The Fixed Trilogy: Fixed on You, Found in You, Forever With You (76 page)

“Mira—”

“I’m just kidding.” Her smile was evident in her voice. “Yay! Thank you, Laynie.”

“You’re welcome.”
Sort of.
“But don’t expect a cheery model.”

“You can do the serious/somber thing. I’m totes okay with that.” She lowered her voice. “And for the record, I don’t know what that fucker did to mess things up with the two of you, but he’s a miserable wreck about it. I mean, completely and utterly broken up.”

For half a second, I actually felt joy. Was it because I was happy the asshole was as miserable as I was or because I thought his misery said something about how he felt for me?

It would kill me if I kept wondering about the validity of any of his emotions. I had to stop thinking about it. “Mira, if you’re going to keep telling me about him, I’m going to cancel.”

“No! Don’t do that.” She sounded panicked. “Just had to get that out there. I’m done now.”

“Okay, but no more.”
Please, no more.
Another deep breath. “I’ll change there on Saturday.”

She squealed. “I’m so excited! See you then.”

I almost smiled as I hung up.

“Well, look at that,” Liesl said as I handed her phone back. “You have some color in your cheeks.”

“It’s not possible.” I scrubbed my hands over my face. God, mourning was exhausting. And boring as hell. I had to find a way to move on. Mira’s event was a good first step. But I needed to take some other steps.

Like figure out what to do with the rest of my life.

Just thinking the thought seemed overwhelming. A tear rolled down my cheek. Seriously? Wasn’t I about fucking cried out yet?

But it had to be done. I grabbed a Kleenex and dabbed at my eye. “I, um, I want to go to work.”

Liesl cleared her throat. “Are you sure?” My tears probably had her unconvinced.

“Not tonight. But tomorrow, yeah. I need to see if I can be there. I don’t think I can make a good decision about my future at the club without trying a shift out.”

Through all my struggles with obsessive love addiction, The Sky Launch had been my sanity. It had been the only thing to ground me when I’d been free falling. Now, as I was falling again, couldn’t it be the place to save me again?

If not, I had to find out what could. Because already, I was getting that restless feeling in the pit of my stomach—that anxious tickle that marked me as an addict no matter how healthy I was. It was another sign that it was time to start figuring out my future.

When Liesl went into work that night, I forced myself to find something to do other than sleep and cry. Something other than remember. I turned on Spotify and found something to download on my Kindle app since Liesl had no books in her apartment.

But I couldn’t get into the novel. And nothing else on the Internet or on TV was enough to occupy my mind. I couldn’t stop thinking, and as I moved through the grieving process, my thoughts turned obsessive, as they always did when I was hurting. Some of them weren’t even clearly formed but were instead only rough impulses. The urge to see him, for example. Not to talk to him, but to look at him from a distance. The urge to smell him again. The urge to hear his voice.

The yearning drove me mad.

And it pissed me off.

Because I was stronger than this. I was stronger than Hudson Pierce and Celia Werner. I would not let them pull me down to the person that I once was.

She thought she could destroy me?

Well, fuck that. I’d survived heartache before. I could survive it again.

Adrenaline surged through me, and I suddenly felt invincible. Or capable at least—invincible was going a bit too far. But “Roar” by Katy Perry came on my playlist, and I did jump around the room singing at the top of my lungs.

It felt good. Invigorating. Energizing.

Then “So Easy” by Phillip Phillips came on, and immediately my strength disappeared.
“You make it so easy…”
he sang, and all I heard was Hudson saying it to me.

And it was all a lie.

I dissolved into a mess of snot and ugly tears. Well, another night of crying wasn’t the worst thing in the world. There was always tomorrow to be strong.

Chapter Twenty-One

The next day, I didn’t feel stronger, but I did feel resolved.

Planning the future still seemed overwhelming, but I could handle today.
Baby steps.
It’s what I’d learned in therapy. It was something I knew how to do.

