Hudson

Chapter Twenty-Two

The bar at Lester’s is much different than the type I usually frequent. There’s a pool table and darts in the back corner. The patrons wear jeans. I’m the only one in a suit, let alone a suit that probably costs the entire amount that the register will take in tonight. The music blares from an old jukebox—hits from the nineties that seem familiar. I’d prefer a live band. Jazz or a piano player would be nice. But I’m not here for the ambiance. Lester’s fulfills the two requirements I have at the moment—they have a good bottle of Scotch, and it’s only half a block away from the loft. I’ll be drunk when I leave here. Hopefully, the short distance will ensure that I pass out on my own property.

I shake my head at myself. Me, turning to liquor for comfort. It’s quite comical. To think that only yesterday I was curled up with Alayna in the mountains, making love under the stars, flirting with the topic of marriage. Tonight, I’m here. What a difference a day makes.

I’d known something was wrong the moment I’d walked into the penthouse. I found her outside on the balcony. Drunk. Ha. She’d chosen the bottle as her friend as well. I hadn’t realized the irony until right this moment, when I’ve just ordered my third this hour. We’re so alike, she and I. And so different. She’s made mistakes with us, but I fully believe hers have been with the best of intentions. I can defend my own evil ways—and I will if it comes to it—yet my excuses really hold no weight. How could I ever explain such a level of deceit?

I don’t have the answer. That’s why I’m sitting here, alone, in this fucking bar. I don’t have the answers.

She saw the video.

I have to say it over and over to remind myself that it’s not just a nightmare of what might happen, but is the actual fact of the matter now. She’s seen it. And worse, she knows the lengths I went to in order for her not to see it. I’d practically bribed Stacy to get rid of it. I’d lied to Alayna. Outright lied. I thought I’d covered my ass, that she’d never find out. I was wrong.

God, was I wrong…

So I was unprepared.

I’m usually good on my feet. Preparation isn’t mandatory. But I had no words for Alayna. Snippets of our conversation replays over and over in my mind. Looks can be deceiving, I told her. I’m not admitting anything. You haven’t figured out anything.

Fuck, I’m such an asshole. What else could I have said? Nothing. I have no answers, I said. The subject is closed.

And then…Jesus, I cringe at the memory of this…I blamed her for the lack of trust. Did I mention I’m an asshole? Worse than that. I’m a horrible person. Willing to throw her under the bus to hide what I’ve done to us. What I’m still doing to us.

The bartender checks on me. I gulp the last of my glass. “Another,” I say.

I stare dazedly into the mirror behind the bottles. The reflection that meets me looks like fucking death. What does Alayna even see in me? How does she not see me for the vile creature that I am? I don’t blame her for pushing me further tonight. I would have pushed her if the roles were reversed. Because it’s evident that I’m hiding something. I’m hiding everything. I can’t even tell her how I feel about her because it’s all tangled up in this lie. I’m drowning in this charade, and I don’t know how to get a breath.

I did the only thing I could do. I called a timeout.

A fucking timeout.

What am I supposed to do with that? Do I believe that hours away from her will help me come up with a bigger and better lie? Do I think it will give me the balls to come clean about everything? Or am I hoping that the break will make her forget all her questions? I laugh out loud at the absurdity.

“Something funny?”

The question comes from the woman on the stool to my right. I hadn’t noticed her come in. I barely notice her now. “An inside joke,” I say, dismissively. Which is stupid. I know that engaging at all, even at a minimum, only encourages more conversation.

I’m correct in my assumption.

“Tell me about it, sugar. Lola’s got a good ear.”

She refers to herself in third person. I roll my eyes.

“Come on, honey. You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t want to talk to someone.”

I snort—the alcohol is definitely taking effect. “I’m here because I want to get loaded.”

“But that’s not all. Otherwise, you’d be drinking alone somewhere.”

I look her over now. She’s older than me, forties, I’d guess. Not bad looking. Her hair, nails and boobs are fake. Her skirt is too short, but she has nice legs.

The bartender returns with my drink, and Lola places her own order. I can tell she’s hoping I’ll offer to buy it for her. I consider it. Not because I’m thinking of hooking up with her—even if she were the hottest supermodel, I wouldn’t bang her. I’m with Alayna. Even with a timeout, I’d never be unfaithful. Besides, no one else does it for me anymore. The only woman I’ll get hard for I left in tears in my penthouse apartment. I broke her fucking heart. When I promised myself I never would. When I told her that I’d never leave. I left.

I feel like shit. And that’s why I consider buying Lola a drink. She’s open, trusting—she’d be easily played. The things I could make her believe, the things I could make her do…a million different scenarios start forming in my mind.

Then they stop.

The game won’t solve anything. It will be a quick high and then what? Then I’ll be even less worthy of Alayna than I am now. I can’t fight my demons with my demons. It’s not the solution I’m looking for.

So I swallow down my drink and close out my tab.

I stagger back to the loft and spread out on the couch. I don’t let myself sleep in my bed. I don’t deserve to be comfortable. I don’t deserve to be where she’s been. I don’t deserve her.

