Текст книги "Hudson"

Автор книги: Laurelin Paige

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Текущая страница: 22 (всего у книги 26 страниц)

Chapter Twenty-Five

After

Simply making the decision to tell Alayna the truth takes away a good portion of my fear. I no longer have to debate and war with myself. I no longer have to hide, and I’m anxious to be with her again. So when I wrap up my business in L.A. earlier than I expected, I decide to fly back and surprise the woman I love. Yes, it means my secret will be exposed sooner than if I hadn’t pulled my weight to get my meetings scheduled on a Sunday, aka “off hours,” but I’m ready.

What I’m not ready for is the greeting that meets me when I arrive at The Sky Launch later that evening. I’d known she’d be here for David’s going away party, and, eager to see her, I headed straight over after landing. It had taken a few minutes to find her. She wasn’t with the rest of the guests who were mostly mingling by the bar and on the dance floor.

Instead, she’s tucked away in a corner. But she is dancing. Slow dancing. In David’s arms.

I watch them, mesmerized, unable to look away like is often the case when met with something horrible. Neither of them notice me, and from my vantage, I can’t see Alayna’s face. But I can see David’s. His eyes are closed, but his expression is tender and forlorn. He seems to be whispering into her ear—singing perhaps. If I ever doubted that he had feelings for her, I don’t now.

It’s simply a dance, I tell myself. Then he’s going away. It’s likely her way of saying goodbye. If I were a different man, I’d give them privacy.

But I’m not a different man. I’m this one. And I’m thoroughly possessive. So I’m still watching when they stop moving and make eye contact. And I see when he leans forward and kisses her.

It’s a moment of revelation. The first moment I feel absolute pain. There’s a wave of panic, accompanied by this crushing weight against my chest. It takes away all ability to move. All ability to breathe.

She pushes him away, and I should be grateful. But I’m still caught in the before. It replays in my head as if on constant repeat—her in his arms, his mouth against hers. Against the mouth that is mine. He doesn’t love her like I do. He can’t. It’s impossible. His feelings are small and inconsequential compared to the immense affection for her that travels through my body with one beat of my heart. He would have never let her go if he felt how I do.

And now another new emotion—I want to hurt David. I want him dead. For daring to touch the woman that doesn’t belong to him. For attempting to steal what is so very clearly mine. My hands are fists at my side, and I’m imagining the ways I want to punish him, ways that can never equate to the pain I feel inside.

And her…

The betrayal is really hers, but I don’t want to hurt her. I want to pull her into me, into my very soul, so that she can see how I feel about her, see how this rips me up. Tie her to me so completely that she can’t ever be out of my control. This was why I sent David away in the first place. This is why I hold on to her as tightly as I do. This is why I doubt her when she says she means forever. If she can wound me like this now, then how easily will she leave me when it’s warranted?

It’s a fragment of my greatest fear realized—she loves me, but she doesn’t love me enough.

I’m barely aware of when they discover my presence. I hear her say my name. Hear her tell me that it’s not what it looks like.

It doesn’t matter what it looks like. I know exactly what it is—it’s the worst moment of my life so far. And I know it’s only the beginning.

“Maybe we should discuss this in a more private setting,” I manage. She agrees, and painful minutes later, we’re alone in the employee office.

“He kissed me, Hudson. I didn’t kiss him. And when he did, I pushed him away.” The regret of her action is in her face and her voice.

Yet the pain rages on. “Why were you in his arms in the first place?”

“We were dancing. It was a party.”

“You were in his arms, Alayna. In the arms of someone who has made no secret of his feelings for you. What did you think he’d do?” I don’t mean to be this angry. I am fully aware that this is minor in the scheme of ways that I’ve betrayed her.

But it doesn’t change how I feel. My inexperience with this emotion rules how I behave.

“It was innocent,” she insists. “I needed someone. He was here. And you weren’t.” Her expression changes, and her words grow bitter. “Where were you today, anyway? When I needed you?”

I was fucking saving her from Celia, that’s where I was. My own bitterness shows in my words. “What was it you needed, Alayna? Someone to keep you warm?”

She presses her lips together. “That hurts.”

“What I just witnessed hurts.” I sound cruel. It’s not the reunion I wanted. There’s so much we need to be talking about, and we’re stuck on this. Perhaps I’m grasping on to it so I don’t have to say the other words. The ones that will hurt her even more.

