Those new curves . . . My mouth went dry as I cupped myself.
Stop!
Fuck!
The fact that Alyssa starred in my dreams or kept me awake every night wasn’t entirely unusual either. That had been happening for as long as I’d been in Sydney. It certainly wasn’t a sign that I wanted her back. If I’d wanted that, I never would have left Brisbane in the first place. I would have at least returned one of her phone calls. Or something.
Even after I’d seen her at Queensland Raceway, the reasons we’d broken up were still as true as the day we’d parted. She was too focused on her small-town views—she had wanted the regular life. The husband, white picket fence, and two point four kids. She didn’t understand racing—the excitement of being behind the wheel and overtaking someone or standing atop the fucking podium holding high a trophy that was earned through blood, sweat, and tears. She didn’t understand the perks that came with it—the fame, money, and hot women.
No, I definitely didn’t want her anymore.
I didn’t want that life.
Closing my eyes, I relaxed against the couch. At some point, I must have drifted off because the next thing I knew, a pounding filled the house. A second later, the pounding stopped but then the doorbell chimed. With a glance at the clock on the wall, I confirmed it was almost four thirty in the morning.
Who the fuck makes unannounced house calls at this time?
The doorbell rang again, and again. Whoever it was, they were persistent.
“I’m coming!” I shouted over the noise as I limped to the front door. “Hold your fucking horses.” This better be fucking important.
I pulled the door open, but before I even had a chance to get a look at who it was, I was greeted by a fist connecting with my left eye. A second fist smashed hard into my gut and my breath flew from my body, expelled in one painful burst. Doubled over, and with blurry vision, I could only make out vague shapes and not specific details.
“What the fuck!” I wheezed out while trying to suck in some air around the piercing agony in my chest. Even though the attacker was unarmed, images of a knife embedded in my skin swum in front of my eyes. It couldn’t have been more painful even if I had been stabbed. Stars danced in front of my eyes. Gasping for air, I couldn’t get enough.
“Just repaying what I owe you.” I recognised Morgan’s beachside drawl the instant he spoke. The purpose of the visit was clear—my accident, and our subsequent DNF, had all but put him completely out of championship contention. “And delivering a warning. If, against my better judgement, we’re ever partnered again and you fuck up my chances for the championship again . . .”
The sound of my desperate attempts for breath filled my head and darkness overtook me. Pressing one hand against the doorframe to support myself, I tried to pull myself upright and met his gaze. His lips twisted in a grimace and fire flickered in his hazel gaze. The expression, coupled with the lack of any words in his threat, was more potent than any words that could have come out of his mouth.
A few weeks ago, I would have called him a cock, punched him back, and then we would have fought until one of us was on the ground. We would’ve laughed, had a few beers to get over it, and then he would have left my house after we were back on okay terms. As it was though, with me unable to force air into my lungs, it was taking everything I had not to fall in a heap at his feet. I staggered forward, leaning against him. My hands groped at his shirt as I tried desperately to suck down oxygen—any air.
“Fucking hell, man!” Morgan snapped at me, shocked by my lack of retaliation and by the wetness that was threatening my eyes. “Seriously, Reede! You need to get your shit together.”
I coughed around the ache, but the action caused the vice around my chest to tighten and squeezed the last of my breath out of me. I fell to my knees in front of Morgan. Despite trying to force the oxygen in with gasp after gasp, I couldn’t get the oxygen I needed. My mind spun and I sank to the ground.
“Shit,” Morgan muttered as he looked at me.
The last thing I saw was Morgan’s frowning face swimming in front of me before the darkness claimed me.
“DECLAN.” ALYSSA’S voice filled my mind and I knew I was dreaming.
I was too comfortable, felt too light. It was as if all the weight in the world had been lifted from my shoulders.
“What are you doing to yourself?” The worry echoing through her voice didn’t touch my euphoric mood as the familiar scent of coconuts and everything that was her surrounded me. I inhaled deeply, and as I did, a sharp ache echoed through me and stole my breath. I cried out in agony.
Something wet dropped onto my hand, and I tried to force my eyes open but they refused to cooperate. All I got were blurry images that I couldn’t piece together properly.
“Is this really your dream? Is this what you gave up everything we had for?”
What I could see through the haze was dark mahogany hair, frosted with streaks of blonde near the top—just like Alyssa’s had been when I saw her at Queensland Raceway.
“Lys,” I croaked, still certain I was dreaming and wanting to hold on to the image as long as I could. Her nickname slipped from me despite the years it had been since I’d used it last.
An answering sob filled my ears as a hand gripped mine more tightly. A cool sensation flowed up my arm and I sank back into the darkness.
I WOKE alone in a hospital bed.
It was a sad indicator of the hole my life had become that no one was there to fuss over me. I pushed the call button to get the attention of a nurse to at least find out why the fuck I was even there. A matronly woman walked in—nothing like the nurses I would have liked to be treated by—and started to check my vitals with a string of questions on her lips. While she spoke, I recalled Morgan’s visit. Fucker. He’d put me into hospital—he’d never gone that hard on me before.
