Decline (Declan Reede: The Untold Story #1)

by Michelle Irwin

“Tell me what you’ve been doing,” I panted, trying to get her to talk about something that would hopefully stop the panic.

  “I’ve pretty much been full-time at uni. Between that, a part-time job down at the local shop and Phoebe, I’ve been pretty busy. And then I got the job offer from Pembletons.”

  Fuck, that wasn’t helping. My breathing hitched again and Alyssa seemed to sense that because she shifted her body a little closer. I was treated to the scent of her, and that did help calm me a little.

  “I’m not taking the London offer,” she whispered.

  My breath left my body in one exhausted, but relieved, sigh. “Why not?”

  “I can’t be that far away from my family. Or from Emmanuel.”

  I nodded. Which meant she’d never move to Sydney. Which meant if I wanted to be with her I had to give up what could be a promising fucking career or at least one that could be promising again if I could get my head back in the game. And that meant we were right back where we’d started.

  Something inside me screamed at me to run again. Run as far away as I could as fast as I could. Get the fuck away from Alyssa and all the drama she was sure to bring into my life.

  No! I thought in response. Fuck that.

  Sydney wasn’t that far from Brisbane, a little over an hour by plane. If I could be fucking man enough to pick up the phone, maybe we could at least be friends again. Although, I wasn’t sure whether friends would work when I was getting hard as a fucking stone just from her rubbing comforting circles on my back. This smallest amount of contact from her did more for me than being balls-deep in any of the whores from the clubs.

  I didn’t understand why she had so much sway over me, but it had always been that way. That’s what made me run initially and had kept me running since. I didn’t want to be tied down and unhappy in my job like my father was. He’d worked crazy hours for as long as I could remember and he’d told me so many times how he’d had his dreams and maybe he could have achieved them if he hadn’t married so young and fucked up his chances.

  As always, I was torn between what half of me wanted and what the other half feared. Alyssa and the fucking perfect connection that made me want to bury myself in her.

  Finally, I was able to gather control over my breathing and the panic subsided. I turned back toward her, resting my arm on the table and putting my fingers in my hair instead of linking them with hers again.

  “Where does that leave us though?” My heart hammered my ribs, trying to break free as I asked the question.

  “Is there an us?”

  I thought about it for a minute. “I’d like there to be. Would you?”

  She shrugged. “Yes and no. I don’t want to get hurt again, Dec. It nearly tore me in two when I saw you—” Her words died on her lips. She met my eye and seemed to have an internal debate. “In the hospital,” she added in a hushed whisper.

  I frowned. The hospital was after so much other stuff between us. Unless . . .

  “You were there? After Morgan . . .” I trailed off.

  She closed her eyes and her tears wet the lashes. She didn’t confirm it, but she didn’t have to. Her reaction made it clear that I hadn’t been having visions. She’d actually visited me in the hospital, but obviously hadn’t wanted me to know.

  “Then when you got on the plane beside me, I cursed fate. How could I be so unlucky? And then we . . . ” She tailed off, but I didn’t need her to elaborate. I knew exactly what she meant.

  Fucking without complications. Yeah, fucking right.

  “Do you know the real fucked-up thing about that night?” I asked.

  She shook her head.

  “I wanted to tell you that I loved you before you bolted from the room.”

  With a frown, she narrowed her eyes at me.

  “I didn’t even realise you meant sex without strings until after you’d left. I was so fucking drunk when you found me, I just didn’t know what was happening. It ripped my heart apart when you walked out of the room.”

  I thought she might see the truth in my words, and realise that I’d been changing since that night. But instead her face was set with anger.

  “Is that why you went back downstairs? To the bottle of whiskey?”

  I nodded. “It was the only thing that made sense.” I wasn’t trying to make her feel guilty, I just wanted her to know the truth. Her reaction, however, startled the fuck out me.

  She started to scream at me. “You thought the best way to deal with that apparent pain was to drink a fucking litre of alcohol?”