She’s equally unkind. “Yeah, I know how it feels.”

“Do you?”

“Yeah, I do. Let me see if I can explain it. It feels like your gut has been wrenched out of your body. At least that’s what it felt like when Celia told me that you’d been fucking her for most of the time we’ve been together.”

I’m caught off guard by her words. “What?” This is new, and all of a sudden, I’m worried that I’ve missed something. “When did she say that?”

She tells me.

“You saw her today?” Earlier, before I’d boarded my plane, I’d checked my voicemail and discovered a message from Celia. I’d deleted it. It was something about her lawyer and Alayna. Since I’d had no messages from Jordan or Reynold, I’d figured it was another attempt to rile me up over nothing. I ask Alayna about it now.

She explains that she’d snuck away for coffee. That she’d taken her computer. That she’d encountered Celia. David becomes a conversation for later. I’m instantly concerned about this—what Celia did. What Celia said.

I’m tense throughout her recounting of the event, but I try to maintain my temper. It’s especially hard when Alayna admits that she’s the one who approached Celia. After all I’ve done to keep them apart, this is hard to hear. It’s as if Alayna’s working purposefully against me, undermining my attempts to protect our relationship. Of course, she has no idea that she’s doing it.

“Then she said that you were together,” Alayna says finally. “That you were a couple. That you fucked her that night, and it wasn’t the first time, and it wasn’t the last.”

“And you believed her?” It’s a blatant lie, of course. While it’s not the most horrid thing that Celia could say, it’s another straw on the heap of anger I feel toward her.

Alayna straightens proudly. “It pissed me off enough that I punched her.”

“You punched her?”

Alayna stiffens. “You know what? Keep acting like this is an interrogation, and I’m out of here.” Apparently, shock wasn’t the right response.

Honestly, besides shock, I don’t know what I’m feeling at the moment. That’s not true. I do know. I’m mad. Mad at Celia. Mad that Alayna let Celia get to her. Mad that she got herself in a situation where Celia could have hurt her.

But my anger is out of worry. And I don’t want to be mad at Alayna.

I walk the room as I shove my hands through my hair, trying to calm down. When I’m as in control as I think I’ll get, I stop and face her. “I’m sorry if I sound a bit tense, Alayna. I assure you it’s only out of concern for you.”

Finally, I’ve said the right thing. Alayna cools, and I begin to understand the situation that I walked into. She’d done something she knew she shouldn’t. She was scared. She needed me. I wasn’t there. She turned to a friend for comfort. He kissed her. It doesn’t lessen the pain at seeing her wrapped in his arms, but now it’s me that’s to blame. I should have been here. I should have called her before leaving from L.A. I should never have gotten her in this position in the first place—pitted against a woman that is dangerous and unwavering.

I understand Alayna’s worries. Celia might try to press charges, but I have the deal with GlamPlay and Werner Media to hold over her head now. I almost tell Alayna about it. Except the paperwork still needs to be filed in the morning, and I have to be sure everything goes through. So I simply assure her that I will take care of everything.

“Thank you.” Her relief is evident. She believes me. She trusts me in this, and I’m comforted.

She, however, still needs reassuring. “Hudson.” Her voice trembles. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. Good for you, actually. She deserves worse.” I’m proud, really. I knew Alayna was stronger than Celia thought she was. It’s fantastic that she’s had the chance to prove it.

But Alayna frowns. “I mean, I’m sorry about David.”

“Oh.” I see them together again in my head—her face pressed against his shoulder. I have to know, so I ask. “Tell me one thing—do you still feel anything for him?”

“No. No, I don’t. Nothing. I’ve told you that before, and I meant it, though I’m sure it doesn’t seem like it seeing me tonight. But the whole time he was holding me, it felt wrong. All I could think about was you. I was missing you, H. Needing you. So much. And I didn’t think about what I was doing. I’m so, so, sor—”

I fly to her, unable to stand the distance between us any longer. I wrap my arms around her and clutch her tight. “I missed you too, precious. Needed you. I was trying to get back here—”

She cuts me off. “And I ruined your surprise. I’m so sorry.”

“I don’t care. It hurts, but I’ve hurt you. And as long as you swear that he means nothing—”

“Nothing. I swear with every fiber of my body, it’s only you.” She kisses along my jaw. God, she’s here. She’s mine. And for this moment, I let myself believe that this could be always—the always that I’ve promised her. The always that I want to live with her. Her as caught up with me as I am with her.

