“You’re not concerned? But if she needs therapy—”

“If she needs therapy, I’ll get it for her. What she really needs is reassurance.” I can see that Celia is skeptical. “Look—you’re the ex-girlfriend in her eyes. Isn’t it common to have some jealousy in that arena?”

“Yes. I suppose you’re right. Forget I said anything. She loves you, and she’s protecting what’s hers.” She dabs at the corner of her eye, and it’s then I notice she’s teary. “I’m sorry; I wasn’t prepared for all this. I’m a little flustered.”

I’m equally unprepared. I’d expected lashing out and defiance. Not tears. I place a hand on her upper arm. “Celia…are you okay?”

She waves a hand at her face. “I’m fine. I’m touched. Jesus, what’s going on with this world? Hudson Pierce falling in love, and me getting touched by it. Who would have thought?” She looks down at her shoes. “This is a good thing, though. Surprising, but good.”

The relief that fills me spreads through every fiber of my body. I’d been convinced Celia would not approve of my recent emotional developments. She was as die-hard about the game as I was.

Wasn’t she? Or had I simply assumed she shared my own commitment?

I remember back to the night she told me she was still holding out for a man to sweep her off her feet. It was five years ago, possibly six. I haven’t thought about it in some time, and now I wonder if she’d been holding onto that desire all this time. And if she has been, what’s the reason that she hasn’t looked for it? Is it me? Have I been holding her back, keeping her bound to this ridiculous romance-free notion of a life?

Fuck.

How many times have I ruined this woman’s life? Can the mess I’ve made ever be undone? It’s small retribution, but I give her the permission that I suspect she’s waiting for. “Maybe it’s time for you to let love in as well.”

She rolls her eyes. “Pssh.” Then she considers, letting the suggestion settle over her. “Maybe,” she concedes finally. She thinks about it another few seconds before shaking her head. “But let’s not talk about me right now. Does Alayna know about…?” She looks around to make sure no one’s listening and then lowers her voice. “You haven’t told her, have you?”

I know what she’s talking about without her spelling it out. The game. The experiment that brought Alayna into my life in the first place. The weight of this secret slumps my shoulders. “No. I don’t think I can.”

“You can’t.” She’s adamant, her eyes ablaze with her insistence. “Not if you want to keep her. Trust me on this. I’ve been scammed by you before. There’s no way she’ll love you after that.”

This isn’t news. But the confirmation coming from the one person who could possibly understand Alayna’s position is jarring. I don’t want to hear this. I don’t want to believe that there is anything that could make me lose Alayna’s love.

Celia steps toward me, her expression regretful. “I’m not saying that to upset you. I just—”

“I know.” I don’t need Celia to feel bad about this. “It’s the truth. I have to keep it from her. It’s only you and me that know—”

“And I won’t tell her.”

It hadn’t crossed my mind that she would, but now I have to secure that she won’t. “I hate to ask this, but do you swear that?”

“I swear, Hudson. Not only because you asked me not to, but because it’s the code. We don’t speak about the game to anyone. Even if we’re not playing anymore, old rules apply.”

“Thank you.” I look again toward the restrooms, but my thoughts are on Celia. She has a streak of darkness in her that I can’t deny. She’s a sadist. While my experiments were always a sterile study of human behavior and emotion, she repeatedly felt glee at the expense of others. It’s made me wary of her.

Yet, even though I’m the one who taught and nurtured her perverse nature, she’s never turned it back on me. Time and time again, she’s stood by me, been my only confidant, shared the deepest bond in the keeping of our ruthless secrets.

And now, she’s supporting me in a way that I’d never expected. Letting me move on when I always held her back. “You’ve been a better friend than I’ve given you credit for.”

“Back at you.” She squeezes my hand. “A really good friend, Hudson. You saved me, you know.”

I meet her eyes. They’re still watery, and she blinks several times, probably trying to keep her tears from spilling. It occurs to me that I owe Celia the same acknowledgment. If not for her pushing me to the game, I wouldn’t have Alayna now. I don’t have the time or the words to explain the extent of my gratitude, so I simply say, “You saved me too.”

She squeezes my hand once more before letting it go. “I have to go back. Good luck, Hudson. I mean that.” Then she leaves.

Alayna and Mirabelle appear with impeccable timing. The ache that always fills me when Alayna’s not with me eases at the sight of her. But my mind is tied up in the encounter with Celia. Long after we’ve left the restaurant and are buckled in the back of the limo, I’m replaying phrases, coming to a fuller understanding of truths that were exposed in our brief conversation.

I dwell most on what I’ve done to Celia throughout our friendship. And also on what I’ve done to Alayna, what I’m still keeping from her. These thoughts send me into a spiral of self-loathing and deprecation that I haven’t ever experienced. Not at this level.

When we arrive at the penthouse, I’m so consumed in myself that I send Alayna away, telling her I have work to do. I can’t be with her when I’m like this. She doesn’t deserve this. I don’t deserve her. Still I won’t let her go. I can never let her go, no matter how unworthy I am.

But how long before she discovers the worst of me and leaves? More and more, I feel the inevitability of that day. And then will it destroy her like it destroyed Celia? I can’t bear the thought.

The cursor blinks on the empty document open on my computer screen, keeping me locked in my pitiful trance as the night passes. I’m aware of Alayna in the background—always aware of her. She runs on the treadmill, her music blaring through the house stereo as she does. She showers. Then the house quiets, and I assume she’s gone to bed.

Lyrics from one of the songs she played stays with me—a woman’s voice singing about her darkness, wondering if her lover could love her dark side. It’s apropos, and I wonder if Alayna realizes it. I wonder if my distance tonight has pushed her away already. I don’t want to push her away; I want to pull her in.

Then what the fuck am I doing sitting alone at my desk?

I shake my head at my stupidity. I’d told her earlier that I was with her. Always with her. It was a promise that I’ve already broken because here I am wrapped in my self-hate, and that’s miles away from her and her love.

I turn off my computer and go to her. Undressing quickly, I slip into the covers and spoon behind her. She’s naked, and I know that it’s an invitation. So, though she’s sleeping, I wrap my hands around her torso and kiss along the angles of her body.

She sighs into me, opening her legs for me so I can slip my cock into her warmth. We make love like this, quietly, intently. In this silent act of passion, she brings me back—back to the man that can be trusted and loved and present.

Afterward, when we’ve found our breathing, when we’ve found each other, she asks, “Where did you go? Earlier.”

I nuzzle against her. “Does it matter? I’m here now.”

She wants more, words that I can’t give, promises that she’s not ready to hear, walls to crumble that are too strongly built. There are things I can’t tell her—not yet, not ever—but there are also things I can say. I pull her underneath me, stretching my body on top of her so she can feel the weight of my company. So that everywhere our skin meets, she can feel I’m with her.

I rock into her and begin whispering in the language of love. “Mon amour. Mon précieux,” I say at her ear. “Mon chéri. Mon bien-aimé.” My love. My precious. My cherished. My beloved.