Laurelin Paige - Hudson

She stares away from me out the window and shrugs. “I changed my mind.”

“And now you’re changing your mind again. Alayna is not your subject. Your experiment is over.”

Her head spins to face me. “Is there a threat buried in there? Let’s not forget that I know things you don’t want shared.”

There’s not a question of what she’s referring to. Yesterday, I could have said the same about her. But the biggest secret I had over her has now been revealed. I have little to hold over her at the moment, though I plan to change that. And fast.

In the meantime, though, I’ll have to gamble on her loyalty. Not to me—to the game. “You won’t tell Alayna that I played her. You won’t tell anyone. It’s against the rules.”

“You’re concerned with the rules? The game is over for you. What do you care about the rules?”

Her nonchalant attitude incites me. “How dare you?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You heard me. How the fuck dare you?” It’s too much. All of it. Not only what she’s done to Alayna, but the insinuation that the way I taught her meant less to me than it did to her. It was my way of life, for Christ’s sake. How dare she act as though I had no respect for it? “I always adhered to our law. I did everything exactly as I said I would, even with Alayna. My only sin was to fall in love. And that was never against the rules.”

“It was certainly implied.”

I ignore her caustic remark and continue with my attack. “You’re the one who’s gone off plan. You’ve even changed the goal.”

“I changed nothing. The goal was to make her break.”

I pause, my head tilted toward her. “You mean the test was to see if she would break. There was no goal to make her.” Studying her reaction, I realize that I’m wrong. Celia’s goal was to make Alayna break. Not to simply watch what happened.

I’m baffled by this revelation. “When did our aim become to hurt people? We were scientists, not executioners. We weren’t malicious. We didn’t set out to hurt people.”

She looks at me incredulously. “You’re so fucking clueless, Hudson. We’ve been hurting and destroying people since the game began. You always pretended like that was just an unfortunate side effect, but even pursuing an experiment that might hurt someone is malicious. It’s like performing harmful research on humans. Scientists don’t do that as a rule. You know why? It’s not just unethical; it’s against the law.”

Shaking her head, she faces forward. “I get it, Hudson, I do. You didn’t want to face how fucking cruel you really are, so you told yourself what you had to in order to live with yourself.”

She was wrong. I did know how fucking cruel I was. I knew I was an asshole. I knew that, before Alayna, I had no heart.

But I had been a man with no comprehension of what it felt like to experience real pain. I hadn’t understood the damage I could do to people. Dr. Alberts had likened it to being a blind man asked to describe the color blue. While it didn’t excuse all my actions, it did make them less willful.

“It’s not the same at all.” We weren’t the same. All this time, I’d thought we were. “And the fact that you think so shows what a cruel bitch you really are.”

She claps her hands together with mock enthusiasm. “We’ve resorted to name-calling now, have we? How fun!” Her expression grows sober. “You can’t fucking be serious.”

“I’m dead serious, Celia. You will end this. And us…” I pause, not because the words are hard to say, but because I want to make sure she hears their emphasis. “We’re over too. I want you out of my life. Don’t call me. Don’t stop by. Do you understand?”

She sneers. For a woman so about grace and appearances, she can sure put on an ugly face. “It’s not that easy to just cut me out of your life, Hudson. Our families—”

And there’s a blessing about the recent disclosure of our baby lie. “I’m not so sure our families will be a problem after today. I’d bet our parents are not going to want to spend much time together from now on.”

The reminder of her parents and the afternoon’s revelation seems to shake her. She regroups quickly. “Well, we run in the same social circles.”

“And you will steer away from me when we show up at the same event. Do I make myself clear?”

Her nostrils fume, her eyes calculating. But she concedes with one word, “Perfectly.”

For good measure I add, “You do not want to make me your enemy.”

“Funny, I thought you’d already made me yours.”

That truth lingers in the air around us, irrefutable. She may mean I made her my enemy when I dropped out of the game with Alayna. Or when I left it three years ago and entered therapy. But I think instead it’s more accurate that she became my foe that summer ten years ago—when I decided to break her heart.

I’d told her she was suffering from karma. Wasn’t I as well?

We’ve arrived at her apartment building. The cab pulls over to the curb. “Farewell, Hudson. This is for good, I suppose. The taxi’s on you.”

She gets out of the car. I don’t watch after her.

I instruct the driver to head back to The Bowery. There’s just enough time to collect my luggage before heading to the airport for my trip to Japan. If it were only the Plexis deal at stake, I’d cancel. But there’s something else now, something more important. It’s time to act on the information that Warren Werner gave me about the vulnerabilities of his company, and that will begin with a source in Japan.

When I return, my energy will be thrown into repairing my relationship with Alayna. There’s been serious damage done on both our parts, but we can move on, I think. I have to believe that. Because without her, there’s no reason for anything else.

Though much is in turmoil about me, I feel oddly at peace as we return to my penthouse. Celia is gone from my life, and there’s a freedom with that knowledge that I hadn’t expected. Like a long-growing tumor has finally been removed. There will be a scar, I know. I’ll rub at it and scratch at phantom aches. But it’s gone, and, with Alayna, we can finally begin the process of healing.

Before

“Why can’t I just ditch tonight after the actual rehearsal? That’s the important part, right?” Chandler had been trying for twenty straight minutes to get out of Mirabelle’s wedding rehearsal dinner.

My mother tested the temperature of the curling iron¸ her mind clearly more on her task than on her son’s complaints. “I don’t understand why you’re so eager to abandon us.”