  I was shocked and sat blinking at her, unsure of what she wanted me to say. She seemed to be demanding a response though so I nodded again.

  “Fucking hell, Declan. You really haven’t grown up a fucking bit have you?”

  I just stared at her, uncertain of what I was being blasted about, but unwilling to add to it by saying the wrong thing.

  “This is what I fucking mean about trust. One thing goes wrong and you fucking drink yourself into oblivion and end up in hospital. I mean Christ, what if I’d left for the night or didn’t hear that bottle smash. You could have been fucking dead. How would I explain that to Phoebe? How could I tell her that her father died in a fucking alcohol binge session because one thing didn’t go his fucking way?” She’d started her rant in shouts but ended it in tears. As soon as the crying started, I felt emotion return to me. I pulled her tightly into my chest. She sobbed against me for a few minutes before her breathing settled.

  “This is what I mean, Dec. I can’t trust you to make decisions if that’s the sort of place they lead you to. And if I can’t trust you to make responsible decisions, how can I trust you with Phoebe? How can I trust you with me? I think you need therapy.”

  I scoffed. “Been there, done that.”

  When she pulled away, her face was set into a mask of determination. “You need to talk to a psychiatrist. If you genuinely want me to try to trust you again, that’s what I need you to do. Before we can ever have a hope of there being an us you need to sort yourself out. I won’t allow Phoebe’s life to be ruined just because you don’t have yourself together.”

  “So let me get this straight. You’ll only allow me into my own fucking daughter’s life if I see a shrink? And I don’t get a fucking say in that shit?”

  Her eyes flashed. “Legally, she’s not your daughter.”

  “Fuck that. You and I both know she is. I don’t give a flying fuck about legal. If I want to see her, I fucking should be able to see her.”

  “Do you want to see her?”

  Alyssa’s question startled me with its frankness. “Um . . . I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know?” she asked incredulously. “Are you kidding me?”

  “Look, fuck, I’m trying to be honest here. I’ve known for all of a fucking week that I’m a father. I don’t fucking know how to deal with that shit. What I want to do though is what’s right.”

  “What’s right is sorting yourself out and then seeing her.”

  A dark chuckle escaped me. She had no fucking idea. “Sorting me out could take fucking years.”

  Alyssa’s response was a genuine laugh. She either didn’t realise just how fucking serious I was or she was trying to lighten the now tense atmosphere. “At least start trying, that’s all I’m asking.”

  “What do I get in return?”

  She raised her eyebrow at me. “Besides being less fucked-up you mean?”

  A scoffed exclamation left me. “Yeah, besides that.”

  “What do you want in return?”

  “Will you agree to let me take you on a date?”

  She thought about it for a second and then nodded. Then she smiled slyly. “One date for every session.”

  It was clear she thought she’d outfoxed me. “How will you know if I’m actually going?”

  “It’s about trust, Declan. I will try to trust you again. Part of that will be you earning my trust by showing me you are worthy of it. If you lie to me about somethi
ng as simple as whether you’ve had a therapy session or not, how can I ever trust you on anything else?”

  I nodded. It made sense. “Do phone sessions count? If I have to see a fucking shrink, I’d at least like to go to one close to home but”—I dropped my voice and broke eye contact because it was hard to admit to my feelings after hiding from them for so long—“I don’t want to wait until I go back to try us again.”

  I didn’t voice my greater concern that by going back to Sydney there would be no more us.

  “I’m not just going to jump into bed with you,” she said.

  “Is that what you think I want? Fucking nice vote of confidence, Lys.”

  “Just going off recent evidence.”

  “Gossip mags and fucking innuendo.”

  “Are you saying they’re wrong?”

  Fuck. “No.”

  “Then you can understand why I would think that.”

  “Fuck, Lys, you should know you’ve always been more than that to me. It’s why I can’t do brunettes.”

  She rolled her eyes and huffed. “Nice. You draw the line at fucking brunettes. I guess I should be glad that you believe at least some part of the population to be off limits.”