On paper and in pencil, I broke down the hours. It helped to look at it written down so it didn’t feel bigger than it was. I started at the bottom of the page since I’d already decided to go to the club.

8 p.m. to 3 a.m. work
, I wrote.

Before that I’d go to a group meeting. I looked online and found one at six that evening.
Perfect.
I filled it in above my work shift.

At the top of the page I wrote in:
breakfast, shower, dress.

Then:
sneak over to the penthouse to get some clothes.

Even writing the last thing had been hard. To say it sounded daunting was an understatement. The Bowery had been the place where Hudson and I had really begun sharing our life. It would be filled with painful reminders.

But going through the memories, dealing with them—that was part of healing.

Getting through the first line of items was easier than I’d expected. Breakfast actually stayed down, and I managed to find a pair of drawstring shorts in Liesl’s drawer that didn’t fall off my waist.

“Do you want me to go with you?” Liesl offered around a bite of a bagel.

“No. I need to do this by myself.” I threw my still wet hair into a ponytail. “I’ll need you for the next time—when I get all my stuff. But this time, I’m just going to run in and pack a bag to get me through a few days. It’ll feel good to finally wear panties again.”

I stood up and looked at my bare feet. “Shit. I only have my heels from the party.”

“I’ll loan you some shoes.”

“We don’t have the same size feet.” Liesl was much taller than me, with a larger frame. If it weren’t for the drawstring, I’d be drowning in her shorts.

She kicked off the flip-flops she was wearing. “You can wear these. They’re like one-size-fits-many.”

“Fine.” I slid my feet into them. They’d do. “Okay. I’m off. Wish me luck.”

“You don’t need luck. You got this.” She pulled me in for a hug. “You’re sure he won’t be there?”

“Positive.” I’d called Norma for that. She’d checked with Hudson’s secretary and reported back that he had a meeting in his office all afternoon. And he’d told Liesl he wasn’t staying at the penthouse. If I believed him, which I didn’t necessarily, then he wouldn’t be there no matter what. It was possible that he hadn’t even been back there after L.A. I guess I’d find out soon enough.

Since it was still early in the day, I took my time getting to the penthouse. I took the subway instead of a cab and didn’t rush to meet the connecting train. But as much as I dillydallied, I eventually arrived at my destination.

The memories started before I made it inside the building. I stood outside staring at the letters engraved on the stone above the door.
The Bowery.
In many ways it felt like the first time I’d been there, when I was nervous and anxious and unaware of what waited for me inside. Then though, my stomach fluttered with butterflies. Today it was filled with rolling stones. Though both had my tummy in motion, there was a definite difference in gravity. One feeling lifted me up. The other pulled me down, anchored me to my dismal reality.

With a final breath of fresh air, I headed in.

On the elevator ride up, I decided I’d be no-nonsense about my task. As soon as the door opened inside the penthouse, I headed straight to my closet. I put on some underwear and changed into a dress and shoes suitable for work. Then I packed a duffel bag with a few items to get me through the next week. I was done and ready to go in less than fifteen minutes.

But a sudden wave of nostalgia kept me from leaving without doing a final look around. I told myself it was the smart thing to do—in case I found something that I wanted to take with me.

Yeah, that was it.

The place was almost exactly the way I’d left it, except the cleaning lady had been through. The trashcans and dishwasher had been emptied. The only sign of disarray was the books I’d left out in the library. All clean and immaculate like that, the apartment felt empty, abandoned. Lonely. The warmth that had once filled it was gone. It seemed staged. Like a model home that no one really lived in. Like nothing special or beautiful had ever happened there.

It could be anyone’s home. Nothing reflected us. How had I never noticed this before?

It was fitting, I supposed, to feel so empty.

Except it deepened my sorrow. I’d been prepared to walk in and be met with the ghosts of our past. That they weren’t there rocked me.