I wake the next day with a dry mouth and a fucking headache. It’s an instant reminder of the miserable situation I’ve put myself in. After texting my secretary to reschedule all my appointments for the day, I allow myself a glass of water, but I don’t take any pain relievers. I earned this discomfort, and I won’t back away from it.

When my phone buzzes, I check it immediately, hoping it’s Alayna. It’s not, and I pretend I’m not disappointed. It’s important though—a text from Norma asking me to call her. She knows not to text me anything incriminating. She also knows to be careful about her phone calls. If she’s texting, she needs me.

She doesn’t even say hello when I ring her. “You aren’t in your office.”

“No. I’m working from my loft today.” I look and feel like shit. I shouldn’t see people. “What do you need?”

“Stuart Reed’s having doubts.”

Stuart’s our man at GlamPlay. I don’t need this. Not today. “Did you explain to him that Walden Inc. is still me?”

“He’s not having doubts about that. They’re ready to sell to you no matter which company you’re purchasing with. He’s having doubts about buying into Werner Media. Their latest stock prices weren’t as high as predicted.”

“With the change in the economy, those prices were incredible. What does Reed fucking expect?” I run a hand through my hair. “You know what? I don’t give a fuck about his doubts. We’ll finish the purchase of GlamPlay first, and then he won’t have a choice in the matter.”

“Pissing off Stuart Reed is not a good idea.” Norma’s calm, reasonable. “Of course, you will have full power to do what you want when you own the company, but it will be much easier if Stuart is on your side.”

I lean against the full-length windows that look out over the city and remind myself why it’s not a good idea to punch my fist through them. “What do you suggest I do then, Norma?”

“You need to alleviate some of his concerns. I don’t think it will take much. A friendly conversation off the record.” There’s a voice in the background. Male. I’m pissed that she’s talking about this in front of anyone, but I trust Norma.

It’s because I trust her that I give her the benefit of the doubt. “Do you have a plan to arrange this friendly conversation?” We’re running out of time on this deal.

“I wouldn’t have called if I didn’t.” Her gloating grin can be heard through the phone. “Stuart will be at the Breezeway Charity Ball tonight. We’ll go together.”

“To the Breezeway Ball? Do tell me how you plan to get me in there.” The Breezeway board of directors, Alan Fleming, is not a fan of Hudson Pierce. I’d played his sister early in my history of the game, before I’d learned that the experiment was best performed away from my work and home. Not for the first time, I wonder if my past will ever let me go.

“Alan will not be there himself. And the name on the guest list is mine. So we’ll have to go together. We’ll go late, and we won’t stay long. Pick me up at eight.”

The plan sounds dreadful, but only because the last thing I want to do tonight is get dressed up in a tux and schmooze. But it’s necessary. And what else am I planning on doing with the evening? Another night of drinking doesn’t seem very productive. I manage to say thank you before hanging up.

Another text comes through before I put my phone down. This time it is from Alayna. Two words, a simple request—Come home.

I make my way to an armchair where I slump and stare at the screen, reading the message over and over. She still wants me. My throat tightens at that knowledge, and it takes everything in me not to jump to obey. But where would we be then? Nothing’s changed. We’re still at an impasse. And I’m not ready to do what I think will eventually be my only course of action.

I’m still sitting there when her next text comes in. Are you avoiding me now?

I type and delete my answer several times. I have no response. She sends more texts:

The least you can do is talk to me.

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?

Each new message stabs me in the chest, wrenches my gut. I’ve caused her so much pain, yet I know this is nothing compared to the pain of the truth. What do I do? Let her suffer like this or confess what will likely destroy her? Perhaps I should just walk away. Break things off and break her heart. It will kill me, I know. I’m beginning to see there’s no saving us. Soon, I’ll have to choose what’s best for her and forget about me.

But not today. I can’t yet. I’m not ready.

I send her a text of my own because I love her, and I can’t bear to leave her hanging any longer. I’m not mad. I’m not avoiding you. I don’t know what to say.

I don’t know what to say. How true is that? So goddamned true.

Don’t say anything. Just come home.

I choke on a caustic laugh. For the second time in twenty-four hours, I’ve engaged when I shouldn’t have. Now I have to draw this out, repeating words she can’t understand. I can’t. Not yet. We need time.

I don’t need time. I need you.

Fuck, how I need her. She has no idea. 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. But she doesn’t send anything after that, and I’m disappointed. More than disappointed. I’m shattered. Her brief words were keeping me afloat. Her absence from my phone makes me worry. Did something happen? And I think the worst—that her life can go on without me. My life, on the other hand, is at a fucking standstill.

I check in with Jordan and learn she’s convinced him to join her for a run. I’d forbidden her from running outdoors, concerned about Celia and her stalking. She’s defying my wishes—can I blame her?—but at least she’s taken her bodyguard. At least she still cares enough about me to compromise. If only there was a way I could compromise with her. I’d give her anything she wanted, tell her every secret from my past, break down every last standing wall, as long as she could tell me she’d never leave me. That she wouldn’t give up on us.