She was halfway through her examination when she brushed her fingers over my hand. The sensation reminded me of the vision I’d had of Alyssa crying at my side. Is her vision stalking me even here?
“Was there someone here?” I asked.
The nurse shook her head. “Not that I saw, hun,” she said. “I do have instructions to ring a”—she paused to read something off the chart—“Danny Sinclair when you’re awake and lucid.”
I offered what I hoped was a winning smile. “Can I not be awake and lucid for a little while longer?”
She frowned and waited for me to elaborate.
“He’s my boss. He’s going to chew me out as soon as he gets here. I just . . . need a break first. Please?”
A moment passed without her saying anything. Then she nodded. “I’ll wait until you’ve had some food at least. How are you feeling?”
I scoffed. “Do you want the truth?”
“Best not to sugar-coat it otherwise we won’t know if you’re healin’, will we?”
“In that case, I feel like shit.”
She chuckled before stifling it. “I’m not surprised. You’ve fractured two ribs and strained a few muscles to boot.”
“Well, fuck me.” It meant I would be out of the car for at least a month—maybe more. My season was all but over, and that was assuming Danny didn’t just fire my arse.
“There’ll be none of that for a little while,” the nurse said with a chuckle.
“Shit, really?” I pushed myself upright, and regretted it instantly as the pain in my chest vice-gripped my lungs.
“You need to give your ribs a chance to repair without undue stress.”
I didn’t tell her that a severe case of blue balls would be undue stress. “So a couple of days?” I asked, wondering whether I could do it.
“A couple of weeks, just to be on the safe side. And no heavy lifting in the meantime.”
Even though it was tempting to crack a joke about not being able to hold my junk then, I kept my mouth closed as I considered a couple of weeks without sex.
“What about . . .” I glanced around to make sure we
were definitely alone—the last thing I needed was for some pap to overhear me asking if I was still okay to jerk off. “Wanking,” I added in a whisper.
“The doctor will talk you through the dos and don’ts, I’m sure, but you’ll have to listen to your body. It’s the muscle spasms that will do you in.”
I winced as I thought about the ab-tightening, chest-compressing euphoria of an Alyssa-induced self-loving orgasm. “Damn.”
True to her word, the nurse didn’t call Danny until after I’d had something to eat, and was practically ready to be discharged. Instead of him coming in person, I was just left with a message to be at his office in two days. I doubted the meeting would bring anything good.
TWO DAYS later, after the team got back from Bathurst, I limped into Danny’s office and sat staring at the trophies that lined the wall behind him. It was easier than meeting the slate-grey gaze of the man I’d disappointed—and forced into spending a fortune in the process.
“You’re still hurt.” Somehow Danny’s observation came out as an accusation.
I hid my foot under the chair. Both my ribs and my ankle still hurt like a son of a bitch, but I’d done a decent enough job of managing by myself at home in the time since I was discharged from hospital.
I swallowed down my nerves. “It’s nothing.”
After narrowing his eyes at my assertion that I was still fit, he launched into a ten minute tirade about being a team and how my actions affected other people.
Even though it was almost impossible to hold my tongue, I did. Anything I said, any words I let loose in a sarcastic comeback, would only add fuel to the fire. Fuel that was definitely not needed in light of the crash, my injuries, and everything else.
After he’d finished his lecture, he laid three things in front of me—the latest issue of Gossip Weekly with my public threesome gracing the cover, a letter from the ProV8 officials, and a plain envelope.
“You’ve really messed things up for yourself this time, Declan,” Danny said, his voice firm. His grey hair looked like it had been through a wind tunnel, probably because of his nervous habit of running his fingers through it when he was stressed. Given the pressure of managing a ProV8 team, it was a wonder he wasn’t bald. He’d raked his hair no less than fifteen times since I’d entered his office.
I just nodded in response to his statement. What could I say, really? I couldn’t exactly deny any of it, the evidence was irrefutable.
“You’ve been fined ten thousand for your outburst at Bathurst,” he continued.
I nodded again. Ten grand. It was painful, but not unmanageable.
“And another ten for that display.” His hands indicated the magazine cover. “For bringing the sport into disrepute.”
Fuck.
Twenty thousand in fines in one week. I wondered whether maybe it was another record. As if my life wasn’t screwed up enough already. I knew better than to argue though; it wasn’t as though Danny had set the fines. Besides, he might have exuded calm at all times and seemed to be the very picture of patience, but I knew just how explosive he could be if you argued back.
Despite his short stature and thin frame, I’d seen him bring grown men to tears. I knew only one person who could put Danny in his place, and that was his wife, Hazel. Over the years, she’d made her thoughts on my womanising very clear, so I couldn’t count on her leaping to my defence anytime soon. Especially not after she’d seen me talking to Paige Wood. I wouldn’t be surprised if Danny brought that up next.
I waited for Danny to continue, but he just sat, hands clasped together, and assessed me. He knew how to psych out the competition, and at that moment, that was me. Leaning back in his chair, he crossed his arms with the accompanying sound of the creak of leather as his old jacket refused to move as swiftly as he did.
