DECAY
#3.2
MICHELLE IRWIN
COPYRIGHT
Copyright © 2017 by Michelle Irwin
First Edition February 2017
Published in Australia
Digital ISBN:
Also available in paperback:
Print ISBN: 978-0-9954228-3-4 and 978-1542878050
Cover Artist: Pink Ink Design
Cover content used for illustrative purposes only, and any person depicted is a model.
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]
To the numerous bloggers who’ve helped me along the way and loved my boy and his daughter. Alison, Donna W, Sib, VDub, Tammy, Clare, Mel, Donna, Janet, Kelly, Neeny, Bekah the awesome, Maari, Chrissy, and the many more who regularly share and sign-up to share the love.
Thank you all.
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GLOSSARY
CHAPTER ONE: HEART
CHAPTER TWO: UNEXPECTED
CHAPTER THREE: UNANSWERED
CHAPTER FOUR: IN THE AIR
CHAPTER FIVE: MEET THE FATHER
CHAPTER SIX: SAVING GRACE
CHAPTER SEVEN: CIVIC DUTY
CHAPTER EIGHT: MOVING PICTURES
CHAPTER NINE: HOME FIRES
CHAPTER TEN: SURPRISE
CHAPTER ELEVEN: OPEN AND SHUT
CHAPTER TWELVE: UNDER SUSPICION
CHAPTER THIRTEEN: UNTIL PROVEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN: HOME TRUTHS
CHAPTER FIFTEEN: ANGEL DUST
CHAPTER SIXTEEN: EVIDENCE
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: ALONE
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: LOST AND FOUND
CHAPTER NINETEEN: WORST TO COME
CHAPTER TWENTY: DANGER
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE: HOME
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO: SANE
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE: HEALING
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR: THE BEGINNING
ALSO BY MICHELLE IRWIN
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Note: This book has an Australia main character, 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. Generally, 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.
CAMS: Confederation of Australian Motor Sport.
Cock-ups: Fuck-ups/mistakes.
Dob: Tell on.
Doona: Blanket/comforter.
Face Washer: Face cloth.
Fairy-Floss: Cotton candy.
Footpath: Sidewalk.
Fours: Cars with a four-cylinder engine.
Gobful: Mouthful
HANS: Head And Neck Support/system. A device used to support the racer’s neck while driving.
Message bank: Voicemail.
Newsagency: A shop which sells newspapers/magazines/lotto tickets. Similar to a convenience store, but without the food.
Pap: Paparazzi.
Panadol/Paracetamol: Active ingredient in pain-relievers like Tylenol and Panadol.
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.
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.
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).
Skerrick: Scrap.
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.
Soft Drinks: Soda/pop.
Stiff Shit: Tough shit/too bad.
Sunnies: Sunglasses.
Taxi: Cab.
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.
Declan Reede
A SWEET MEWLING left Alyssa as she moved above me. Close to the edge, she tipped her head up and allowed her waist-length hair to spill down her back. My fingertips twitched against her hips, longing to run through the silken strands.
“Lys,” I murmured, calling her attention down to me.
The angle of her motion changed as she leaned forward to kiss me, drawing me closer to the edge. When her lips touched mine, I wrapped my arms around her and spun us both so I could be on top for a while. She was driving me to the edge, and I needed to take control to prolong our intimacy.
Alyssa cried out as I peppered kisses along her throat and down over her chest. When my lips found her nipples, I sucked one into my mouth.
The years had been kind to her. Her mahogany hair had only dimmed a little, with just a wisp of grey near one ear. Despite nurturing six kids and giving birth naturally to four of them, she was as sexy as ever. Sure, some silver stretch marks ran up the length of her stomach, but they were nothing more than badges of honour worn by the fucking warrior woman who let me love her.
Even after fourteen years of marriage, I couldn’t imagine a better life than the one I shared with her. Things that had once seemed insurmountable had become nothing more than stepping stones on the path to happiness. Sure, we’d had our ups and downs, but since reuniting, we’d battled everything side by side and that had made every hurdle easier. Besides, everything we’d faced together had led us to where we were. I could say without doubt that I loved her more than ever. The words spilled from my lips as I lifted her hips against mine and thrust deeper into her.
Life was pretty damn good.
“Fuck, Lys,” I murmured against her neck as my balls tightened and I drew closer to release. My fingers found her clit, rubbing to bring he
r to the edge with me.
“I love you, Dec.”
