DECIPHER
DEDLAN REEDE: THE UNTOLD STORY
(BOOK 3)
MICHELLE IRWIN
COPYRIGHT
Copyright © 2016 by Michelle Irwin
First Edition March 2016
Published in Australia
Digital ISBN: 978-0-9945337-3-9
Also available in paperback:
Print ISBN: 978-1523743254 and 978-0-9945337-1-5
Cover Artist: Soxsationalcoverart
Cover content used for illustrative purposes only, and any person depicted is a model. Photography by: NSP Studios.
Cover models: Ashleigh Johnson and Jarah Armstrong.
Make-up by Al’4beauty by Carein.
Editing by: Hot Tree Editing
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to an actual person, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental. The following story is set in Australia and therefore has been written in UK/Australian English. The spelling and usage reflect that.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law. To request permission and for all other inquiries, contact:
Michelle Irwin P O Box 671 MORAYFIELD QLD 4506 AUSTRALIA
www.michelle-irwin.com
[email protected]
DEDICATION:
To the bloggers who have thrown their love behind Declan. Alison, from Book Excursions Book Reviews, Jennifer from The Power of Three Readers, Belinda from Hopelessly Devoted 2 Books, Siobhan from Diary of a Book Addict, Cryssy and Angie from United Indie Book Blog, Clare from Clare’s Mad About Books, VDub from Romance Between the Sheets, Donna from Rebels & Angels Book Blog, Maari from Maari Loves Her Indies, and so many, many more.
Thank you all for your faith.
For signing up to help share Declan at every opportunity.
And for loving this potentially unloveable man.
To the Chicken Soup girls—thank you for keeping me sane.
To Jenny C., I could thank you for all that you’ve done with Declan, but I’d rather thank Declan for bringing you into my life.
To those wanting anxious to find out what might become of Declan with Alyssa gone, I give you Decipher.
Click here to get started: http://www.michelle-irwin.com/
CONTENTS:
GLOSSARY
CHAPTER ONE: AN END IS A NEW BEGINNING
CHAPTER TWO: THE DREAM
CHAPTER THREE: FAMILY
CHAPTER FOUR: RELEASE
CHAPTER FIVE: VULTURES
CHAPTER SIX: LOCKED IN
CHAPTER SEVEN: EXORCISM
CHAPTER EIGHT: NOT ALONE
CHAPTER NINE: CLEANING UP
CHAPTER TEN: CABIN FEVER
CHAPTER ELEVEN: ON TRACK
CHAPTER TWELVE: CLEAN OUT
CHAPTER THIRTEEN: COINCIDENCE
CHAPTER FOURTEEN: ON THE PROWL
CHAPTER FIFTEEN: DICK MOVE
CHAPTER SIXTEEN: GETAWAY
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: UNITED FRONT
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: FULLY SICK
CHAPTER NINETEEN: SUCK IT UP
CHAPTER TWENTY: GOOD MORGAN
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE: SNAP HAPPY
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO: INTERVIEW WITH AN EX-DRIVER
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE: SECOND CHANGES
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR: TRIPPING OUT
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE: COMING HOME
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX: FAILURE AND FATIGUE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN: TESTING
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT: SET-UP
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE: ROLL ON
CHAPTER THIRTY: NOT SO SILENT NIGHT
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE: A BLESSING AND A CURSE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO: CATCHING ON
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE: CAUGHT OUT
ALSO BY MICHELLE IRWIN
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
GLOSSARY:
Note: This book is set in Australia, as such it uses Australian/UK spelling and some Australian slang. Although you should be able to understand the novel without a glossary, there is always fun to be had in learning new words. Temperatures are in Celsius, weight is in kilograms, and distance is (generally) in kilometres (although we still have some slang which uses miles).
Arse: Ass.
Bench: Counter.
Bitumen: Asphalt.
Bonnet: Hood.
Boot: Trunk.
Bottle-o: Bottle shop/liquor store.
Buggery: Multiple meanings. Technically bugger/buggery is sodomy/anal sex, but in Australia, the use is more varied. Bugger is a common expression of disbelief/disapproval.
Came down in the last shower (Do you think I): Born yesterday
Cherry (Drag racing): Red light indicating that you “red-lighted”/jumped the start.
Cock-ups: Fuck-ups/mistakes.
Diamante: Rhinestone.
Dipper: See S Bends below.
Do (Charity Do): Function/event.
Doona: Blanket/comforter.
Face Washer: Face cloth.
Fairy-Floss: Cotton candy.
Fillies: Girls.
Footpath: Sidewalk.
Formal: Prom.
Fours: Cars with a four-cylinder engine.
Gobful: Mouthful
Hydralyte: Hydrating formula (electrolytes).
Loo: Toilet.
Message bank: Voicemail.
Mirena: An IUD that contains and releases a small amount of a progesterone hormone directly into the uterus.
Mozzies: Mosquitoes.
Necked: Drank from.
Newsagency: A shop which sells newspapers/magazines/lotto tickets. Similar to a convenience store, but without the food.
Off my face: Drunk/under the influence (including of drugs).