Suddenly, I felt desperate to find a sign of us somewhere—anywhere. I set down my bag and ran back to our bedroom. I threw myself onto the made bed and buried my face in a pillow. It smelled clean. The bedding had been changed since we’d last slept there together. In Hudson’s closet, I found only rows of clean clothes and an empty hamper. Finally, in the bathroom, I found a bottle of his body wash. I opened it and breathed in the scent.

My knees buckled. God, it was him and not him all at once. The smell permeated into my skin, reawakening every memory of him, rekindling feelings that I wanted to forget.

In that moment, though, I didn’t want to forget. I wanted to embrace everything I had left of him. And this scent wasn’t enough. It was missing the most important part. I wanted more, all of it. And I couldn’t find it here.

I recognized the emotion immediately—the desperate urge. I could make it go away if I tried hard enough, if I refocused, if I concentrated on my substitute list.

But I didn’t want to do that. I wanted to follow the urge, to let it lead me where I needed to go. For once, I wanted to give in to it instead of constantly fighting it. Wanted to fall into the comfort of the old pattern and let it swallow me.

Maybe, just today, I could let it take me away. I could go to the loft, slip in while Hudson was in his meetings, and feel him in the place that he’d been living. Look for traces of his existence. Smell him and sense him.

It wasn’t healthy, but it would only be one time. One time wouldn’t destroy me. And after that, I could move on. I’d go to my group meeting and get back on track and my new life—my life without Hudson—could really begin.

It sounded divine. Like a guilty pleasure. No worse than eating a whole tub of Ben and Jerry’s straight from the carton. Without any more thought, I decided to do it. Then I flagged down a cab and headed to the Pierce Industries building before I could change my mind.

I was grateful that Norma had told me about Hudson’s afternoon meeting. It made the chance of bumping into him not an issue. He’d be wrapped up in his business whatnot, never knowing I was right above him. It added to the appeal.

As soon as I opened the front door of the loft, I felt it. The thing I’d been missing—Hudson’s presence. It lingered in the air, not just his scent, but the warmth of him. It made the hair stand up on my arms and made my skin tingle. It was exactly what I’d longed for.

Setting my duffel by the front door, I explored further, remembering and putting to memory the place where we’d shared our first time. I trailed my hand along the back of his leather couch as I passed. Then I trailed my other hand over the papers on his desk as I went deeper into the loft. At the back, I found the private elevator. It led to one place only—down to his office. That’s how close he was. I placed my palm on the cool metal.

How close. How far away.

In the kitchen, I lingered over a half empty mug of coffee on the counter.
He drank from this.
His lips had touched the rim. I lifted the cup to my face, pressing it against my cheek. It was cold, but I could imagine it hot. Imagine him sipping at it gently, carefully.

I knew I was acting crazy, but I didn’t care. I couldn’t stop myself even if I did care.

Soon, I made it to the bedroom. The room he’d first taken me in. He’d been both amazing and overwhelming. I’d felt out of my league, and yet, I couldn’t help but try to fit into his world in the way he’d wanted me.

My eyes glanced toward the bathroom. If I went in there now, would the scent of clean Hudson still be lingering from his morning shower? I’d go there next.

But first, the bed…

I fell across the mattress. This time when I inhaled, he was there in abundance. I wrapped my arms tight around his pillow and closed my eyes, breathing him in and out and in. And out. The scent soothed me, calmed me. The ache in my chest released ever so slightly. The tension behind my temples abated. For the first time in days, I felt okay.

Closing my eyes, I let the fantasy wash over me. Let myself forget the hurt and betrayal and pretended Hudson and I could be together again in all the ways we used to be. I imagined his lips on me—phantom kisses along my neck and down my torso that sent shivers down my spine and caused my toes to curl. Then his hands, caressing and kneading my body, reawakening my skin with his simple touch. Adoring me physically but with so much concentration and attention that the effort had to come from true and pure love.

I was still lying on the bed, lost in my daydream, when the private elevator arrived in the next room.

My eyes flew open. Had I imagined it?

Then Hudson’s voice filled the air.

Fuck!

And he was talking to someone—he wasn’t alone.