For a brief moment, I wondered whether I was excused. I hadn’t been explicitly dismissed from his office though, so I didn’t think I had been. I gulped down a breath and met his gaze again. There was still the matter of the third item. The plain envelope. The one I was almost certain held my marching orders. I almost hoped he’d say that it was just to put me out of my misery.
When Danny stared impassively at me for a moment longer—locked in a silent battle of wills I was sure to lose—the air in the room thickened into a palpable presence surrounding me, clawing down my throat as if trying to force words from me and the envelope loomed larger before me, magnified by my fear of it.
“Is—is there anything else?” I asked when I couldn’t handle the waiting any longer.
Danny frowned. “What do you think?”
“I—I don’t know.”
He stood and circled his desk, perching on the edge of it and gazing down at me. “What’s going on with you, Declan?”
My mouth went dry. I was tempted to say I didn’t know again, but I knew that wouldn’t satisfy him. Panic gripped my chest as I waited for him to say the words I knew were coming. He was going to ask what was wrong, I was going to tell him nothing, and then he was going to fire my arse.
I dropped my head. “It’s a ghost from my past,” I muttered down at my lap.
“And what, precisely, does this ghost have to do with me?”
“Nothing. It’s just something I need to deal with.”
“How?”
“What?” I looked up at him.
“How are you planning on dealing with it?” His gaze was steady, unwavering as his cold slate gaze assessed me.
“I just need some time?” It wasn’t assertive, or cocky, or anything of the things he probably expected of me. It was a sign of just how far I’d fallen in a few short months.
Danny spun around and grabbed the plain envelope, sliding it closer to me.
“What’s this?” I asked timidly as I took it into my hands.
He pushed himself off the desk and crossed to his window. “Open it.” His tone gave nothing away.
Swallowing down my fear, I peeled open the envelope slowly. There was no point speeding to the end of my career—or my dreams. Inside was a key and a smaller envelope with airline details printed on it.
“What’s this?” I asked again, my voice lifting as I examined the contents. It certainly wasn’t what I’d expected. Instead of the dreaded notice of dismissal, I’d pulled an airline ticket from the envelope and then inspected the details. It was a ticket to London on a flight due to leave the following day.
Danny crossed the room again and sat in his chair, his slate-grey gaze steady on me again. “You are taking the rest of the season off.”
It wasn’t what the doctor had indicated. After assessing the damage to my ribs—just a hairline fracture—she’d said there was a chance I could be back in the car again before the end of the season. There was no question in Danny’s voice though. The time off wasn’t a choice I was being offered, but a directive from the boss. Something I couldn’t argue with, not with the tenterhooks I was already hanging from.
That didn’t stop me from trying.
“What about the sponsors?” The team’s sponsors paid for a certain amount of track time each year, and the sponsorship money was refundable if that time wasn’t met.
Danny laughed sardonically. “This isn’t open for discussion, Declan.”
He leaned forward in his chair, placing his elbows on the desk, and then stared at me.
“Do you honestly think any of them will miss a crash every single meet? It’ll probably end up being cheaper for us to back out of every deal than to have to build a new car every couple of weeks. Besides, the way you’ve been driving, it’s unlikely we’ll meet the track time requirements anyway.”
I hung my head in shame. My cheeks burned red and I longed for a drink to take the edge off the guilt eating at my stomach.
“This is a one-time offer, kid. A last chance, so to speak,” Danny said. There wasn’t a trace of anger in his voice, but somehow that made it seem all the more serious. “Take the time off like you wanted. Go to London; the doctors have give
n you clearance to fly. Get your shit together, and then come back fresh next season and get back to winning me some races.”
I didn’t need to ask what would happen if I refused or if I couldn’t do what he wanted; the answer danced in his eyes. The ticket wasn’t much more than a stay of execution if I didn’t do as he ordered.
That didn’t stop me from questioning him though. “Why London?”
“Because you sure as shit haven’t sorted yourself out here. I think you need a change of scenery. Plus, it’ll keep you away from Morgan until he’s calmed a little.”
I nodded. “But what’s the key for?”
“An apartment I own in London. You’ll have free access to it while you’re there, but that’s the only thing I can offer you until you return for the preseason testing.”
“Thank you,” I whispered, even though I wasn’t sure that it shouldn’t have been, “Fuck you.”
I didn’t want someone telling me what to do, or where to holiday, but maybe he was on the right track. Maybe it was exactly what I needed—to get out of the country and away from any possible reminders of Alyssa.
It was a chance to try to get my head together. To break whatever hold it was that Alyssa had over me after one chance sighting of her happy smile in the arms of another. Happy without me.
“You do realise this means your pay will be suspended?”
I nodded, mentally calculating what I had in liquid assets. With luck and good management, I should’ve had enough to make it through to preseason without compromising too much of my lifestyle. I would miss the twenty grand I had to pay in fines that much more though.
“And I shouldn’t have to remind you that your contract is up for renewal next year. I’m a reasonable man. I’m willing to overlook this last six months, providing you can prove to me that you are back on top next season.”
After standing and gathering up the documents with all the fines, I offered him a small smile. At least it wasn’t an outright dismissal. There had certainly been enough grounds for one. “Thank you, Danny.”
Declan Reede: The Untold Story (Complete Series) Page 15