Then she asks, “How about you? Do you still feel anything for Celia?”

And the moment is ended.

I remember now that this reunion isn’t supposed to end like this. There’s more to say. More to explain. And this is where I have to begin.

I lean back to meet her eyes. “Alayna…I’ve never felt anything for Celia.”

“You mean, it was just sex?”

I shake my head. “I’ve never been with her at all.”

“She was lying.”

She’s not asking, but I confirm anyway. “She was lying.”

“That’s what I thought.” There’s no relief in her voice, and that makes me nervous. She pulls away from me, leaving me chilled. “But here’s the thing,” she says. “I sort of wish it were true.”

I know in my heart what she’s getting at. She’s figuring it out. She’s a smart woman, and the truth was always there, waiting for her to simply put it together.

I watch her as she does just that. “Not that you were sleeping with her while we were together—not that part. But the rest of it—that you were really with her when Stacy saw you. If that was the truth, I could accept it. Don’t get me wrong—the idea of you with her, fucking her—it torments me. It really does. But I think I always knew you were never with her. It’s in your eyes—both now and in that video.”

I swallow. “I wasn’t. I was never with her.”

“And that means that the thing with Stacy was a scam. Of course it was. I wanted to think it was just Celia in on it, and you were protecting her. But you said you weren’t, and you did go along enough to stage that kiss. You were part of it.”

If we could leave it here where she’s paused, I know we’d be fine. But we can’t. I promised her the truth. All of it. I’m just not sure if it’s better to let her proceed or to jump in with my confession.

Since I seem to have lost my ability to speak, it’s her that goes on. “I thought for a minute that might be your secret. Except it’s not it. I mean, yeah, that’s shitty that you did that to her, but I knew you had those things in your past. And you knew that I knew those things. If that were all there was to learn from that video, you would have told me. There had to be more you were hiding.”

It unfolds like a master detective solving the crime that has teased and taunted her, threatening to get the better of her, and then she finally gets the clue she needs to put it to rest.

Alayna raises her eyes to mine. “It’s because of what night it was, the night of the symposium, isn’t it? I considered that you didn’t want me to know that you were still manipulating people for fun that recently, but now I don’t think that’s all of it either.”

“Alayna…” It’s like watching a fragile object fall from a great height. A beautiful vase, perhaps. A crystal figurine. For a moment it feels like if I move fast enough, I can catch it before it shatters all over the floor. But I’m too far away. Time seems to slow, and every millisecond feels like an eternity.

She pieces together the secret that I’ve hidden from her, the truth of our beginning. And no matter how much I want to stop her, all I can do is watch her fall.

“It’s not the video itself. It’s what happened after.”

“Alayna,” I say again. It’s the only word I have. A prayer for strength. For me. For her.

“If Celia was there with you outside the symposium…then doesn’t it make sense that she went in with you? And if she went in with you, she was there when you first saw me. And if you were still playing people together…”

I can pinpoint the moment that she finally lets the truth sink in. Her face goes white, and her shoulders fall inward as if she’s been hit in the gut. Her anguish is palpable.

It’s unbearable. “I was going to tell you. I came back to tell you.” The words come now. The speeches I’ve prepared and rewritten in my mind over and over. Excuses that mean shit. “It’s my worst mistake, Alayna.” I step toward her. “The most horrible of all the things I’ve done. My biggest regret, although it’s what gave me you, and for that I’m forever grateful. But I never knew what I’d feel for you. I never knew that I could hurt you that much, and that I would care that I did. Please, Alayna, you have to understand.”

I’m desperate for her to hear me, but my voice seems to roll past her. She’s in her own nightmare, and I can’t get to her.

“That’s what I was, wasn’t I? A game. Your game. Together.” She collapses to the floor. “Oh God. Oh God, oh God.”

“Alayna—” I fall to my knees, reaching for her. I need her, need to fix her with my touch like I always do.

But she scrambles away. “Don’t touch me!”

Her scream pierces through me. I’ve never heard this depth of pain and revulsion in her tone. The weight of it matches my own pain, blurring my vision, causing my heart to race.

I refuse to stop fighting though. I have to reach her, somehow. If not with my touch, then my words will have to do. “It wasn’t what you think, Alayna. Yes, it started as a game. As Celia’s game. But I only went along because it was you. Because I was so enamored with you.”

