Complete Fixed: The Complete Fixed Series: Books 1-5

by Laurelin Paige

  “Okay.” She took a deep breath. “What about fathering?”

  “You want me to have a relationship with it?”

  “Don’t talk like it’s a stranger. It will be your brother or sister.”

  “Right.” I’d already realized that, but my stomach dropped at the reminder. And since it really was my sibling, could I just abandon any contact with it? If it were Chandler or Mirabelle, I would want to be involved. Even in my own cold, stoic way. “Sure. Fine. Minimal relationship though. I don’t want custody. But that also means I get to help make parenting decisions. Are you going to be okay with that?”

  She shrugged as she shook her head. Then said, “I’ll be okay with whatever.” Her eyes glazed like she was overwhelmed. “I don’t even know if I’m keeping it yet.”

  Another thought crossed my mind. “I’m not marrying you, Celia.” I straightened to show my seriousness. “This in no way makes us a couple.”

  She looked at me with stark unbelief. “I never thought for a moment it did.” But her tone was layered with the subtext of our past. Of a time when she would have wanted exactly that from me. “Nor would I ever expect it. You, I’ve discovered, are incapable of anything remotely like a relationship.”

  Perhaps she’d meant to hurt me with her statement. She didn’t. She’d made our new situation easier. I looked her straight in the eye. “I’m glad you know.”

  She held my gaze for several seconds. Then her eyes fell to the floor. She shook her head again, as if she were bewildered. As if she were at a loss for words. Finally, she looked up again. “Hudson, why are you doing this?”

  I studied the light smudge on the tip of my right shoe as I tried to figure out the answer to that. It wasn’t for my father. I was disappointed that he didn’t have to face up to his actions. As for my mother...I’d begun to understand that the biggest contribution to her drinking was my father’s infidelity. My relationship with her was strained, at best. Yet I did feel an urge to protect her. Was she the reason?

  Then my mind flew again to my siblings. Chandler. Mirabelle.

  Ah, Mirabelle.

  She was a girl who believed in love and rainbows and happily-ever-after—all the things I detested. The breakdown of my parents’ marriage would strip her of those convictions. And that thought felt like a kick in the stomach. I realized I would do anything to prevent that from happening to her. So the why was for Mirabelle then.

  There was another reason, and that reason was standing in front of me—her face thin and ashen. Her eyes heavier than I’d remembered them, her smile not as easy as it had once been. I’d chided her for blaming anyone but herself for her predicament, but wasn’t I also culpable? If I hadn’t set the dominos in motion, she’d never have gone to Mabel Shores that night. She’d never have climbed into my father’s bed. She wouldn’t be pregnant now.

  Did I care that I held responsibility? Maybe. Maybe I couldn’t care for people in the way that others could, but I did have some sense of duty. I couldn’t explain it, even to myself.

  I’d never try to explain it to anyone else.

  “Hudson?” Celia prodded me for an answer since I’d been quiet so long.

  “I heard you.” I swallowed and raised my eyes to hers. “The family name.” And because I was uncomfortable with the course of my self-examination, I turned spiteful. “Pierce is my legacy. I wouldn’t want it poisoned by my father’s mistakes.”

  She sneered and opened her mouth to likely deliver an equally caustic jab.

  But I jumped in before her. “Let’s give our families Thanksgiving. We can tell them on Friday. I’ll call you tomorrow to arrange the details of our announcement.” I turned and straightened my bow tie in the mirror. There would be no going back to the event for me, and I wasn’t going to leave Celia behind. “I’ll walk you out.”

  We didn’t say another word to each other until she was seated in the backseat of a cab and I was about to shut the door.

  “Hudson?”

  I bent toward her. “What?”

  “Thank you.” Her lip quivered and her eyes glossed, and I remembered that Celia wasn’t like me. She had emotions, she had feelings. This situation was probably more to her than the inconvenience it was for me. A rush of…something…swept through me. Something not quite comfortable. Like I was listening to Schubert’s Adagio for Strings while battling the flu.