And she’d say that she wouldn’t. She’d promise me forever.

But I won’t let her make that promise. If she found out what I’ve done, she wouldn’t be able to keep it.

My phone rings in the middle of the night. In a state of half-sleep, I reach toward the coffee table where I’d left it before settling down on the couch. Then I stop myself. It’s probably Alayna—and God, how I want it to be her—but I don’t have the strength to deny her right now. Not in the dark hours of the night when I want her so desperately that I’ll say and do anything to have her.

I sit up and scrub my hands over my face. I’m awake now. Actually, I’m surprised I slept at all. I look at the time. It’s almost three. I guess I slept more than I thought. I’d gotten in around midnight. As I’d said I would, I’d gone to the charity ball with Norma and even managed to chat up Stuart Reed. I think I did my job of convincing him that Werner Media was a good investment, but before I had a chance to confirm it, I’d gotten a text from Reynold, Alayna’s second shift bodyguard, telling me that not only was Celia at The Sky Launch, but that Alayna had dismissed him for the night.

Needless to say, I was furious. And worried as hell.

I grabbed Norma, and we took off for the club. Unsafe as it was to drive under emotional duress and talk on the phone, I called Alayna anyway. I kept her on the phone until I arrived at the curb outside. With my own eyes, I saw Celia leave. Alayna was safe, thank God. But she’d seen me—seen me with Norma, dressed up for a night out.

How do I only seem to dig myself deeper? Of course, that’s why she wants to talk to me. I should explain. The deal is so close to coming to fruition, maybe that’s one thing I can share with Alayna. But if Celia has Alayna tapped or bugged…I can’t risk Celia finding out about this before it happens.

So I’ll have to keep this silent too.

My phone starts ringing again, and it takes everything I have not to pick it up and chuck it across the room. Possibly the thing that stops me is realizing that the screen isn’t flashing Alayna’s name; it’s flashing Adam’s.

My heart is in my throat when I answer. “Adam?” I don’t wait for him to answer. “What’s wrong? Is it Mirabelle?”

“She’s having contractions,” he says. “We’re at Lennox Hill.”

“The baby?” It’s too familiar—this unknowing ache. A fragile being that I’ve yet to meet but already care so much for. And that it’s Mirabelle…this can’t happen. I can’t bear it if this happens. Not to her.

Adam’s voice is tight. “We don’t know yet. God, we don’t know anything yet.”

“I’ll be right there.” I hang up and don’t give it a second thought before texting Jordan. Then I push the top number on my speed dial list. “Alayna. I need you.”

“What is it?” Three short words, but her love and care are evident.

“Mira. At the hospital. The baby…” I choke up, unable to say more.

“I’ll be right there.”

“Jordan’s already on his way to get you.” I hold the phone to my chest for several minutes after she hangs up. This may be as close to holding her as I get tonight, and I cherish it.

At the hospital, Adam texts that Mirabelle’s been moved to the obstetrics ward, but I wait for Alayna before going up there. I can’t see my sister like this. I’m weak. I’m a mess. I need my strength.

Then, there it is—my strength. Alayna walks in wearing yoga pants and a T-shirt, and she’s more beautiful than anyone I’ve ever seen. My pulse slows ever so slightly, and air seems to finally move through my lungs better than it had just a moment before. She does this for me. She gives and gives, without knowing, even when I distance myself from her. Even when I’ve wounded her, she’s here to repair me.

The truth of my situation is beginning to take root inside me. Everything about her is light. I cannot continue to keep her in darkness forever.

When she reaches me, we fall into step together. We head to the elevator, and I catch her up on what I know. When she reaches her hand out to me, I take it. I shouldn’t. The last thing I want to do is complicate things for her. But I can’t not touch her any longer. I hold it as long as I can before the feel of her skin against mine makes me want more of her, all of her. Then I let it go, and forbid myself the comfort of her touch again.

Before we’ve reached Mirabelle’s floor, I’ve already broken that deal. I brush my thumb across her cheek. It’s a habit, I realize, to hold and caress her. I have to try harder.

We find the rest of the family rather quickly. My parents, Chandler, and Adam are all waiting outside Mirabelle’s room. I tense. It’s too reminiscent of the last time I came to the hospital to see a woman in the maternity ward. Fortunately, the story I receive this time is very different. Adam insures us that Mirabelle—and the baby—are fine. For now. She’d gotten dehydrated, that’s all.

I want to fucking kill her. Rushing to the hospital out of dead fear because she didn’t bother to carry around a water bottle?

But of course I don’t really want to kill her. I’m relieved. I’m so very relieved. And I have to believe that there is some sort of justice in this world, some sort of higher power that recognizes the goodness of the woman that I’m fortunate enough to call my sister. While many of the women in my life seem to be cursed for loving me, Mirabelle seems to have remained unscathed. I spend a silent moment in gratitude, thanking whoever or whatever for sparing her.

My eyes flicker to Alayna. Now, whom do I have to pray to in order to save her?