Текст книги "Hudson"

Автор книги: Laurelin Paige

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Текущая страница: 21 (всего у книги 26 страниц)

Chapter Twenty-Four

Before

Therapy, it turned out, was quite helpful. My life didn’t change in the course of a session or two or even five, but little by little I began to understand things about myself that I’d thought could never be understood. And though I still felt primarily numb, I also felt something else. A lightening of sorts. Like the weight on my shoulders had somehow been decreased. I was still skeptical about progress, but I was willing to give it a try.

I managed to avoid Celia for more than a month after I began my rehabilitation. I got pretty good at excuses—business, travel, family obligations. She called and showed up at the loft, and I dodged.

Eventually, I had to face her. Dr. Alberts required it. Or encouraged it, rather. He insisted that as long as I kept the option to “game” open, then I could never completely leave it. He was right, of course. Only problem was that I wasn’t entirely sure I wanted to completely leave the game. Actually, I was entirely sure that I didn’t want to.

It was at a session in my office that I finally admitted that. “It’s not that I miss playing. Well, not only that I miss playing.” Strangely, I didn’t miss it as much as I had imagined. There were other things, it turned out, that filled my time just as easily. I enjoyed the arts—the symphony, the ballet, the opera. So much so that I arranged a number of scholarship and charitable contributions that benefited these newfound interests. And work was a more than suitable substitute. The manipulative strategies I’d perfected proved useful in the boardroom. It even gave the same rush that I’d found from my experiments.

“Then what is it that keeps you from letting go?” Dr. Alberts’ approach was always kind and understanding. Never pushy or judgmental.

“I don’t know.” I did know. Saying it was difficult. “It’s just…who am I without the game?” It was a silly crisis of identity, really. Everyone knew who Hudson Pierce was. I could do an internet search and find several biographies that summed up my life more succinctly than I could ever hope to. I expected Dr. Alberts to give me his own list of my accomplishments and curriculum vitae.

He didn’t. Instead, he said, “That’s what we have to figure out, Hudson. Luckily, you’re young and healthy. You have plenty of time to figure it out.”

There was something about his words that attracted me. He’d phrased it like a challenge—on purpose, most likely—and that was all it took to catch my attention. I’d never backed away from a challenge. And what a fitting replacement self-discovery was for the experiments of my past. Rather than study the effects of certain situations on others, I could study the effects on myself.

“But,” there was always a but with Dr. Alberts, “you will never be able to fully explore the future you if you are still firmly anchored in the past.”

Everything kept me anchored in the past. My mother, who constantly brought up Celia’s pregnancy.My father, who I couldn’t look at without remembering his betrayal to his wife, to me. My sister, who always looked at me with innocent eyes, yet, as it turned out, knew more than anyone about who I truly was.

But that wasn’t what—who—Dr. Alberts was referring to.

“Celia.” It was hard to even say her name anymore. There was no one who anchored me more than her. And, since I was ready to set sail, I had to let her go. “I’ll take care of it.”

It was easier said than done. Though I could clearly define the steps in my mind of what needed to be done, what needed to be said, the truth was that I’d never broken up with anyone. And wasn’t that exactly what this would be? The ultimate breakup? I’d studied breakups with other couples, of course. I’d been the cause of quite a few. I knew what to expect from them—crying, yelling. Sometimes they were less emotional.

But what would it be like with Celia? Would there be a passionate display? If she still felt things as deeply as she once had, she hadn’t shown me for quite some time.

As for me, I’d thought I was immune to the whole feelings thing. Dr. Alberts corrected me there. “If you were truly incapable of affection, then how did your sister manage to convince you to see me? Was it not because of affection for her that you agreed?”

So I wasn’t completely devoid of emotion, though I still believed that the typical levels of love and devotion expressed by most people were not within my reach. And what I felt for Mirabelle…well, she was surely an exception. But there was something between me and Celia. Even if it was simply a shared affinity for the same pastime, it was a strong bond.

“You are connected to her, Hudson.” Without ever meeting her, Dr. Alberts had a fairly clear picture of our relationship just the same. “It may not be the form of love that you imagine when you think of the word, but there is emotional involvement. It will not be easy to cut her from your life. You need to be prepared for that.”

So I prepared as well as I could. I made arrangements to see her through her assistant, and I chose the location. Not the loft—I could never have her in the loft again; I knew that without Dr. Alberts pointing that out. Her apartment was better. I’d been there once or twice, but it was never a point of meeting for us. I set the appointment for seven on a weeknight. Usually when we met, our time was generalized. “I’ll be there after dinner.” Or, “I’ll stop by on my way to the gym.” These changes to our typical behavior would throw her off, give me the upper hand. Before we were even face-to-face, I’d already set the environment to work specifically in my favor.