  “Shit, Lys. I didn’t mean it like that. I meant . . . Fuck. I’m sorry I said that, okay? I just, well, fuck, I just want to be honest with you.”

  She closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths. “I have a few more conditions on the dating thing.”

  “What?”

  “First, you do so exclusively. No screwing random chicks. You wait until I’m ready and have a relationship with me alone. Even if that takes six months or more.”

  It’s fucking disgusting to admit, but I did have to consider it for a few seconds. I was already so fucking wound up that I needed stress relief and my hand just didn’t fucking cut it. The promised land at the end was Alyssa, though. She was worth the serious case of blue balls I would no doubt encounter. I nodded.

  “Thank you.”

  “What else?”

  “You stop drinking, and drugs if you are on any.”

  I shook my head. “I’m not on anything illegal.”

  She cast me a doubtful stare.

  “I’m not,” I reassured her. “Not anymore,” I added in a quiet voice.

  “And the alcohol?”

  “C’mon, Lys, it’s not like I’m a fucking alcoholic.”

  She considered me for a second. “Fine, not completely then. But you’ve got to stop drinking to excess and definitely not as a solution to your problems.”

  “I can try. All of what you are saying. Everything you’re asking, I promise I’ll try.”

  “I would say that’s all I can ask, but instead I’ll say this: whenever you think you are trying your best, then try just a little harder. Make yourself someone who is worthy of that little girl. As much as it will kill me if you fuck up, she’s the one I really need to protect here.”

  “Some people would say I’m a pretty fucking good catch.”

  She smiled slightly. “And they’d probably be right.”

  I preened a little.

  “Once you’ve sorted yourself out, that is,” she added before pressing a kiss to my cheek.

  Without another word, she walked off.

  For a dazed moment, I sat, unsure whether I should follow her or not.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR: LET’S RIDE

  WHEN I CAME to my senses, I jumped from the table and chased after Alyssa. I wanted to show her that I would follow her lead in things for the moment, but that I wasn’t going to back away. That I wouldn’t run again. I would go as fast or as slow as she wanted to, but I also wanted to take the chance to show her that we could be friends again. All things considered, we’d actually gotten along fairly well. It was a reminder of what we’d shared before lust and heartbreak had interfered with us.

  “Alyssa, wait!” I called.

  She stopped and then turned back to face me. When she did, the small smile from before had disappeared. “What is it, Declan?”

  My steps slowed and my confidence faltered. Maybe I’d misread the signs and she wanted space. “I, uh, just wanted to ask you if you wanted to hang for a while, and maybe go shopping.”

  She burst out laughing. When she collected herself, she raised an eyebrow at me. “Shopping? Seriously?”

  “Um, yeah.”

  “Why on God’s green earth would I want to go shopping with you?”

  My face fell as fast as my hopes. I hadn’t expected a rejection quite so harsh, especially to an offer which was only one of friendship.

  A look of horror crossed Alyssa’s features. “No. I—I didn’t mean it like that, Dec. I’m not saying I don’t want to spend time with you. As a friend.” She gave me a pointed look. “I just don’t understand why that has to be spent shopping.”

  “Oh, fuck, sorry, I should have fucking explained better.” I chuckled as relief flooded through me that her words hadn’t been intended as a flat-out rejection. “I need to go shopping. Because I left home so quickly”—I left the reason for my speed hanging in the air for a moment—“all I brought with me was winter stuff I already had packed for London. I just thought you might . . . I don’t fucking know. Oh fuck it.”

  I couldn’t seem to form any fucking words for some reason, especially not any that could be misconstrued or twisted away from their intended meaning. With a frown forming, I turned to walk back to the table thinking that chasing after Alyssa had been a fucking mistake. I should have just sat still and shut up until she was gone so that I didn’t fuck up the progress we had made.

  Alyssa’s hand closed around my arm to stop me, and my gaze shot to it, unbelievingly.

  “It’s okay,” she said with a cautious smile. “I’d like to go shopping with you.”

  “Good ’cause I’ve got no fucking clue when it comes to this shit.”