I scrambled off the bed and crouched by the floor considering what to do next. It sounded like he was still in the back of the loft, near the kitchen. I crawled to the wall next to the doorframe. There I could peek out and get a better idea of the situation and still stay hidden from the living area. As long as they didn’t come in the bedroom, I’d be fine.

But if they did come in the bedroom…

Gathering my courage, I peeked out and saw Hudson standing in front of the open refrigerator. He grabbed a bottle of water and turned toward his guest—toward me.

I pulled my head back around the corner.
Did he see me?
No, I didn’t think so.

Shit, shit, shit.
All I could do was swear. And pray.

And eavesdrop.

“I haven’t been here in a while.” I hadn’t gotten a chance to look at his visitor, but I knew who it was from her voice. “I’d forgotten what a good job I’d done with the place.” Celia Werner.

My chest tightened and my eyes began to water.

I was gone barely a week, and he was bringing her to his loft? Why? To celebrate the slaughter of my soul? To plan their next game?

To
connect
?

Each possibility was worse than the last. This was heartache on top of heartache. Salt on the wound. A lesson to teach me not to give into my urges again.

Celia’s heels clicked on the cement floor.

Where was she going?
I held my breath, my heart pounding. Maybe I should hide out in the bathroom. Then they wouldn’t see me if they came this way. But then I couldn’t hear what they were saying. And, besides, if they did need the bed…

God, I couldn’t think about that.

“Remember how I had to convince you to go with the leather couch?” she asked.

She was in the living area. If they stayed right there, I could pull this off.

“We’re not here for a walk down memory lane.” Hudson’s voice was cold.

Her footsteps paused. “Why
are
we here?”

Yes, Hudson, do tell.
Though I wasn’t sure I wanted to know.

“Because we have some things to talk about, and they aren’t suitable for my office.”

“Then I can’t help but think of old times. Other conversations that weren’t appropriate for your office.” Her heels clicked again and then stopped. Then the leather of the sofa creaked as she took a seat.

I let out the breath I’d been holding.

Now Hudson’s shoes sounded on the floor. “If you want to relive those times, then do it on your own.” His voice got nearer.

Shit, fuck, dammit!
He was headed my way.

But then I heard the rattling of ice in a glass. Slowly, I turned my head to the side. He was there—not ten feet away, fixing himself a drink at the bar. If he looked over and down, he’d see me.

I froze, not blinking, not even breathing; willing myself to fade into the wall. My heart thudded so loudly, I was certain he could hear it.

Except he didn’t. He finished making his drink, then turned back to face Celia.

“Come on, Huds.” Her tone was playful, cajoling, in complete opposition to his. “You act like we never had any fun together.”

“That was a lifetime ago, Celia.” Though he was still merely steps away, his words were distant. “It’s time to move on.”

Celia laughed. “Because of her?”

“Who? Alayna?” A chill ran through my body. Jesus, even when he said my name to someone else, it had the same effect as when he said it to me. “Yes. And no.” He paused. “We aren’t together anymore.”

And hearing him say that—it was as painful as when I’d said it to Mira. The verbalization of it made it so real. So final.

Celia seemed overjoyed with the news. “Am I supposed to be sad?”

“Why would I expect that? That was your intended outcome, after all.” He moved forward, out of my sightline. Then there was another creak of furniture. He’d sat in the chair across from her, I guessed.

I struggled with listening to them talk as I debated with myself—should I scurry to the other side of the doorframe? If he came back to the bar, I’d be better hidden. But if one of them went to the guest bathroom, then I’d be easily seen.

“No,” Celia said, “my intended outcome was that she’d go crazy after your break-up and end up back in her psycho obsession mode.”

I decided to stay put.

“Well, that’s not happening. She’s stronger than you thought.”

And yet, there I was, hiding in Hudson’s bedroom because I’d done exactly as predicted and gone stalker. It crushed me that he could believe otherwise—that he had no understanding of how much he could break me. Did he not get what he’d meant to me?