  More and more lately, the depth of my own ability to feel surprised me. I didn’t like it.

  I nodded once and looked for the thing she needed me to say. “Congratulations, Ceeley,” I managed. “Everything’s going to be just fine."

  I didn’t have to try to sound sincere. I was.

  Chapter Twelve

  After

  Alayna’s hand on my back—even through my shirt and jacket—stuns my skin to life. I turn to look at her, wishing we were elsewhere, anywhere but here at my mother’s charity fashion show. This event has been planned for weeks to be the kick-off for the charade within the charade. It was Celia’s choice, not mine. I would have preferred a private introduction for Alayna and Sophia Pierce. Not this extravaganza of people. Celia wanted it for exactly that reason—it gave her the excuse to be present. She wants to see the game in action; I get that. It was always the best part. But her nearness reminds me what this really is. Reminds me that my relationship with Alayna is an experiment.

  No, that’s not correct. My relationship with Alayna is not what happens here—it’s what happens in private. That is our reality. This is only a show. And both of us know that.

  But it’s hard to remember that when she’s running her hand across my shoulder like this. I should tell her to stop, even though I don’t blame her. I have the hardest time concentrating on anything that isn’t her when she’s near. Even when she’s not near, actually—all I think about, all I long for, is her.

  Her touch has awakened my constant desire for her. I don’t care who might see. I don’t care where it will lead. I don’t care that I’ll likely regret the hard-on I’ll get from kissing her luscious mouth. I place my hand on her thigh and lean in to take her lips.

  “Oh, you don’t need to be all PDA on my account,” a familiar voice interrupts me. “Remember, I know.”

  I stiffen. I shouldn’t be as angry as I am at Celia’s arrival. I’m surprised she hasn’t shown up sooner. There’s no reason for her to interact with us though. No reason for her to take the seat next to Alayna as she is now. I’m not happy about it, and the look I share with my old friend doesn’t hide my irritation.

  Alayna removes her hand from my body and I’m instantly disappointed. I can’t withdraw so easily, strengthening my grip on her leg, maintaining our connection.

  “I’m Celia,” she says to Alayna. “I thought we should probably meet. Though it doesn’t look like Hudson’s too keen on it.”

  Celia’s trying too hard. What is she trying to prove?

  And what do I care? If she screws this up, the experiment’s over, and I can concentrate on my real relationship with Alayna instead of this farce. That thought perks me up. “No, you’re right. You should meet.” I stroke Alayna’s thigh as I speak, claiming her as mine. “Now you’ve met.”

  “You aren’t getting rid of me that easily, you oaf.” Celia smirks. She turns to Alayna. “Believe it or not, we’re actually friends.”

  Friends. Is that what we are? It’s how I’ve always referred to her. She knows my secrets; I know hers. We share a bond. I suppose it’s the closest thing to friendship that I know. Perhaps that’s why I tolerate her as I do—for the sake of friendship. Except it’s more than that. We’re tied together. I tolerate her because I have no choice.

  Sighing, I enter into the game. “What do you want, Ceeley?” It’s a double-edged question that fits the scene we’re playing, as well as our personal play.

  “I wanted to personally thank Alayna for this whole charade.” There’s a gleam in Celia’s eye and I find myself worrying for Alayna. She held her own against my mother’s b
itchy insults. Can she handle Celia as well?

  I tense as she leans toward Alayna. “You can’t know how dreadful the idea of marrying that pain in the ass has been,” she says with a teasing grin.

  Alayna returns a nervous smile. “Um, I can imagine. He’s not the settling-down type.”

  Her statement bothers me. It shouldn’t, because it’s true. This strange connection with Alayna has made me forget who I am. I take my hand from her leg. Maybe that will make it easier to remember.

  “Wow,” Celia laughs. “You already know him so well.”

  “It’s nice to talk to someone else who knows,” Alayna says.

  “But isn’t Hudson amazingly good at pretending?” Celia’s line is for me. It’s a game within a game within a game. She’s pushing my buttons and I have no idea what her motive is.

  And Alayna’s caught in the middle. “He is. Quite good.”

