She’s honest in her answer. “No. I’m not okay.”

It’s her cue for me to leave. But I try once more, unable to let go of her. “Alayna…”

With a simple shake of her head, she ends it. Ends us.

“I’ll leave.” I long for her to stop me. She doesn’t.

I turn to David. “I’m sorry to put a damper on your party. Thank you for looking out for her.” Though it pains me, I’m grateful that she has someone to care for her when I leave. She’s strong, I know. But I can’t bear for her to be alone. Like I’ll be.

I look at her one last time. I’m buried under an avalanche of regret. I can barely move, barely breathe under its weight.

Somehow, though, I manage to turn away. Because that’s what she wants. And after all that I’ve taken from her, this I can give her—I walk out the door and leave.

The only thing that keeps me alive for the next few days is my commitment to making sure Alayna is surviving. I spend Monday morning getting the battery charges against Alayna dropped and finalizing details over GlamPlay with Norma. I’ve kept Jordan on duty, watching Alayna from afar in case Celia decides to try anything, and I check in with him often. I order a Kindle and start loading Alayna’s favorite books on it, so she’ll have something to do besides obsess and be sad. Those are my tasks this time. I’ll obsess about her instead of the other way around. I’ll be sad enough for both of us.

I call Liesl. I’m grateful to find that Alayna’s with her and not with David. I don’t give excuses. I don’t beg for another chance. I tell Liesl truths—that the police aren’t looking for Alayna, that her job is secure, that she can stay at the penthouse, that I’m here when she wants to talk. That I love her.

Liesl seems to care enough about Alayna to let me talk, though she scoffs at my proclamation of love. “She doesn’t want to hear that,” she says.

“It doesn’t make it any less true.”

I eat, but only because I need energy to keep fighting for Alayna. I don’t bury myself in Scotch, tempting as it may be. I’ll be no good for her like that. I don’t sleep. I ache. I feel. I try not to drown in my emotions.

When the pain gets too unbearable, I remind myself that hers is worse. I try to embrace the misery. It’s justice for what I’ve done. Consequences.

And I text her. I’m sure she’s not reading my messages, but it feels good to say the things that I want to say. I send so many that it seems our roles have reversed—I’ve become the stalker. I’m the one who can’t help myself. I tell her anything and everything.

I miss you, I say.

I heard that Phillip Phillips song on the radio today. You make it so easy…

Jack asked about you. You should call him sometime. I’m sure he’d love to hear from you.

And so many times just, I love you.

God, I really fucking love her.

Tuesday, I call Dr. Alberts for an appointment. He says he’ll see me that day with the same conditions as previously given—I have to meet him at his office instead of mine. I agree.

It’s easier to talk to him now than it was before. Alayna opened gates in me that can never be closed again. I tell him everything. “She taught me how to feel,” I say, my eyes fixed on the smooth surface of his tray ceiling. “She taught me how to have emotions.”

Dr. Alberts doesn’t see it the way I do. “She didn’t teach you. You always knew how. You worked hard all this time trying to forget that. But you were never incapable. You created blocks when you were young to deal with the heartache that surrounded your family life. You didn’t feel because it was easier not to. It was a coping mechanism.”

I work my jaw as I consider this. There are memories that creep up on me sometimes, very specific ones from my youth, where my feelings are so bright they show through in my mind like a color. Reds and purples and greens. They’re few and far between, but they’re there. Were those remnants of the days before I learned to cope?

And if so, why didn’t Dr. Alberts say this to me before? I ask him.

“You weren’t ready to hear it. The question is, why do you think that you decided to let yourself now? You saw this woman from afar, and immediately, you were ready to take the first steps. Why?”

I’m certain Dr. Alberts isn’t the type to accept love at first sight as an answer. Honestly, I’m not either. I take a second to figure out what the answer really is. “She was familiar,” I say, finally. “I recognized that she’d struggled. And yet she’d come out okay. It was beautiful about her, and I wanted to get to know it more. I wanted that for myself.”

“And you realized to get that, you had to start to feel again.”

“I guess so.” It’s oversimplified. But isn’t everything?

It occurs to me that I have other questions that are in need of simple answers. Questions that my therapist may be able to put to rest. I sit up, and meet him face-to-face. “I’d been okay without playing people anymore. Why did I decide that I had to play the game to get close to Alayna?”

He steeples his fingers and rests his chin against them. “Why do you think?”

“Because I didn’t know any other way to relate to people.” It’s the reason I’ve clung to, anyway.

“I imagine there’s truth to that.” He thinks for a moment. “And you liked to do it, Hudson. Maybe you don’t anymore—it sounds like you’ve overcome that addiction—but you did. The rush it gave you was a substitute for the real emotions that you’d buried inside. You manipulated Alayna because a part of you wanted to.”

It’s hard to hear, and I start to object. But then I stop myself. Because he’s right. There was a part of me that wanted exactly that. Wanted to feel the racing of my heart as I attempted to guess how she’d behave. Wanted the reward of predicting her. I’d felt a rush the moment I’d seen her, and the game was the way I knew to recapture it. That thrill had quickly been replaced with the thrill of falling in love.

But that first yes—when I’d told Celia I’d play—that was wrong. I had no excuse. I was to blame.

Dr. Alberts recognizes my thought process. “Acceptance is the first step to moving on, Hudson. It’s why you could never fully recover before—because you never really accepted the blame for your actions. This is great progress. Talking about it, sharing what you’ve done with those close to you will help as well. I recommend you work on that next.”

Since he has no patients scheduled after me, Dr. Alberts lets me stay for two hours. Since we’re in his office and not mine, no one interrupts. I forget about work. I concentrate on me. With his help, I work through many life-long questions I’ve had about myself. It’s eye-opening. Liberating.

The one thing he can’t answer, though, is the one thing I want to know most: Is there any chance Alayna can ever forgive me?

Chapter Twenty-Six

On Wednesday, Mirabelle stops by my office. I’ve cancelled most of my non-urgent appointments, so I’m available to see her. I ask Patricia to send her back.

My sister’s face is serious. I know it’s not her health—she would have called if there were any new threats to her or the baby. I have to assume she’s here about Alayna.

“I’m guessing you’ve talked to her,” I say as she settles into the armchair in my seating area.

Her brow furrows. “Talked to who? Mom?”

“No, I meant Alayna.” I grab a bottle of water from my mini-fridge and hand it to her before taking a seat on the couch. “Aren’t you here about her?”

“I am now.” Her eyes narrow mischievously. “What’s going on?”

I’ll have to tell her eventually. But I don’t know if I can talk about it. Not yet. I scrub my hand over my face. “Forget I said anything.”

“Uh, that’s not happening.” She leans forward and places her hand on my knee. “Hudson?” I shake my head, but, as always, she reads me. “Oh, God. What happened? Tell me.”