She stares at me, blinking as if seeing me clearly for the first time. And isn’t she? Finally seeing the devil that I’ve been in disguise.

She bends over, dry heaving.

I understand. I’m just as disgusted with myself.

I’m desperate to help her, but afraid she’ll push me away again. “Alayna, let me—”

She puts her hand up to stop me from coming closer. “I don’t want your help.” She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. “I want fucking answers.”

“Anything. I told you I’d tell you anything.” Maybe if she heard all of it…maybe then she’d understand.

But as she asks her questions, and as I answer, I can hear the story the way she does. It’s awful. It’s ugly. It’s absolutely evil.

I beg her to let me try to explain it in my own words. The words that I’ve saved for this occasion. But they’re just as bad. Each new sentence seems to shatter her in a new way. And each new crack that rips through her echoes through me with lightning pain. Even as I plead with her, I don’t know what I’m asking for. For understanding? For love? For forgiveness?

I know I’ve lost my rights to all of these. It comes as no surprise when she declares in weighted, measured words, “This is unforgiveable, Hudson. There is no moving forward from this.”

She’s said these words to me before, in every nightmarish imagining I’ve had about telling her the truth. It’s why I’d hid it for so long. Because these words seemed inevitable.

Yet I can’t accept it. It hurts too goddamned much to let this be the end. “Don’t say that. Don’t ever say that.”

“What is it exactly that you don’t want to hear, Hudson? That I can’t forgive you? I can’t.” She’s trying to hurt me now; I feel it. “I can’t forgive this. Ever.”

I also know she means it. Still, I reach for her. “Alayna, please!”

She kicks at me, screaming words that bruise and break me. She tells me we’re over. She tells me she can never trust me again. I have no hope—I’m already destroyed—but I keep fighting. Keep protesting. Keep promising my love. I’ll do anything to fix this. Anything to take this back.

But each time I reach for her with words or my hands, she pushes me away. Shoves me down. Do I really expect anything different? I’ve seen love deteriorate before. I’ve watched it unravel before my eyes. This is something I know. It’s the thing I’ve always been good at—destroying the fairytale of happily ever after.

Love doesn’t bear all. Love doesn’t endure. Love ends. It always, always ends.

For all that I’ve destroyed—in my past, with Celia, here today in Alayna—my curse is that my love alone goes on. My whole life I was empty. Now I’m full. Overflowing with love and anguish. Hers and mine. They are so completely entwined, so thoroughly mixed in each other that I don’t believe they’ll ever be separate. I love Alayna Withers. And each drop of that love is so laced with pain that it travels through my veins like acid, burning and scarring me from the inside out.

There’s nothing more I can say. There’s nothing more she’ll hear.

There’s a knock on the door, and David sticks his head inside. He ignores me and directs his focus to Alayna. “Are you okay, Laynie?”

She’s honest in her answer. “No. I’m not okay.”

It’s her cue for me to leave. But I try once more, unable to let go of her. “Alayna…”

With a simple shake of her head, she ends it. Ends us.

“I’ll leave.” I long for her to stop me. She doesn’t.

I turn to David. “I’m sorry to put a damper on your party. Thank you for looking out for her.” Though it pains me, I’m grateful that she has someone to care for her when I leave. She’s strong, I know. But I can’t bear for her to be alone. Like I’ll be.

I look at her one last time. I’m buried under an avalanche of regret. I can barely move, barely breathe under its weight.

Somehow, though, I manage to turn away. Because that’s what she wants. And after all that I’ve taken from her, this I can give her—I walk out the door and leave.

* * *

The only thing that keeps me alive for the next few days is my commitment to making sure Alayna is surviving. I spend Monday morning getting the battery charges against Alayna dropped and finalizing details over GlamPlay with Norma. I’ve kept Jordan on duty, watching Alayna from afar in case Celia decides to try anything, and I check in with him often. I order a Kindle and start loading Alayna’s favorite books on it, so she’ll have something to do besides obsess and be sad. Those are my tasks this time. I’ll obsess about her instead of the other way around. I’ll be sad enough for both of us.

I call Liesl. I’m grateful to find that Alayna’s with her and not with David. I don’t give excuses. I don’t beg for another chance. I tell Liesl truths—that the police aren’t looking for Alayna, that her job is secure, that she can stay at the penthouse, that I’m here when she wants to talk. That I love her.