Our eyes locked and for a moment I was lost in her. In the love we shared. In our history. In what our life had become. When her eyes rolled back in pleasure, the moment ended, and my body pulsed. I came hard as I buried myself deep inside of her.
Seconds later, as my supporting elbow turned to jelly, everything grew sensitive and I wondered whether I could thrust anymore. I whispered her name and then she came apart beneath me. A tremor raced through her as her walls clenched and released around me. Trying to catch my breath again, I rested my forehead on her shoulder and panted a few times.
I could have stayed in her embrace for hours, but in a house with four kids aged between one and thirteen, there was only so much stolen time we could find. After a while, the entrance to our room would need to be unlocked and opened to allow for the “rotating” door that came with parenthood. It could be nightmares, nighttime thirst, or just needing a cuddle. Regardless, we never wanted our kids to think they couldn’t come to us if there was a problem, and that started with a mostly open-door policy.
That didn’t mean we didn’t need our alone time on occasion though. When we were able to come together, we were still as horny as teenagers. The years hadn’t dimmed our desire, or left us unable to connect as husband and wife. Celebrations and commiserations were played out between the sheets after the rest of the family was asleep—just as they had been ever since our reunion a little over fifteen years earlier.
Our current tryst was a celebration over our youngest, Nikki. She’d finally been given a clean bill of health. Although she’d been born with a hole in her heart and had needed surgery before she was even twelve months old, she’d been fighting fit ever since. The news had come a couple of days earlier, but the end of our week had been a madhouse, so Saturday night was the first chance we’d had to be together properly.
Alyssa wrapped her arms around my shoulders and drew me back for one more kiss. Knowing a dismissal when I received one, I dragged myself from her embrace and slipped on a pair of boxer shorts. While Alyssa cleaned up and got dressed, I unlocked the door with as little fanfare and noise as possible. We might have allowed the kids into our room at night, but that didn’t mean I wanted to fucking announce we were open for business.
I crawled back into bed beside my goddess of a wife and pulled her into my arms.
“I wonder if Angel’s home yet,” she murmured through the darkness.
Angel was the best friend of our eldest daughter, Phoebe, and something of a unique soul. Vivacious and outgoing—and in my opinion somewhat in love with our daughter—she was the best friend we could have asked for to help Phoebe negotiate her teenage years. When they’d become friends, back in high school, both Alyssa and I had seen the obsession in Angel’s gaze. Initially, it had worried us, because we’d suffered the consequences that could come from young love. Our worry only grew when it became clear early on that Phoebe didn’t feel the same way. Eventually though, it seemed our concerns were unfounded.
Angel had proven over and over that she was the best thing for Phoebe. Every time Phoebe returned home from a race, Angel would appear, overnight bag in hand. I’d lost count of the number of times Alyssa or I had to interrupt their post-midnight giggles to remind them of their need to sleep. The connection between the two girls, and between Angel and the rest our family, was undeniable. With her friendship and consistency, she’d helped keep our daughter’s head level, and that was priceless to us.
Angel had not long ago visited the US to see Phoebe. We had no doubt she’d be at our house before too long. It was her sanctuary whenever her mother’s drinking and abusive behaviour grew too much for her to bear. We’d offered her a permanent refuge, but she’d always turned it down out of a sense of obligation to keep her drunken mother alive.
“I should’ve arranged to pick her up.” Alyssa spun in my arms so that her warm breath tickled against my neck as she spoke. “What do you reckon the chances are that Lydia would have actually remembered to go get her daughter?”
“Lys, we’ve been asked to stay out of it.” My tone held a warning. Both Angel and Phoebe had asked us not to meddle. As much as it killed me to watch a sweet young girl get hurt, I couldn’t force her to turn her back on her only family. The best we could do was let her know she’d always have a place under our roof.
“I know. I just hate thinking of her getting off the plane with no one there for her.”
“Maybe Lydia will surprise us one day.”
Alyssa snorted. “And pigs might take up aerial acrobatics.”
“Why don’t you call Angel in the morning and make sure she got home safe?” As much as I wanted to keep talking to Alyssa, the day had been long—filled with planning for the upcoming start to the race season as well as all the usual craziness that came from running a household as full as ours was. Plus, there was the added stress of Phoebe’s upcoming races—her first in control of her own team was in just over a week.
“I think I’ll have to. At least then I’ll know that she did and I won’t have to worry anymore.”
