The Fixed Trilogy(Fixed on You, Found in You, Forever With You)(55)

His eyes lit up. “I’ll be back tomorrow.” He took my hand and squeezed. “Join me tomorrow night for the symphony.”

My heart flip-flopped. “Yes.”

“I’ll pick you up at six. Wear the dress.”



I made it to group that afternoon before meeting with David. I’d made a mistake, but Hudson was willing to look past it. More than willing. And that made it so much easier to believe that I wasn’t doomed to be totally freaky with him. I had to make an effort to stay well.

Not comfortable telling my situation to everyone, not when people might know about my connection with Hudson, I was vague on my turn to share. “I’m…I’ve slipped a bit.”

It was an accurate enough statement. My behavior hadn’t been as bad as it could have been. But every journey starts with a single step—even the journeys we shouldn’t be taking, and at the rate I’d been going that week, I’d be well on my way down the obsession road before I had a grip.

Lauren nodded sympathetically. “When you get home, I’d like you to write out a list of your recent negative behaviors, including behaviors you only thought about engaging in. Then come up with a list of healthy behaviors you can substitute whenever you feel compelled to engage in an unhealthy one. Do you need any help?”

“No.” I’d done this before. More than once. I still had all the substitute behaviors memorized from the last time I’d gone off the wagon: Run, do yoga, take an extra shift at work, concentrate on school, visit Brian. Obviously my list needed updating.

“Good. You know your patterns. Are you still journaling?”

“I haven’t in a while.” A long while.

Lauren smiled. “I recommend you start again.” She was always good for a swift kick in the butt.

“Okay.” And I would. But something told me that of all the suggestions I’d received that day, the best one had been from Hudson himself: When you can’t help yourself, talk to me.

I was quiet the rest of the session, replaying an old favorite quote over and over in my head, committing myself to modifying my actions. If there is no struggle, there is no progress. If there is no struggle, there is no progress.

I felt better after group, stronger and my head clear. As Jordan drove me to work later, I added to my substitute behaviors list, including making it a goal to watch every title on the AFI’s 100 Greatest Movies list and continue reading the top one hundred books on GreatestBooks.org.

My good mood and healthy attitude gave me courage to send a text to Hudson before I walked into my meeting with David that evening. “Do you really have to leave town again?”

This time I got a response instantly. “I’m afraid so.”

He’d listened—had adjusted his behavior knowing how it affected me to not get a response. Before I could decide how to answer, he sent another. “But I’m glad to know you’re thinking of me.”

A tingle spread through my body. “Always,” I told him before I could stop myself. What was I doing? What were we doing? We weren’t lovers anymore—were we becoming something else? Something more like friends? Friends who flirted by text?

Whatever we were doing, it felt good. So good that I followed my last text with another more dangerous message. “Are you thinking of me?”

David opened his office door, interrupting my feel-good moment before Hudson had a chance to reply. “Laynie, come in.” David was stiff and his voice tight.

His serious demeanor made me stuff my phone in my bra. “Is everything okay?” I thought back to his message from Monday. “What came up the other day?” I asked as I took a seat in front of his desk.

“This.” David threw a folded newspaper down on the desk before sitting in his chair across from me.

Puzzled, I picked up the newspaper and scanned for what might have put him in such a foul mood. And there it was, in full color on the top of Monday’s society section, the picture of Hudson and me kissing.

“Oh. That.” David had been the one person I’d been scared of telling. I feared he’d jump to conclusions. The wrong conclusions.

And he did. “You want to explain this, Laynie?” He stood and began pacing, not pausing long enough for me to answer. “’Cause I’ll tell you what it looks like. It looks like you were so eager to get your precious promotion that, when you couldn’t get it by playing me, you chose to go after the next guy who could get you what you wanted.”

I put a hand out in front of me as if to stop him from saying what he was saying. “It’s not like that, David. It was never like that.” How could he think that I’d liked him for a promotion? That I’d been insincere when I’d been with him?