The Fixed Trilogy: Fixed on You, Found in You, Forever With You (65 page)

“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.

Back at the penthouse, I showered and got dressed. Then I did go to my phone. I scrolled through my texts looking for another from Hudson. The disappointment at finding none was hard to swallow. Even though he’d said he wouldn’t respond, I had hoped. Wasn’t it just the morning before that he’d said I was the center of his world? Was there any way he could still mean it?

I couldn’t think about the answer. The evidence wasn’t in my favor and it hurt too much to face.

Needing another distraction from reaching out to Hudson, I called Brian. We chatted for over an hour—a record for us. After that, I called Liesl. We were both working that night, which provided a perfect excuse for shopping and dinner beforehand. My heart wasn’t in it, but I could fake it with the best of them. And being with Liesl helped keep the tears at bay.

It had already been a full day by the time Jordan dropped us off at The Sky Launch. “My shift’s over, Laynie,” Jordan said as he shut the car door behind me. “Reynold’s waiting for you up there.”

Sure enough, I spotted Reynold by the club’s employee entrance.

Though I’d never done it before, I felt the urge to hug Jordan. So I did. “Thank you,” I said, my throat tightening. “I needed you and you were there.”

Jordan looked at me compassionately. “It’s not my place, but you should know—Mr. Pierce is a complicated man.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” I wasn’t interested in anyone defending Hudson at the moment.

Jordan continued anyway. “But no matter how complex the situation may be, it’s easy to see how he feels about you.”

I stuck my chin out, defiantly. “Is it?” I’d thought it was, but now all bets were off.

My driver patted my upper arm. “Perhaps not to you. But to me, it’s obvious. I pray that he’ll figure out how to show you before you’re gone for good.”

I watched Jordan as he got in the car and drove away.

Me, gone for good?
It had been Hudson who’d left. Hudson who’d broken the promise he’d made to stand by my side through everything. Hudson who’d dropped not so subtle hints at a long-lasting future and yet he was now nowhere by my side.

With a sinking horror, I feared that Jordan was right—Hudson’s feelings for me were obvious. Obviously gone.

I bit my lip to curtail any crying that latest thought might bring on.

Liesl wrapped her arm around mine and directed me toward the door. “Do you get sick of the bodyguard stuff?” She was excellent at deflecting. “I mean, I wouldn’t get sick of that Jordan dude—he’s hot.”

“And gay.”

“Figures. But maybe he’s also experimental.”

I laughed. “Not likely.” My laughter quickly faded into a frown—it felt too strange to be amused when my heart was so heavy. “I don’t usually mind having bodyguards around, though I do like my independence. And I don’t really get why I need to have someone here while I’m at the club.” An idea surfaced. “In fact—”

We’d reached Reynold by then. “Hey, stranger,” I said in greeting. “Guess what. I’m giving you the night off.”

He chuckled.

“I’m serious. Hudson is probably the only one who has the power to give you the night off, but here’s the thing—Hudson’s not around. And I’ll be here at the club all night. We have security guards on staff and bouncers. I’m going to be fine.”

I couldn’t say why it was so important for me to send Reynold away, but it suddenly was. Perhaps it was an act of defiance. If Hudson wasn’t willing to give in our relationship, then I wasn’t willing either. Or not as willing as I had been, anyway. I was too pissed. Wasn’t that a phase of grief?

Besides, I felt strong. I didn’t need someone following me around. And Celia hadn’t been around in several days—maybe she was bored with the game.

“So I’ll see you when I’m off later. Okay?”

Reynold seemed dumbfounded. “Uh, sure. At three. I’ll, uh, be here at three.”

“Awesome.”

The victory with Reynold bolstered me. I hadn’t known how I’d be able to get through the night at work. Now I thought I might actually be able to do it. I hadn’t forgotten my pain—more thoughts than not had been filled with Hudson—but the misery was almost tolerable.

The time with Liesl had been the most helpful. We hadn’t seen much of each other recently, and there was a lot to catch up on. I told her everything that had been going on, including Celia’s stalking and Hudson’s secretive behavior. It was depressing but also therapeutic.

“Maybe Hudson is really, like, a CIA guy,” Liesl said as I handed her a cash drawer for the bar. “And Celia’s his partner. And he’s abandoned his mission—defected, or whatever they call that, and she’s trying to reel him back in.”

Her crazy ideas were almost entertaining. “That one’s definitely it.”

She nudged me aside with her hip to take her place in front of the register. “I wish you’d be serious about this. I know I’m right.”

I forced a smile. “Excuse me for being—what do they call it? Oh, yeah—based in reality.”

Liesl ran a hand through her purple tresses and laughed. “Reality is so overrated.”

“Isn’t it?”

We got lost in the hustle and bustle of the night after that. David had trained with Gwen the night before, but it was the first shift that I really got to see her in action. She’d worked enough now that she knew what she was doing. I watched her as she managed the upper floor, keeping on top of change orders and unruly customers, not once missing a beat. She was good, and I’d never felt better about my decision to hire her. Especially now that my whole future at The Sky Launch felt in limbo.

With a shudder, I swallowed the sob forming in my throat. I couldn’t think about that. Not here. Not now. In perhaps the same delusional manner I’d used in my days of Paul Kresh or David Lindt, I focused on convincing myself that Hudson and I were fine. This was just a blip. We’d recover and life would go on together.

Somehow it had been easier in the past. I hoped that said more about the current state of my mental health and less about my future with Hudson.

It was still early in the night, only a little past eleven, when I saw Celia.

I’d just come down from the upstairs to check in with the bartenders on the main floor. They were busy but not slammed. I slid behind the bar where Liesl was working and scanned the club, not looking for anything in particular—just getting a general sense of the scene.

The center of the club was surrounded by bunches of seating areas. They usually filled early in the evening. They were the best tables to get since they were right off the dance floor. She was the only one at her table, which was odd for a Saturday night, and that drew my attention. No one sat alone at The Sky Launch.

But there Celia was—alone, wearing tight jeans and a tight tank, her hair down around her shoulders. It was so uncharacteristic of her usual prim and proper look that I wasn’t sure it was her. Then she caught my stare, and the wicked grin she gave me confirmed it.

I grabbed Liesl’s forearm. “Oh my god.”

“What? What is it? Did I fuck up the last order?” Her eyes were wide and alarmed.

“No. She’s here. Celia!” I nodded toward the woman who still had her eyes locked on mine.