Liesl seems to care enough about Alayna to let me talk, though she scoffs at my proclamation of love. “She doesn’t want to hear that,” she says.

“It doesn’t make it any less true.”

I eat, but only because I need energy to keep fighting for Alayna. I don’t bury myself in Scotch, tempting as it may be. I’ll be no good for her like that. I don’t sleep. I ache. I feel. I try not to drown in my emotions.

When the pain gets too unbearable, I remind myself that hers is worse. I try to embrace the misery. It’s justice for what I’ve done. Consequences.

And I text her. I’m sure she’s not reading my messages, but it feels good to say the things that I want to say. I send so many that it seems our roles have reversed—I’ve become the stalker. I’m the one who can’t help myself. I tell her anything and everything.

I miss you, I say.

I heard that Phillip Phillips song on the radio today. You make it so easy…

Jack asked about you. You should call him sometime. I’m sure he’d love to hear from you.

And so many times just, I love you.

God, I really fucking love her.

* * *

Tuesday, I call Dr. Alberts for an appointment. He says he’ll see me that day with the same conditions as previously given—I have to meet him at his office instead of mine. I agree.

It’s easier to talk to him now than it was before. Alayna opened gates in me that can never be closed again. I tell him everything. “She taught me how to feel,” I say, my eyes fixed on the smooth surface of his tray ceiling. “She taught me how to have emotions.”

Dr. Alberts doesn’t see it the way I do. “She didn’t teach you. You always knew how. You worked hard all this time trying to forget that. But you were never incapable. You created blocks when you were young to deal with the heartache that surrounded your family life. You didn’t feel because it was easier not to. It was a coping mechanism.”

I work my jaw as I consider this. There are memories that creep up on me sometimes, very specific ones from my youth, where my feelings are so bright they show through in my mind like a color. Reds and purples and greens. They’re few and far between, but they’re there. Were those remnants of the days before I learned to cope?

And if so, why didn’t Dr. Alberts say this to me before? I ask him.

“You weren’t ready to hear it. The question is, why do you think that you decided to let yourself now? You saw this woman from afar, and immediately, you were ready to take the first steps. Why?”

I’m certain Dr. Alberts isn’t the type to accept love at first sight as an answer. Honestly, I’m not either. I take a second to figure out what the answer really is. “She was familiar,” I say, finally. “I recognized that she’d struggled. And yet she’d come out okay. It was beautiful about her, and I wanted to get to know it more. I wanted that for myself.”

“And you realized to get that, you had to start to feel again.”

“I guess so.” It’s oversimplified. But isn’t everything?

It occurs to me that I have other questions that are in need of simple answers. Questions that my therapist may be able to put to rest. I sit up, and meet him face-to-face. “I’d been okay without playing people anymore. Why did I decide that I had to play the game to get close to Alayna?”

He steeples his fingers and rests his chin against them. “Why do you think?”

“Because I didn’t know any other way to relate to people.” It’s the reason I’ve clung to, anyway.

“I imagine there’s truth to that.” He thinks for a moment. “And you liked to do it, Hudson. Maybe you don’t anymore—it sounds like you’ve overcome that addiction—but you did. The rush it gave you was a substitute for the real emotions that you’d buried inside. You manipulated Alayna because a part of you wanted to.”

It’s hard to hear, and I start to object. But then I stop myself. Because he’s right. There was a part of me that wanted exactly that. Wanted to feel the racing of my heart as I attempted to guess how she’d behave. Wanted the reward of predicting her. I’d felt a rush the moment I’d seen her, and the game was the way I knew to recapture it. That thrill had quickly been replaced with the thrill of falling in love.

But that first yes—when I’d told Celia I’d play—that was wrong. I had no excuse. I was to blame.

Dr. Alberts recognizes my thought process. “Acceptance is the first step to moving on, Hudson. It’s why you could never fully recover before—because you never really accepted the blame for your actions. This is great progress. Talking about it, sharing what you’ve done with those close to you will help as well. I recommend you work on that next.”

Since he has no patients scheduled after me, Dr. Alberts lets me stay for two hours. Since we’re in his office and not mine, no one interrupts. I forget about work. I concentrate on me. With his help, I work through many life-long questions I’ve had about myself. It’s eye-opening. Liberating.

The one thing he can’t answer, though, is the one thing I want to know most: Is there any chance Alayna can ever forgive me?