Pap: Paparazzi.
Panadol/Paracetamol: Active ingredient in pain-relievers like Tylenol and Panadol.
Pavlova: Meringue-based desert, usually served covered with fresh cream and seasonal fruits (aka: sugar heaven).
Phone/Mobile Phone/Mobile Number: Cell/cell phone/cell number.
Real Estate: All-inclusive term meaning real estate agency/property management firm.
Rego: Registration (general); cost of vehicle licence.
Ricer: Someone who drives a hotted up four-cylinder (usually imported) car, and makes modifications to make it (and make it look) faster.
Rugby League: One of the codes of football played in Australia.
S bends (and into the dipper): Part of the racetrack shaped into an S shape. On Bathurst track, the dipper is the biggest of the S bends, so called because there used to be a dip in the road there before track resurfacing made it safer.
Sandwich with the lot: Sandwich with the works.
Schoolies: Week-long (or more) celebration for year twelves graduating school. Similar to spring break. The Gold Coast is a popular destination for school leavers from all around the country, and they usually have a number of organised events, including alcohol-free events as a percentage of school leavers are usually under eighteen (the legal drinking age in Australia).
Scrag: Whore/slut.
Shout (referring to drinks or food): Buy for someone. “Get the tab.”
Silly Season: Off season in sports. Primarily where most of the trades happen (e.g. driver’s moving teams, sponsorship changes etc).
Slicks: A special type of racing tyre with no tread
. They’re designed to get the maximum amount of surface on the road at all times. Wet weather tyres have chunky tread to displace the water from the track.
Skulled: (can also be spelled sculled and skolled) Chugged/Drank everything in the bottle/glass.
Stiff Shit: Tough shit/too bad.
Sunnies: Sunglasses.
Tassie: Tasmania (in the same way Aussie = Australia)
Taxi: Cab.
Thrummed: Hummed/vibrated.
Titbit: Tidbit.
Tossers: Pricks/assholes/jerks.
Tyres: Tires.
Year Twelve: Senior.
Wag: Ditch school.
Wank: Masturbate
Wankers: Tossers/Jerk-offs.
Weet-Bix: Breakfast cereal brand.
Whinge: Whine/complain.
Uni: University/college.
CHAPTER ONE: AN END IS A NEW BEGINNING
ALYSSA IS GONE.
The words repeated in my mind on an endless loop until they were hollow.
Meaningless.
Empty.
Like me.
Like my life.
The thoughts whipped through my mind until they filled the void the words had created, replacing everything I was with an agony that crushed my lungs and stopped my heart. The truth in it all raced through me, the pain ripping through my heart and soul. It clawed through my chest, tearing my heart into a thousand pieces that scattered like dust in the wind.
How had I gone from having everything to having nothing? All gone because of one stupid article, filled with a bunch of bullshit.
After dropping the phone handset and sinking to the floor, my mind tortured me with an endless loop of everything I’d lost.
My career.
My future with Alyssa.
My daughter, Phoebe.
The life I’d hoped I might deserve one day.
The words Ruth, Alyssa’s mother, had said before ending our phone call moments earlier raced through me over and over. “She called here a little over an hour ago, frantically shouting about a magazine or something. I couldn’t get a straight answer out of her—except that she was leaving town.”
Even though Ruth hadn’t known what magazine Alyssa was talking about, I did.
The damn fucking magazine that had fucked up so much for me already. It was the latest issue of Gossip Weekly—an article filled with little more than a fucking stack of half-truths and lies. They’d printed a series of compromising photos teamed with innuendo and bullshit as “facts.” It had already destroyed my career after an early copy had been sent to Danny Sinclair, the owner of Sinclair Racing, my former employer.
After rushing down to Sydney to see him at his request, all of my dreams had gone up in smoke in a matter of minutes.
All of my dreams, including my new one. The one I’d barely started to have; barely dared to imagine. A life with my girls: Alyssa and Phoebe.
But now Alyssa was gone, and she’d taken Phoebe with her.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the bitter disappointment and heartbreak in Alyssa’s honey-gold eyes. I’d seen it—caused it—often enough and this was obviously one step too far.
How could I come back from this when I’d been on my last chance as it was? The evidence that I was having an affair with Eden, my former teammate and friend, was compelling in print. The truth was that I was no more attracted to her than I was to the other subject of the article, Alyssa’s sister-in-law, Ruby.
If I’d had a chance to explain, maybe I could have fixed things. I couldn’t though.
Because my Alyssa was gone.
The knowledge that she’d run after seeing the article clawed at every happy memory I had from our time together since my suspension. Made me question every word I’d said. Every kiss we’d shared. Had I given her reason to doubt me? Had I not told her enough that I was ready to stand up and be the man she needed me to be? Or had I left her so broken over the years that any happiness we’d shared was weak enough to shatter at the first test?
The doubt, the fear, and the loss all pulled at the recollection of each smile. Every memory was torn to pieces like old photographs until I was nothing more than a shell filled with my bad memories and four years of regret.
