The Fixed Trilogy: Fixed on You(52)

Hudson put his arm around my waist when I came to him, though he continued his banter with Mr. Werner and I melted. Wanting even more contact with him, to share physically the epiphany I’d had in the bathroom, I slid my hand under his jacket, desperate to touch him more, gliding my fingers along his lower back.

He stiffened.

I withdrew my hand and he relaxed.

I had to concentrate to not let the sting of his rejection show on my face. Maybe he didn’t realize what I was trying to tell him. So I tried again in the dark when the symphony started again, placing my hand on his knee. Then I trailed it higher along his thigh.

He stopped me, taking my hand in his. He held it there for the remainder of the show, and though it still held warmth and strength, it felt like a restraint rather than a comfort.

Disappointment wrapped around me with a cold chill. I was too late. I’d pushed him away and now the invitation was gone. I was grateful for the dark. He wouldn’t notice my eyes filling.

After the concert was over, we walked out with the Werners toward the parking garage rather than the pickup area.

“I drove,” Hudson said, answering my brow raise.

He kept his arm around me as we walked. His touch was constant, but it was all pretend. The pressure and passion he’d shown me in private was missing.

Also gone were his eyes. Before, whenever I was with him, his eyes never left my body, my face. Now he didn’t make eye contact once and he barely talked to me at all. Instead, he chatted comfortably with Celia, sharing inside jokes. With each step we took, I felt more and more distraught. Sobs built up in in my throat and I concentrated on forcing them back down, keeping them at bay.

We parted with our companions at the Mercedes. Celia gave me a quick hug while Hudson shook Warren’s hand and kissed Madge on the cheek. I nodded to the Werners then Hudson held the door open for me as I climbed into the passenger seat.

Before getting in himself, Hudson said goodbye to Celia. I watched through the window, my stomach curling. He hugged her and whispered something in her ear that made her laugh. I wiped away the stray tear that slipped past my defenses.

Besides destroying me, watching them made me mad—mad as in crazy and mad as in angry as hell. Wasn’t Hudson supposed to be proving that he and Celia shouldn’t be together? And after I’d learned her true thoughts about him, I knew they shouldn’t be together. She was all wrong for him.

Envy spread through my veins like liquid ice. Celia might not have romance with Hudson, but neither did I. And she had friendship with him. At the moment, it appeared I had nothing.

We didn’t speak while we maneuvered through the long line out of the garage, Hudson humming fragments of the Brahms symphony as he drove. Was I the only one feeling the thick and heavy tension? A tension that seemed to grow thicker by the minute.

By the time we were on the road I couldn’t hold in my feelings of frustration and heartbreak any longer. “So you knew Celia would be there tonight.” It wasn’t a question. I already knew the answer, but I wanted him to say it.

His eyes widened, as if surprised at my harsh tone. “I knew Celia would be there with her parents, yes.” He glanced at me sideways. “Her parents, whom are friends with my parents, remember.”

Right. Fooling them was as essential as fooling Sophia Pierce.

What was my problem? I wrapped my arms around my chest and banged my head against the window once, twice, three times. I shouldn’t have been angry—he’d told me he’d be fake with me. I shouldn’t have been jealous—Celia had him as a friend way before I came along. And she didn’t have more than that.

And neither did I. Not since I’d ended things four days before. Funny how I’d been afraid that being with Hudson would make me fall into bad patterns. Instead, not being with him had been what triggered my anxiety that week and what made me feel so rotten at the moment.

Another tear slipped down my cheek. I dabbed at it with my knuckle.

“What’s wrong?” Hudson asked, concern in his voice. Or maybe it was simply puzzlement.

I considered what to say. I could keep the barrier up between us and evade the question. Or lie. Or confess my envy. Or I could be honest.

Unable to go another minute with the loneliness that had settled in my chest, honesty won over. “I want you,” I whispered, my face pressed against the glass, too embarrassed to look at him.

“Alayna?” I felt his eyes on me.

“I know what I said.” I wiped my eyes, determined to keep the rest of my tears in my eyes. “But maybe I was wrong. I mean, I don’t know if you’re right—if spending time with you can make me better. But I know that since we’ve been apart, I’ve been worse.” Taking a ragged breath, I braved a look at him. “I miss you.” A nervous giggle escaped from my throat. “Told you I get attached.”

A trace of a smile crossed his lips. “Where do you think I’m taking you?”

I glanced out the window, having not been paying attention to our destination. Lincoln. Headed East. We were blocks away from Pierce Industries. The loft.

I straightened, a blush crawling on my cheeks. “Oh,” I said, the lonely ache inside burning away with the spark of desire. Then irritation took over. “I told you no more sex, and you were taking me to the loft without asking?”

“Alayna,” he sighed with frustration. “You are a bundle of mixed signals. At the symphony you seemed to indicate—“