  She chuckled darkly. “And you think I do? Obviously you don’t remember me very well.”

  Despite regular visits to the Grand Plaza when we were younger, we’d very rarely actually shopped. I found myself laughing along with her. She was always far more focused on textbooks and texting than designer Dior.

  “If you want style advice, Flynn’s probably a better companion,” she teased.

  I decided two could play at that game so I trailed my eyes up and down over her body in a mock appraisal. “Yeah, probably. Do you have his number?”

  She laughed. “So you don’t want to take me now?”

  I pretended to sigh. “Well, I mean, you’re obviously no Flynn, but I guess you’ll do.”

  She slapped my chest and smiled, not one of those half-hearted small smiles she’d been giving me before, but a true fucking light-up-the-room type of smile. It made my heart clench with something as close to joy as I could feel.

  “You’re so fucking beautiful when you smile,” I said before I’d had a chance to consider the possible ramifications.

  The smile fell straight away and she looked away from me and sighed. The she stepped away from me, locking her emotions away.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “I’m willing to try and be friends. I’m even willing to try dating with the conditions we’ve discussed. But I can’t have you saying shit like that to me; it’s just not fair.”

  I mumbled an apology even though I didn’t want to apologise because it was just the fucking truth. After a moment, I said, “Alyssa, you’re going to have to tell me what to do, all right? I have no fucking clue how to handle any of this shit. I just know I wanna try. If I step over the mark, just fucking tell me to shut up or something. Don’t push me away, okay?”

  She nodded and a hint of a smile crept back onto her face. She held out her hand to me. “I guess this is okay.”

  With a grin, I grabbed her hand and led her back to Mum’s house to get my car. Truthfully, we could have walked to the Plaza, but I didn’t want to have to lug home a pile of heavy fucking bags if I actually managed to find some clothes
that I wanted to buy. I fucking hated shopping. Most of my wardrobe consisted of gifts from corporate sponsors, so I rarely had to actually step foot inside a shop. They generally loved it if you were caught out and about in public wearing one of their shirts. It’s what they paid for after all.

  The walk back to the house was just as silent as the walk to the bench, and again our hands didn’t break contact the whole way. I pulled my car keys out of my pocket and unlocked the Monaro. Heading for the passenger side, I held the door open for Alyssa. She climbed in and took a deep breath. My car may have been a few years old—it was the last CV8 Monaro off the production line and I had wanted to buy that shit for posterity—but I kept it pristine, so it still had the lingering new car smell. The smell of the leather seats was fucking intoxicating. I smiled to myself that Alyssa noticed that shit too.

  “Nice car,” she said after I’d climbed into the driver’s seat.

  “Thanks.” I smiled at her as I started the engine. “I didn’t think you liked cars though?”

  Shifting into first, I checked the road and then squealed the tyres as I left the kerb. Showing off for Alyssa a little, I revelled in the sounds that issued from my baby. I always loved the fucking soft purr of the engine. It was the only music I needed, and the rhythm of my life. I’d even put a new exhaust system on the beast to get the note just right.

  Alyssa laughed, but I wasn’t sure what at and when I looked at her she shook her head to indicate she wasn’t going to tell me. “I guess between you and Flynn I didn’t really have much choice.”

  “He’s into cars too?”

  “Yeah. He’s more into fours though. He’s got a Silvia.”

  “Fucking ricer.”

  “I don’t know . . .” Her voice held a quiet challenge, as though daring me to react to her next words. “He gets that thing to do some crazy shit. He got a fourteen eight at the drags.”

  Although I wasn’t going to admit it, I couldn’t help but be slightly impressed by the numbers. Despite the fact that he was gay, he was still my rival for her attention. I couldn’t help but be jealous that he was the one who got her into cars when all of my attempts had failed. She’d never once shown any interest in that shit before I’d left for Sydney four years ago. Instead of saying anything complimentary toward the fucker, I turned to Alyssa and raised one brow. “You wanna see how a real fucking car handles?”