future instead of announcing we were walking into the gloom of the past.

  Hopefully, her optimism was warranted.

  As Alayna had requested, we spent the next day and a half going over the video files of the interviews conducted with possible suspects. While I paced the room and tried not to succumb to drinking all the scotch in the loft, Alayna sat stoically, taking feverish notes about the men and women describing the heinous crimes of my past. This was the vulnerability that I hated most—feeling out of control, like a spiraling fall into black nothing. She'd known vaguely about my games, but never in this precise detail. She’d certainly never experienced the horror of listening to it from the victim's side.

  Somewhere in the midst of the terrible confessions, I had an epiphany—it hadn't just been Alayna I’d been protecting by keeping all of this from her. The letters, the danger from my past—I'd also been protecting myself.

  "That wasn't the man I married," she'd say occasionally as the worst stories were told, seeming to know that I needed comfort, and it helped, but still—by the time we were ready to meet with Celia on Sunday evening, I was tense and on edge.

  Other than the occasional reassurance, Alayna had been oddly quiet for the most part, whether processing all she'd seen or letting me have my space, I wasn't sure. But on the ride to Randall's bar, she became herself again, anxious and fretting and full of questions.

  "Why did we choose Randall's? We don't usually go there." She twisted her fingers together nervously, the very definition of wringi
ng her hands.

  "It was a random point between our location and hers," I answered, not mentioning that Celia and I had gone back and forth on this matter. She had wanted to meet on her turf, I had, obviously, wanted to meet on mine. The office, her hotel, The Sky Launch—all locations were suggested and dismissed, finally settling on using an app that found meet up spots at an equal distance between two points on a map. Randall's it was.

  "She knows why we want to see her?" she continued to fidget.

  "No." I was terse.

  "Then why did she agree to meet us? That doesn't seem like her. To walk into a situation without knowing what she was dealing with? That seems highly suspicious. Doesn't it?" She was working herself up.

  I stilled her hand, wrapping it in mine and caressing it with my own, an attempt to calm her. "I suspect that she thinks that I'm going to discuss business with her,” I said. “She wants me to let her and her husband purchase equal shares in Werner Media so that our three-point alliance no longer favors us."

  "Of course she does," Alayna huffed indignantly. "Did she really ask you that directly? Or are you just guessing?"

  "She asked directly. She said that if I don't let her buy shares, they will find them somewhere else. That was a few weeks ago." It seemed so much longer in the past. I had barely thought about it with everything else going on.

  Alayna pulled her hand away from mine brusquely. "You spoke to her recently?" Her eyes burned into me, not quite accusing, but warily.

  I should have realized she’d have that reaction.

  I reclaimed her hand in mine, placing my fingers through hers so that it wasn't as easy for her to pull away. "I spoke to her, but just once. We have a business relationship. There will be times that we have to speak." I didn't mention that I had been the one to call Celia, that I'd been concerned about the engagement party details for Chandler and Genevieve. It wasn't a good time for Alayna to believe that I was so worried about her mental health that I would resort to calling her foe.

  Perhaps that was manipulative on my part.