Hudson(112)

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.”