Hudson(109)

With strength I didn’t know I had, I push her away. I dress and face her, my fist on my hip. Already the distance is beginning to span between us, and I think of Mirabelle’s words. The lie that grows and separates and builds walls. I see it. It’s here now between us, forming before my eyes.

And I know I can’t let it grow any wider. I can’t wait any longer to begin. I can’t lose her, and I only have one shot at keeping her. The choice forms into words in my head. I’ll tell her. I have to tell her. Everything. All of it. Starting with this.

I reach for her, pulling her back to me with all that I am. “God, Alayna, I can’t do this anymore.” It’s a relief saying this. A burden unleashed. “I can’t bear to be apart from you. I miss you so terribly.”

“You do?” She leans back to look into my eyes.

The light. Her brilliant light overtakes me. And now that the decision’s been made, the confessions spill easily. “Of course, I do, precious. You’re my everything. I love you. I love you so much.”

Finally, I’m free.

I didn’t think it was possible, but her light, it grows brighter.

“W-w-what?” She’s unbelieving.

I’m ridiculously in love. “You heard me.”

“I want to hear it again.”

“I love you.” It’s easy now. Like I always knew it would be. It’s only the beginning of my confessions, and the rest will be so much harder. But I won’t think about that now. I’ll let this declaration have its own moment in the sun.




“You love me?”

I brush my lips over hers. “I love you, precious. I’ve always loved you. From the moment I first saw you. I knew before you did, I think.” I tilt her chin to meet my eyes. “But there are things—things in my past—that have kept me from being able to tell you. And now…I have to do this…this thing. Finish this deal. Then, when I get back, we’ll talk.”

“We’ll talk?” She’s glowing. God, how I wish I didn’t have to steal her happiness.

But I’m committed now. “I’ll tell you anything you want to know. And if you still want me, I’ll come home.”

“Yes, I want you home. Of course I do. We belong there together. There’s nothing you could say that would make me stop loving you. Nothing. I stick, remember?”

I cling to her words, holding them like a lifeline. “Oh, precious. I hope that’s true.”

“It is.”

But I know she can’t make that promise. I won’t hold her to it.

“Say it again.”

“You’re such a spoiled girl.” I circle my nose around hers. “And I love…spoiling you.”

She smacks me playfully.

“And I love you.” I’ll tell her as many times as she wants to hear it. As many times as she lets me say it. And though this may be the last time I hold her like this, the last time I get to bask in her sun, I know I’ll never stop saying the words that have rested so deeply in me for so long. “I love you, I love you. I love you.”





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.”