One thing was clear. Whatever Alyssa believed because of that article was my fault. I’d given the gossip magazine so much ammunition, and not just in recent months. She’d had the image of me with other women shoved down her throat over and over. During my life in Sydney, I’d become the poster child for the bad-boy image. For so long, I’d thought I loved it. I’d fed it, encouraged it, and watched my notoriety grow. It’d left women lined up at my door, scrambling for a piece of the great Declan Reede. Every woman but the one I’d really wanted, even if I’d denied it at the time.
Now, that life—those choices—had come back to bite my arse big time. Even without the magazine in front of me, without my own face, turquoise eyes, and auburn hair staring back at me from the pages, I could recall each damning picture and every spiteful word.
With the thoughts of everything I’d lost, everything I’d thrown away before I ever really had it, racing through my mind, I sat on the floor and cradled my head in my hands. The pressure growing in my chest, stealing my breath, and throbbing against my skull made it impossible to move. I was unable to do anything but give in, and unwilling to even try to resist.
My fingers fumbled in my pocket to draw out the small box I’d brought with me from Brisbane. I’d slipped it into my pocket at the last second, not wanting to leave it at home just in case someone else stumbled across it. Plus, I’d thought it’d be a good luck charm.
Good fucking luck indeed.
I flicked open the lid and looked at the ring inside. Thousands of dollars I’d invested in a future that had looked to shine as brightly as the diamonds inside the white gold band, but was now as empty as the hole in the middle. Unable to look at the symbol of my shattered dreams any longer, I snapped the lid shut and shoved the ring back in my pocket.
My mind cried out, begging for relief. For a sweet tonic to salve the agony. There were plenty of options nearby. A fully stocked wet bar sat just metres away, waiting to be tapped.
Blissful oblivion hid at the bottom of each bottle.
Damn, was it fucking tempting.
My tongue slicked my lips at the thought of the liquor burning down my throat. Of it razing away the layers of doubt and remorse until they faded into the blur of hazy memories. God, I wanted that. Nothingness more complete and numbing than the blistering ache that scorched my skin with the imprint of Alyssa’s touch.
I wanted a drink.
I wanted freedom from the agony of remembering.
More than anything, I wanted to drown the pain that threatened to tear apart my chest.
It’s not like it would take much. A bottle. Two. Then I wouldn’t have to worry about magazines or Alyssa, anything. For a few hours, I would be numb.
Unfeeling.
Uncaring.
Blissfully unaware.
It was almost too easy. I was at the bar before I had even decided to move. Just the sight of the bottle of whiskey front and centre on the shelf was like a punch to the gut.
I snatched the bottle off the shelf and sank to the ground, nursing it against my chest. One hand was already on the lid, unscrewing the top as my throat ached with the need to burn.
Alyssa’s rules rushed through my head as a warning.
If I did it, if I resorted to using alcohol as a salve, I would lose her forever.
But what did it matter when she was gone anyway?
When everything was gone.
What was the point of anything?
It wasn’t just the loss of the life I’d thought I might be able to have, it was the fact that I’d lost everything. I didn’t even have the small victories my job had provided to hide behind any more.
I had nothing.
I was nothing.
Without my girls, I was less than nothing.
The bottle slipped from my hands and I let it fall into my lap. Reaching up, I clawed at my hair, fisting it. More than anything, I longed for the chance to explain myself to Alyssa. If I could convince her to grant me that tiny concession, maybe I could prove to her what she meant to me. I wanted to tell her that I hadn’t meant to hurt her. That I’d never cheated on her. Never even felt the smallest desire to try.
From the moment I’d set foot back home in Browns Plains, every piece of me had belonged to her.
Even the broken parts.
I’d hoped that love and desire would be enough to piece us back together. I’d been wrong. So wrong, about so many things. And I’d left things in a bigger mess than when I’d arrived.
If only she’d let me explain that all I’d ever done was love her, even if my love wasn’t enough to save us.
All my love had done was hurt her more.
Sinking into the foetal position, I found the blinding truth of it all. I should have trusted my first instincts and stayed the fuck away from her. I should have listened to her father, Curtis, and brother, Josh, when they’d tried to warn me away. To the voice in my head that had whispered that Phoebe didn’t deserve a fuck-up like me as a father.
I couldn’t even imagine the pain Alyssa must have been in at that very moment. She’d told me, and shown me, so often how much it hurt her to trust me. How frightened she’d been of me.
And every one of her fears had been proven right with one fucking magazine article.
I’d caused enough pain to force her to leave. To make her feel that running away without even allowing me the chance to tell my side was the only option. All because of the crap I’d brought into her life and dropped onto her lap. How much of the eight-page article had she believed? Did she think I was sleeping with my friend and teammate, Eden? Had she been poisoned against me by the bitter words of her enemy, Darcy, and my father’s little whore, Hayley?
If only there was a way I could take away some of the pain. Both hers and mine.
I knew from my experience in London that if she wanted to disappear it would be impossible for me to contact her. She’d been as stubborn about being contacted then as I had once been. That didn’t mean I couldn’t get her a message somehow though.
Decipher (Declan Reede: The Untold Story #3) Page 1