It didn’t escape me that I was, yet again, manipulating the situation. Funny that I was supposed to be in recovery from that very thing. This time, however, I was pretty sure Dr. Alberts wouldn’t disapprove.

I arrived late. On purpose.

“Hey, stranger.” Celia’s greeting felt strained as she seemed to debate whether to hug me or not, evidence that my setup was going as planned. In the end, we didn’t embrace. She swept her arm in invitation. “Come on in.”

I stepped into her air-conditioned space and then stopped. Problem with dealing with Celia on new ground was that it was new to me as well. My eyes darted around her immaculate apartment. I hadn’t thought about it before, but her Gramercy Park location wasn’t cheap, and she lived in a building with all the amenities. Her interior design salary didn’t pull in enough to pay the premium price. She was obviously digging into her trust fund. Or getting help elsewhere. Briefly, I wondered if she was scamming people on the side.

Then I dismissed the thought. It wasn’t my business. Not anymore.

“Well, are we just going to stand here twiddling our thumbs or would you like to take a seat?” She smiled, but her hands fiddled nervously with the edge of her blouse.

“Sit, of course.” I started toward her living room.

“Can I get you a drink?”

“Sure.” I paused. “Actually, I’ll get it.” Her bar was off the dining room—this I remembered from previous visits. I grabbed a glass from her dish rack.

“I don’t have any Scotch,” Celia called from the other room. “Sorry.”

“No problem.” I opened the cabinet and studied her inventory. Bourbon and vodka sat front and center—my mother’s liquors of choice. Something about that thought reminded me that I needed my wits about me that night. I closed the cupboard, filled my glass with ice, and poured some bottled water. Then I joined Celia in the living room.

She was already sitting on her chaise, spread out to look casual, but her body language said she was anything but. I took a long swallow of my water before taking a seat across from her on the loveseat.

“So.” She wrung her hands as she spoke. “What’s up? I mean, I know something has to be up. You’ve been avoiding me for weeks, and all this tonight is just…weird. You’re trying to throw me off balance. It’s working. So what is it?”

I chuckled. Of course she’d see through me. Wouldn’t I have seen through her?

Though I hadn’t planned to dive right in, Celia’s point-blank questioning of my agenda gave me no choice. “I came to tell you…I need to tell you…” Just spit it out. “I’m not playing anymore.”

It was Celia’s turn to laugh. “Of course you aren’t. We haven’t seen each other in forever. How could you possibly be playing? I’m sure it’s driving you crazy. You’re such a junkie for this stuff. Don’t worry. I have several possible scenarios just waiting for you to choose one. We’ll get you back in.”

She’d relaxed, her usual demeanor returning as she ticked off situations on her fingers. “There’s a new neighbor on the seventh floor. He’s seeing two women, neither know about each other. He’s serious about both. We could introduce them. Or you could try to seduce one. Or both. Or I could jump in as a third woman.”

Her enthusiasm was contagious. The longer I let her babble on, the worse it was for me. I had to correct her misunderstanding. “Celia, I mean—”

She ignored me, speaking over me. “If that doesn’t sound appealing, then I have another. I met a pair of newlyweds at the MoMA show last week. I know, we’ve done the newlywed thing, but I thought it might be fun for old time’s sake.”

“I’m out, Celia. I’m not playing anymore.”

“Or wait!” Now it was apparent that she did understand me after all. She just didn’t want to. “Andrea Parish has a wedding shower coming up. It’s co-ed. I’m sure there’s something we could—”

“Celia, stop.”

She did, her face falling as she turned to meet my eyes.

“I’m done. I’m not playing the game. Ever.” My voice threatened to catch, but I managed to cover it. “It’s over.” I finished my water, wishing that I’d chosen the vodka instead.

Her eyes fell to the floor for the slightest moment. Then she recovered. “What happened? Is there a lawsuit? We always knew that was a possibility.”

I shook my head. “There’s no lawsuit. I’m just…I’m done.”

“That’s ridiculous.” She narrowed her brows skeptically. “Are you trying to pull my leg? I don’t fall for your shit anymore, you know.”

While I’d known delivering this news to Celia would be difficult, I’d thought the hardest part would be convincing her I was happy with my decision, not that I meant it in the first place. “I’m not pulling your leg, Celia. I’m not making this up. I’m done with the game. I’m no longer playing. I know this seems to be coming out of the blue, but I’m serious about this. No more experiments. No game. Done.”

She tilted her head and studied me. “You can’t be done. You said you’d never be done.”

“I’d said that; you’re right. But I was wrong. I’ve changed my mind.” It occurred to me to bring up Mirabelle, but then I realized that there wasn’t any way I could explain how my sister had influenced me. Even if I could come up with the words, Celia wouldn’t understand. I barely understood.

She came near to assuming on her own, though. “Is this because of your mother? Jack?”

“No. Not because of Sophia. Definitely not because of Jack.”