  I don’t like Alayna’s subtext. Does she think that what we have isn’t real? I can’t defend our relationship. Not here in front of Celia. But I can’t get us out of here.

  “I’d love to continue this wonderfully entertaining conversation, but I see someone I need to talk some business with.” I stand and hold my hand out. “Alayna?”

  She doesn’t move. “Go ahead, H. I’ll hang with Celia.”

  “We’ll be fine,” Celia insists. “And we’ll end our conversation with a pretend catfight if you want to up the charade.”

  What I want is to pull my lover out of her chair and drag her away from my so-called friend. Can I really leave them together? “No catfight. In my script, you’re friendly toward each other.”

  “Then she and I should sit and chat, since we’re supposed to be friends.” Celia winks at Alayna, and my fist balls at my side. “Right, Alayna?”

  “Right.” Alayna returns the wink. “And since we’re friends, you should call me Laynie.”

  Aw, fuck. Celia’s good—I forget that sometimes. Why wouldn’t Alayna fall under her spell?

  I have no choice but to leave them. Together. Alone. “Friendly, not friends.” I take a deep breath but it doesn’t help. “Fine. I’ll be back shortly.”

  Since I hadn’t really spotted a business associate, I make my way to the lobby bar. It’s crowded and I have to stand in line. While I wait, I send a text to my assistant to get some gourmet coffee and leave it at Alayna’s door. She’s wearing an elastic band to remind herself to get some, and if things go as I plan, she’ll be too worn out to get any later. Plus the gift will keep her thinking about me while I’m in Cincinnati the next few days.

  My chest clenches at the thought of time without her. I consider asking her to come with me and quickly dismiss the idea. She has a job and I have my own work. I’ve never taken a woman on a business trip with me; why would I start now?

  And what the fuck is Celia talking to Alayna about?

  I’m anxious and on edge. When I get my Scotch, I down it quickly. The burn feels good, feels appropriate. It also does what I mean for it to do—it calms me.

  Why am I worried about leaving Celia and Alayna alone anyway? Maybe it’s even a good thing. Celia will feel like she’s a part of the scheme. She’ll feed Alayna details that make our story more believable. There’s nothing that could go wrong.

  Still, I can’t shake the feeling that everything’s at risk. Celia is the only person who can expose me. That’s never been a concern for me before. I’ve never cared what people knew about me. If someone discovered my sadistic experiments, what did it hurt me?

  With Alayna, I care. I don’t want her to know my secrets. I want to protect her from that hideous side of me. I will protect her.

  But then I see Alayna rushing toward the exit. I try to convince myself she’s simply looking for me, that my mother came back and delivered a snide remark. Except my mother is standing on the other side of the foyer and has been there the whole time I’ve been at the bar.

  I reach out and gently take Alayna’s arm. “Where are you going?”

  She throws me off of her. “Don’t touch me!”

  “Whoa.” I put my hands up in surrender. There’s no way this can be what I imagine it to be. No way would Celia tell her this was all a scam. So I just have to figure out what really happened and then I can make it right. “What’s wrong with you?”

  “What’s wrong with you would be the more appropriate question.” Alayna’s eyes dart to the door.

  “Alayna.” I hush my voice and step toward her. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, but you’re making a scene. You need to calm down and save whatever this is for later.”

  I start to take her elbow, but she pulls away. “There isn’t going to be a later—I quit.” She runs past me and out the doors.

  “Alayna!” I don’t care that I’m shouting as I follow her outside. I don’t even care that my mother is watching all of this. All that matters is stopping Alayna.

  I’m about to reach for her again when she turns to me on her own. Her eyes are filled with tears and my stomach tightens. What has hurt her? I know somehow that it’s me and I can’t bear to hear it from her lips. Yet I need to know.

  “Tell me, Hudson, did you pick me because you thought my obsession issues would make your game more fun? Because really, where’s the challenge in that?”

  Rage travels through me like a bolt of lightning. “Fuck Celia and her big mouth.” A million questions flood my mind—how much did Celia say? Why would she reveal our scam? How the hell do I fix this?