He’s fifteen, I wanted to tell her. That was reason enough.

“Because it’s boring!” He flung his hands out, exasperated.

“Chandler!” my mother warned, covering my sister’s ears as if she might be offended by the word boring. As if blocking the sound after the fact could undo that it had been heard.

But boring…that I could agree with, even though I hadn’t been fifteen for nine years. The entire family had spent the last week of August at Mabel Shores preparing for Mirabelle’s wedding weekend. Five days of nothing but social interaction. I was close to going insane. At my sister’s insistence, I’d agreed to not bring any work. It was a mistake. With my mind unoccupied on business, my thoughts returned again and again to my other addiction—the game.

Celia and I were between schemes at the moment—part of the reason I was so eager to concoct a new one. Every guest that walked through our house that week, every visitor, was a potential subject. What could I learn from her? I’d ask myself. Or him? Or them?

Somewhere I recognized that my obsession was getting out of hand. Our experiments had grown more and more complex, more intense, more frequent. Often even my work hours were infiltrated with daydreaming about the next project, the next scam. The week away had made me realize just exactly how consumed I’d become. I felt like a junkie who hadn’t scored in a while—jittery, agitated. On edge.

Needing something to occupy my time, I’d resorted to joining Mirabelle in my mother’s room as Sophia made her presentable for the evening’s rehearsal.

Chandler leaned against the doorframe. I could sense he was on the verge of giving up but not quite. “No one will miss me,” he said quietly.

“I’ll miss you.” My mother didn’t even try to make it sound like she meant it.

My brother and I exchanged a glance. I wasn’t close to Chandler—eleven years of separation made it difficult, not to mention I wasn’t the type to bond. But we were still family, and in that we shared the basest parts of our existence. We had the same parents, the same upbringing. We both knew that he could sneak away from the dinner and our mother would never notice.

Mirabelle knew this as well. Having remained quiet for the bulk of the conversation, she spun to face Chandler now. “I’ll miss you! So for one night, Chandler, can you forget about your friends and stay? For me?”

There wasn’t a person in the world who could say no to Mirabelle Amalie Pierce. The subject was dropped. Chandler left the room with a huff, but he’d stay for the night’s extravaganza.

It occurred to me that Mirabelle could have simply asked him to stay from the very beginning and saved the entire debate. I supposed she’d been giving Sophia a chance to be the mother. It was amazing, really, that she continued to do so. I started to wonder what it would take for Mirabelle’s faith to be broken and then caught myself. Those were the kind of thoughts that led to experiments. And no matter how desperate I was for a fix, I wouldn’t play on Mirabelle. I couldn’t.

I forced myself to concentrate on the scene at hand for distraction. Mirabelle sat at the vanity, my mother stood behind her, working on her hair. She was even, near as I could tell, sober. A memory flashed through my mind, or rather a collage of memories. Times that my sister and I had sat around my mother’s feet as she primped in front of that same mirror. She’d sit there for ages, dolling herself up. I’d watch as she applied her rouge, plucked her eyebrows, straightened her hair, and every time, I’d think how beautiful my mother was.

Though it had been a frequent occurrence, I’d seemed to have forgotten. Those had been good moments. There had been good times.

The memory inserted a warmth to the present, like a light had been focused on us, brightening the ordinary moment into something meaningful.

“Good thing your hair only hits your shoulders. We’d never get ready in time otherwise.” Even my mother’s complaining seemed less dreary.

“I should have cut it. Then we wouldn’t have to worry about this at all. I’m thinking I’ll get a pixie as soon as the honeymoon’s over. Thoughts?”

I bit back a smile. My mother hated short hair on girls.

“Are you trying to kill me?” But I noticed the hint of a smile on Sophia’s lips as well. “I still don’t know why you didn’t hire someone to do your hair and makeup tonight.”

Mirabelle shrugged. “I didn’t think I’d need to get made up tonight. I’ll have enough of that tomorrow.”

I studied her in the mirror, and I saw her lie. She’d hoped for this—for Sophia to insist on making her up instead. She remembered those times too, and Mirabelle, forever romantic that she was, had hoped to recapture it. She’d succeeded.

Perhaps I owed my sister’s optimism more credit.

“Thank you for being here, Hudson,” Mirabelle said when she caught my eye with her reflection. “It means a lot that you can share this time with me.”

Normally, I’d shrug her off. But the nostalgia made me strangely willing to chat. “I have to admit, this isn’t my thing. Yet, I’m glad I’m here too.” I hadn’t realized it until just that moment. She didn’t need to know that.

My mother took a strand of Mirabelle’s hair and wove it around the curling wand, seemingly oblivious to our conversation as she concentrated on her work.

“I’m sure you have a spiel waiting on the tip of your tongue, though,” Mirabelle said, touching up her lipstick. “How love is a myth and marriage the bane of all evil.”

I chuckled at the accuracy of her statement. “Not to mention that you’re barely old enough to drink. Quite young to be signing off your entire life.”

Her face fell slightly. She’d wanted me to deny my disdain for the practice of romantic union, and I’d enforced it instead. Oh well. It was honest. What was I supposed to do? Lie?

So I wasn’t the type to put on niceties. But I could find another way to be supportive. Mirabelle had always been a bit of a Pollyanna. She’d make the best of anything. Maybe marriage actually would work for her. “I trust you know what you’re doing, Mirabelle. Don’t mind me.”