“And you can invite her round for dinner to start the interrogation too,” I teased with my eyes closed.
Although I didn’t see Alyssa’s reaction, the light shove she gave me was enough to send laughter burbling in my throat.
“As if you won’t be sitting right next to me at the table”—Alyssa’s amusement was clear in her retort—“anxious to hear any news of what’s going on over there with Pheebs.”
“Well, I can’t help it that she doesn’t check in nearly enough.”
“She calls or emails at least once every couple of weeks.”
“Exactly. That’s not nearly enough.” Although I’d agreed to the whole scheme of sending her to the States to follow her heart, I still wasn’t happy about it—especially not when she was so many kilometres away from home. Away from us.
That unhappiness had shifted to rage when I’d heard that the arsehole she’d travelled for had not only played her, but he had a fiancée and a baby on the way.
It was only Alyssa’s calm talk and insistence that Phoebe was handling it herself that had stopped me from climbing on a plane and travelling to the US to sort the fucker out. Of course, I might have kept Audrey on standby to get me flights in a hurry if needed. One word, one complaint from Phoebe and I would be there to introduce this Beau character to my fists.
If he hurt my little girl . . .
It wouldn’t matter how far away he was; I would make him pay.
“She’s got her own life now.” Alyssa ran her hand along my side as she spoke. “You should be thankful she calls at all. Most kids her age wouldn’t.”
My mind cast back to my own adventures when I first left home at seventeen. It was the worst thing that could’ve come to mind. The girls. The drugs. The drinking. “Fuck. I really hope she’s not as stupid as I was,” I murmured, drawing Alyssa closer to me so I could call on her calm and remind myself that I’d grown up and straightened up eventually. It’d been a challenge, but I’d managed it.
Shifting in my arms, Alyssa touched her lips to mine before running her hand through my hair. “She’ll be fine. She’s got a good head on her shoulders.”
“God, I hope you’re right.”
“I know I am.” Alyssa’s words were a sleepy murmur as she snuggled against my bare chest, ready to sleep. “Now, get some rest, we’ve got a big week coming up.”
IT WAS EARLY in the morning—the time of night when the only phone calls where ones from police calling to say there’d been an accident—when my phone chimed with an incoming call. My pulse raced as I scrambled through the darkness to get the phone. A quick glance confirmed it was Phoebe. When I had the phone pressed against my ear, I grumbled out her name as a greeting but couldn’t calm my racing heart.
“Hi, Daddy.” Phoebe’s voice filled my ear. With just two words, it was clear something was wrong. She didn’t have her usual lilt or cadence.<
br />
I shook my head, trying to clear the cobwebs of sleep. Why was she calling so late? She’d been so careful to always time her calls to be during the few times our schedules all aligned. There was only one reason I could think of for the lack of forethought—there was an issue she couldn’t deal with. I was ready to climb on a plane at once. “What is it, sweetheart? What’s wrong?”
“N-nothing. Nothing’s wrong.” Her tone was tight—a mockery of her usual breezy voice. “Not really. I just . . . Things . . . Things have gotten complicated around here.”
Complicated, how? Before I could ask the question, she continued.
“And I need some time out.”
“Time out? But isn’t the first race of the season a little over a week away? Shouldn’t you be preparing for that?” It didn’t make sense. She was days out from the start of her new career—something she’d been excited for and working toward for months. Even after the arsehole she’d gone to the States for had hurt her, she’d been looking forward to getting into that car. There was no way she would walk away from that. And she knew as well as I did that the weeks leading up to the first event were some of the most important to get into the right frame of mind. It was one of the first things I’d taught her when she got into karting professionally.
“I know, Daddy, it’s just—” A sob echoed down the line.
What the fuck?
“It’s Beau, he—” She sobbed again.
White hot light shone behind my eyes as I clenched my hands into fists. The phone in my hand protested against the death grip I had around it. I couldn’t keep the heat from my tone as I asked, “What did he do, Phoebe?”
“What is it, Dec?” Alyssa murmured. “What’s wrong?”
I held up my hand to silence her. I could handle this.
“Is that Phoebe? Let me talk to her,” Alyssa protested.
Shaking my head, I mouthed that I had it. I didn’t though—it was taking everything I had not to tear the fucking room apart at the thought that anyone could hurt my baby. I climbed from the bed and paced near the bay window.
Decay (Phoebe Reede: The Untold #3.2 Declan Reede: The Untold Story #6) Page 1