Celia stood and began pacing. “Where the hell is this coming from, then? If not your family, did you meet Jesus or something?”

I chuckled again. “No.” Though ethics were beginning to take more of an interest for me than they had before. The rights and wrongs of things I’d done. It was starting to matter. “This is me, Celia. All me.”

She swung to face me. “Bullshit. This isn’t you. The game is you.”

“Not anymore.”

“Always! You can’t even make it through a dinner without coming up with at least one play.”

I shot up from my seat. “And that’s exactly the problem. The game has become my whole life. To the point that I’ve begun to ruin the few things around me that aren’t the game. And still it isn’t enough. It’s never enough. I need something else. Something more fulfilling, less consuming. More honest.”

“Like what? Love? Because I swear to God if that’s what you mean…” She didn’t have to finish her thought. I got it. After I’d turned her off to that particular emotion, it would be the ultimate betrayal to leave her for that.

“Not love. Of course not love.” Yet, wasn’t that exactly what I was leaving for? Love for Mirabelle? It wasn’t romantic love, though, and that’s what Celia was referring to. “You know I’m incapable of that, Celia. Just…there has to be something else. If I knew what that something was, I’d tell you. But I don’t know. Yet.”

“Because there is nothing else.”

I’d believed that. Part of me still did. But I’d been listening to new voices recently—Dr. Alberts, Mirabelle—and they said differently. “How do we know that, Celia? Have we looked?”

She scoffed at me. “I don’t need to look.”

“Then how do you know?”

“Because you told me!”

“Only because you begged me to teach you!” This wasn’t the course I’d planned to take with Celia. Chasing the blame, passing the buck—it wouldn’t get us anywhere.

I ran a hand through my hair and blew out a stream of hot air. When I spoke again, I was calmer, more even. “Look, you chose this. I never did. I thought it was my only option, but I see now that it wasn’t. So I’m trying to choose something different.” My pride made me say more than I should. “I stood by you when you made this choice, and now it’s your turn to stand by me.”

She crossed her arms over her chest and leveled me with a look that could kill. “If we’re scoring points then we need to go back much further, Hudson. Your game against me that summer was what began this in the first place.”

I didn’t have ammunition against that. There was no denying that I’d been the one to put the current course of her life in motion. And while I’d had little guilt about the things I’d done to other people, I was beginning to. Therapy was working already. Or messing with my mind. I didn’t know. Whatever it was, there was specific remorse concerning Celia. Was it because I was connected to her as Dr. Alberts suggested? Did I love her? Maybe I did in some way. Maybe I always had.

I sat heavily on the arm of the sofa. “You’re right, Ceely. I did begin this. I wish I knew what to do now to end it.”

She shook her head, her short ponytail bobbing with the movement. The look on her face said she was readying for another attack. But when she spoke, her voice was weak and resigned. “I don’t want to end it. I’m not ready.”

I hadn’t seen her that vulnerable since that morning in the hospital. It was hard to see her like that. She’d become so much more. So strong. Unbreakable. I closed my eyes and held onto the image of Celia that I liked best—carefree and in charge. Would ending the game take that away from her? I had no idea where I’d be without it in my life, but what about her?

It occurred to me that I wasn’t there to save her. I was only there to save myself. If she needed to keep playing, then so be it.

I opened my eyes and met her glossy blues. “Then you don’t have to. You’re free to do whatever you want. I’m not about to try to stop you.”

A tear slipped down her cheek. She looked away as she wiped it with her palm. “I really wasn’t expecting this.”

“Honestly, neither was I.”

She circled behind me and grabbed a tissue from a decorative box on the occasional table. After dabbing at her eyes, she came and sat on the couch. “I was supposed to be the one who quit first.”

I slipped down from the arm to the cushion next to her. “Because you wanted to leave me behind?”

She gave a one-shoulder shrug. “Maybe a bit of that.”

At least we could be honest with each other. And I deserved that. Deserved any resentment that she might have tucked away. In fact, I owed her more. “I’m sorry for…things I’ve done. To you, I mean. I’m hoping that one day you can forgive me.”

She swung her neck to deliver me an incredulous look. “Is this like AA where you ask for forgiveness from those you’ve wronged? Are you in therapy?”

I thought about denying it, but, hell, we were being honest. “I am.”

“Oh.” She bit her lip, seeming to ruminate on this new information. “You’re not supposed to see me anymore, are you?”

“I’m…” I paused. Dr. Alberts had suggested a clean break. It made the most sense. Especially if Celia still planned to keep up her schemes. But I couldn’t bring myself to say it. It wasn’t just her splotchy face and pleading eyes that stopped me. I was changing, but not that fast. I was still self-centered. No, it was the burn in my chest. The ache that increased with every moment that I thought about the words I should be saying.

I changed my script. “Hey, I’m quitting the game. That doesn’t mean I have to quit you.”

