Mirabelle gives the heaviest ultimatum. “Be sober or don’t be in my life.”

It’s after this that Sophia agrees to go to rehab. She’ll do anything for that grandchild.

But even with her acquiescence, there are two of us left to talk, and we will not be skipped. Jack goes first. “I know the man you married disappeared a long time ago with the woman you once were. If I’m asking you to be her again, then it’s only fair that I find him again as well. You’ve always been the love of my life, Sophia, even though the life I created for you—for us—was a shitty one. But, hell, we’re still young. There’s no reason we can’t start a better life together now.”

My mother doesn’t say a word, but she pats the cushion on the other side of her after Jack’s speech. He moves to her immediately and wraps her in his arms. It’s now that she crumbles, her face buried in his chest. Mirabelle and I exchange a stunned glance. We’ve never seen such affection between our parents. It’s quite moving.

I go last. Careful not to include Celia’s involvement—Madge is here, and this isn’t the place to unearth more secrets that aren’t mine—I share the nature of my relationship with Alayna. How I became involved with her. How I fell in love and betrayed her. It’s shocking and disappointing, and I can feel the anguish in the room grow heavier, and for a short second, I wonder how shocked and disappointed they would all feel to know that Celia had done the same to me.

God, I still can’t believe it.

But I can’t go there because then I have to reveal the whole story behind Celia and me, which is neither here nor there at the moment.

So I stick to Alayna.

It’s a short confession. This isn’t my intervention, after all, but my tale is relevant.

She doesn’t look at me, but I end directly addressing Sophia. “I no longer know what came first, Mother—your drinking or my emotional withdrawal. It’s like trying to answer the age-old question of the chicken or the egg. While blame is not important, I do know that our behaviors are directly correlated. That I’ve contributed to your addiction. That you’ve contributed to mine. With that in mind, I think that if I get well and you get well too, then both of us will have a better shot.”

My mother shifts, raising her eyes to mine.

I feel my throat tighten, but I talk through it. “We’ve both been hiding our flaws behind these crutches. It’s time we face them. I’m back in therapy. I don’t want to be that person anymore, and I vow that I’m going to change. For myself. For Alayna. For you. Will you change too? For all of us? For me? For you?”

It’s a simple nod that she gives, but it’s everything. We’ll never be able to repair our past. I know this. We will always be strained and awkward and, perhaps, even cruel toward one another. But we will forever have this one moment where I asked her for her love, and she gave it. It’s enough to last a lifetime.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

It’s the day after my mother’s intervention, and already that seems like a lifetime ago. I’m sitting in the dressing room of Mirabelle’s Boutique, wallowing. I hadn’t planned to come to the reopening—I’d promised I wouldn’t, in fact.

But I was convinced otherwise. By Jack, of all people.

We’d just gotten to the addiction center to drop off my mother when my father handed me the keys. “I’ve called for a ride for me and Chandler. Take the car, go to Mira’s and fight.”

So I did.

And then I lost.

I put everything on the line, and Alayna still turned me away. I’m not giving up, but I haven’t quite gotten the strength to figure out my next move yet. Maybe I’m waiting for direction. Which is why I’m still here when my sister bangs on the door, nearly an hour after Alayna’s left. Frankly, I’m surprised she hasn’t shown up earlier. I suppose her grand reopening celebration kept her occupied. I knew she’d find me eventually.

Mirabelle enters without invitation, peering first around the door—looking for Alayna, I assume—before shutting it behind her.

I rise from the bench I was sitting on and scratch the back of my neck. “She left. I’m sorry.” I’m pretty sure Alayna was done with her part of the show, though, so I don’t really feel that bad.

Mirabelle walks up to me, places her small hands on my chest and shoves. “What the hell, Hudson? You weren’t supposed to be here.” She shoves me again for good measure.

I wrap my hands around her wrists. “And you’re supposed to be watching your blood pressure. Stop shoving.”

She wriggles out of my grasp and puts her fists on her hips. “If my blood pressure’s spiking, it’s not because of the shoving. It’s the man who’s being shoved that’s causing me anxiety.” She moves again to push me, but this time I catch her first.

“There’s no reason for me to be causing you anything. Everything’s good. Sit down.” I direct her to the bench where she sits without any pushing. “Do you need me to get you some water?”

“No,” she snaps. “I’m perfectly hydrated, thank you very much.”

Something about her demeanor sparks a similar confrontation. Her rehearsal dinner. I’d pulled her away from her party then too. God, I’m such a fucker of a brother.

For old time’s sake, I ask, “Don’t you need to be with your guests?”

“I’m on a potty break. It’s fine.” Her narrowed eyes show a hint of humor, and I know she caught my reference. Then she’s animated again. “And what do you mean everything’s good? Did you talk to Alayna?”

I lean a shoulder against the door. “I did.”

“And?” She’s almost as eager as I am to have us back together. It’s nice to have someone in my corner.

“And I proposed.”

“Um…what?”

“You’d be proud of her. She said no.” It hadn’t been one of my finer moments. I’d been desperate and bold and brazen. I hadn’t had a ring. It had been the solution I’d concocted on my ride back into town. I thought that proving the lengths I’d go for her was the answer to our problems. As if lack of dramatic gestures had been our issue.

“Which is understandable.”

Alayna already explained it in hard-to-hear words—she loves me, but she can’t stand to look at me. She can’t ever trust me again. I’m an idiot to think that she’d want to spend her life with me.

But I’m feeling masochistic and think maybe I should hear it again. “Is it?”

Mirabelle’s nicer about her response. “You broke her heart, Hudson. You don’t fix that with a proposal.”

I want to ask, then how do you fix it?

But I don’t voice the question. I’m afraid the answer is you don’t.

So instead, I slump on the seat next to her and assume an air of confidence. “It’s good, though. I’m going to win her back. I’m not giving up until I do.” They were the words I’d shouted after Alayna when she’d walked away from me earlier. She didn’t look back. I pretend that doesn’t mean anything.

Mirabelle lifts her head to study my face, surprise etching her expression. “When the hell did you turn into a romantic?”

I shake my head. “I didn’t. I just remembered that I’m a man who gets what he wants.” And I want Alayna. Need, actually. I need her like I need air to breathe.

“Yeah, don’t use that line with her. That’s not romantic at all.” She makes a face to further prove her distaste.

I hadn’t meant to use the line, but now that Mirabelle’s scoffed so openly at it, I have to know. “Why not? It’s worked before.”

“Maybe to get laid.” She pauses for a second. “And now that I think about that…ew.” She shudders. “Anyway, cocky and dominating is not what’s going to win back trust and affection.”

“How the fuck do you earn back trust?” I don’t mean to be so crass, but I’m frustrated.

And, also, I get it. There’s nothing—nothing—that Celia could ever do to earn back my trust. Is that how Alayna feels about me? She probably should. As she said, there’s no forgiving that kind of betrayal. Now I know.