  I step toward Alayna. She backs away. I soften my approach, reaching out to her with words. “Let’s talk about this in the limo.”

  “I don’t want—”

  “Alayna. It’s not fair of you to listen to a stranger tell her story and not give me a chance to explain.” I don’t know how to beg, so I command. “I’m telling you we will talk about this in the limo which is parked in the lot next door. First, because my mother is watching, I’m going to bend down and kiss your forehead. Then I’m going to walk over and tell her that you aren’t feeling well. I will meet you in the car.”

  She peers over my shoulder, likely confirming my mother’s standing at the doors behind us. Then she gives a slight nod. I lean in and kiss her on the forehead and wonder if this will be our last kiss.

  No. I will not allow that. “The limo, Alayna,” I say. “I’ll meet you there.”

  Alayna heads to the lot. I pull my phone from my pocket as I turn back toward the doors and text Jordan. Get Alayna. Meet me in front.

  My mother meets me as I walk in. “Trouble with your plaything already? That didn’t last long.”

  My eye twitches and all the anger I feel toward Celia makes it hard to remain civil with my mother. “Alayna’s not feeling well. She hasn’t built up a tolerance to the poison in this environment like the rest of us have. I’m taking her home and putting her to bed.” I let her assume what she wants about that statement. “I’ll be back in time to present your precious Pierce Industries donation check.”

  I’m gone again before she can respond.

  Jordan reaches the curb just as I do. I climb in the back, and the car pulls into traffic.

  Alayna presses into the corner farthest from me as if she’s disgusted with me. As if she’s frightened of me.

  I wish she knew I’d never hurt her. But how could she possibly know that when I’m not even sure of that myself?

  I pressed the intercom. “Jordan, drive around until I say otherwise. Or find someplace to park for a while.”

  We sit in silence as Jordan drives around. I don’t know how to begin the conversation. If I knew exactly what she was upset about, I’d fare better, but I have no idea what Celia said or did. Whatever it was, I have to figure out how to make things right.

  It occurs to me that the best move might be to come clean about everything. Alayna’s already said she’s quitting the scam. She’s already walking out of my life. Yet, I hold out hope that I can change that. If I confessed everything—there would be no
making that right.

  Instead, I’ll have to tread carefully. Figure out what I can from Alayna and repair the damage as best I can. I keep my voice low and pray my desperation isn’t transparent. “What exactly did Celia tell you?”

  “Oh, just how you fuck with vulnerable women’s emotions. Is it true?”

  Every hair on my body stands on end, and I feel as though I’ve just stepped into a landmine. How could Celia…? Why would she…? I can’t gather my thoughts. I can’t reason what or why or how much of our game Celia has exposed.

  “Alayna—” I slide closer to her and reach for her knee. I need her touch. That’s the way I communicate best with her.

  But she isn’t having it. “Don’t touch me! And stop saying my name. Is it true?”

  “Will you calm down so I can explain?” Though I have no idea yet what my explanation will be. I’m doing my best to keep calm, but energy gathers inside me, wanting to explode.

  Her eyes blaze and she looks as worked up as I feel. “Is. It. True?” she demands.

  The panic rising in my chest escapes in a burst. “Yes, it’s true!” And oh my God. I’ve said it out loud. I’ve disclosed the worst thing about me. I take a deep breath and attempt to regain control. “In the past, it was true.”

  I can’t look at her, can’t see the disappointment that I feel shooting from her eyes. I shouldn’t say anything else, but now that the confessing’s started, I feel compelled to complete it. “I did...things...that I’m not proud of.” My admission is slow. Painful. “I manipulated people. I hurt them, and often it was deliberate.” I’m speaking as if my faults are in the past. And they are. At least they were. Is that still true?

  I vow right then that it is true. I will not hurt Alayna deliberately. I may be trapped in this game, but I will do everything and anything to make sure that my actions with her are sincere. I meet her eyes and make the promise I will try my damndest to keep. “But not now. I don’t do that now. Not with you.”