Her brow ticked up. “Even if I decide to still play? Won’t I be a temptation?”

“Maybe I want the temptation.”

Her expression softened, her eyes lighting up with hope. “Do you really?”

Yes. No. I didn’t have the answer. “I don’t know. I don’t know what I want, Celia. This isn’t easy for me. I’m flying blind.”

“And that’s not like you.”

“No, it’s not.” Actually, it was the weakest I thought I had ever been in front of her. Except for maybe the night we’d watched my drunken mother fire the nanny. Even then, I didn’t think Celia grasped the extent of my vulnerability.

Now, there was nowhere to hide. She saw.

She shifted, angling her knees toward me, and patted me once on the thigh. “Here’s what I think, and go ahead and bitch at me if it’s not what you want to hear. I think this is a phase you’re going through. It’s something you have to try. I get that. But you’re going to realize that you can’t stay away. The game isn’t just what you do; it’s who you are. So go ahead and do this, this therapy thing. And when you’re ready, I’ll be here.”

Years ago, when I’d first accepted her request to teach her the game, I’d thought the same thing about her. That she was going through a phase. That she’d abandon me after she got bored.

She’d surprised me when she stuck with it, much as she surprised me now.

“You might be waiting a long time,” I said. “Full disclosure here.”

“We’ll see.”

I swallowed. “Then you’re going to keep playing?”

“I think I am. Is that all right?”

Not really. “I said it was. I’m not your keeper.” Selfishly, I wanted her to quit as well. How much easier would it be to have a companion on the road to recovery? Was that even possible, for two addicts to be helpful to each other?

She must have sensed that I wasn’t being entirely truthful. “What do you want me to do, Hudson?”

If I was really going through with this, really going to make an actual effort to be less manipulative and more sympathetic, then I had to start with Celia. “I want you to do what’s best for you. For once. Honestly.”

“Then I’m still playing.” She smiled. “And don’t be surprised if I try to tempt you back to my ways.”

“Hey, that wasn’t part of the deal.”

She batted her lashes, feigning innocence. “You said you wanted what was best for me.” Then she grew serious. “Best for me is to have you with me, Hudson. With me in the game, I mean. You’ve said I can’t have that. But I have to keep trying.”

So along with my own temptations, I’d have to battle Celia’s enticement as well? Goddamn consequences. “That’s fair, I suppose.”

“Is it?”

“Does it matter if it is or isn’t? You’ll go after what you want either way.”

“True.” She smirked. “And you just said you want me to have what I want.”

We were talking in circles, and it was exhausting. I’d thought for sure that seeing Celia would make me want to play again. Strangely, it hadn’t. Instead, I saw how desperate and futile the experiments were. Here we were after all of our games, and with all the data and experience we’d collected, all we had between us was the next play. It wasn’t sustainable. It wasn’t—to use my own words—real.

Our relationship had to change. I saw that now. I’d said I wouldn’t quit our friendship, but I didn’t say to what extent I’d remain in contact. It would have to be limited, I realized. Family and business gatherings. Places where we couldn’t talk and scheme. It wasn’t only me I was protecting. Maybe, if we didn’t see each other very often, maybe Celia would quit too.

Okay, I wasn’t trying to save her, but wouldn’t it be admirable if I did? Stripped of my superpowers, I was grasping for something—anything—to make me special rather than just an epic asshole.

Spending more time with Celia wasn’t going to help with that. “I have to go, Ceely.” I stood then turned to face her. “But, yes, I do want you to have what you want. I hope that someday you want something different than this.”

She followed me, getting to her feet. “How patronizing.”

I sighed. “I’m not trying to patronize. I’m trying to be honest.”

“If we’re being honest, can I ask something?”

“Sure.”

She tapped her French-tipped nail against her chin. “Would blackmail work? To keep you playing, I mean.”

A chill ran down my spine. I was stunned by her suggestion. Shocked. More than a little pissed. “Well, that really is honest, isn’t it?” I eyed her carefully, looking for a sign that she might be bluffing. She did know my secrets, but would she really threaten to use them against me?

I saw none of her usual tells. While I felt a smidgeon of pride—oh, I’d taught her well—I mostly felt challenged. And I didn’t like to be challenged, therapy or not. “I believe I have as much on you, Celia, as you could have on me.”

A satisfactory smile slid across her lips. “Then we’re agreed—our secrets are safe?”

“As long as it’s mutual, then my lips are sealed.”

“Then mine are too.”

I left her apartment with more clarity than when I’d arrived. As much as I shouldn’t engage with Celia Werner any further, I knew now that I could never cut her completely from my life. For one, I wasn’t certain if she was actually a friend or a foe. And there was that old adage about keeping friends close and enemies closer.

But there was another thing—without the game, losing Celia would leave me entirely alone. And loneliness was one emotion I most desperately didn’t want to learn.