Decipher (Declan Reede: The Untold Story #3) (9 page)

“Shit, Lys, I’ve gotta go.” I tossed out a quick, “Call you later,” before hopping up from the dining table and heading to the door to meet Christina.

CHAPTER NINE: CLEANING UP

“HI.”

WHEN I MET Christina near the front door, she stopped in her tracks. Her green eyes widened at my greeting and her hands moved to play with her mousey-brown hair. She unknotted and retied the messy bun as she returned my hello.

After the initial greeting, I was uncertain where to start or how to approach her. Even though she came to my house every Thursday, we’d never really had much conversation. Usually, she’d be in and out without more than a handful of words shared between us. “We need to talk.”

“Okay?” She blinked, clearly still uncertain about how to take my direct approach.

I led her over to the kitchen table.

Indicating a chair, I said, “Sit. Please.”

Smoothing down her skirt, she sat. Then she folded her hands in front of her and watched me with uncertainty in her gaze.

“You know how easy you’ve made my life over the years, don’t you?”

“Sorry?”

“Having you come and clean, do the washing, all of that shit. It’s made my life so fucking easy.”

“It’s my job, Mr. Reede.” Initially, I’d hired her mother, Susan, but when Susan had gotten sick, Christina had taken over all of the clients and we’d had a great working relationship ever since. Christina understood that I didn’t want to be disturbed and kept to herself whenever she came. She’d handled everything to do with maintaining the house and keeping my closet stocked with clean clothes. She’d done it all silently and mostly in the background. She’d been fucking discreet about my ways and had earned a decent Christmas bonus off me every year because of it.

“Yeah, maybe, but you’ve done a good one. I want you to know that. I want you to know I’ve appreciated it even though I’ve never really said it.”

“Okay. Sorry, but what’s this about?”

“Do you read gossip magazines?”

Her eyes widened and she swallowed hard before squirming in her seat. The reaction was enough to confirm that even if she didn’t make a habit of reading them, she knew the reason behind my question.

I found myself smiling in spite of the situation. “Obviously you’ve seen the one I’m talking about at least.”

“I saw something, and I wasn’t sure what to believe.” With some of the things she’d seen and parties she’d had to clean up after, it didn’t surprise me that she suspected some truth in the words. “But of course it’s not my place to speculate.”

Something told me that she had in fact speculated regardless of her assertions.

“I don’t really give a flying fuck what anyone thinks about what was printed, but it’s mostly bullshit.”

She nodded, but I could see her mind working. No doubt she was trying to figure out the “mostly” part.

“After it was released though, Sinclair Racing released me from my contract.” The words seemed almost too gentle for what had actually happened, but I couldn’t bring myself to say anything worse. “Because of that, I’m going to have to start cutting costs.”

“Oh.” Her gaze met mine. “I understand.”

“I’m sorry. If I could keep you on, I absolutely would. You know how domestic I am.” I chuckled at the thought. Alyssa really didn’t know what she was getting herself into. I didn’t expect her to do everything, in fact unless I found a job I knew the bulk of it would likely fall on me, but that didn’t mean I had a single fucking clue what I’d have to do.

“No, no. It’s okay, I get it.”

I felt bad to be giving her the shaft after close to two years. “Can you work through to Christmas? I’ll probably be going away again soon, and I’d like to know there’s someone looking after the house.”

She smiled, her eyes softening and her posture relaxing. “Sure. At least, I’ll stay until then unless I find another client to fill the gap.”

“That works for me. Thank you, for everything you’ve done for me.”  

We made a little small talk around her mother’s health. She said it was deteriorating less rapidly than it had been—which was the most anyone could hope for. After that, she set about doing her job and I headed into the study to find out just how bad the website article the paparazzo at the airport had mentioned was.

Only seconds after I’d clicked to load the website I saw how bad it was, but despite that I felt nothing but relief. The article painted me as a monster unable to control my temper, but I didn’t care because there were no photos of Phoebe. It made me think Alyssa was right—they’d been told to target me. It was clear they were still trying to paint me in a negative light, and showing happy snaps of the family man I’d become wouldn’t do that. It made me more certain than ever that there was something more behind it.

It was good and bad because it meant it would likely continue until I took Paige up on her offer. Or found some way to prove that she was behind the article.

If only I knew how to do that.

The need to figure out who was trying to ruin my life was strong. If it was Paige Wood, as I suspected,  I needed a way to gather some evidence to prove it. Despite that, I decided to follow Alyssa’s advice. I opened up the job search website and started scrolling through jobs in the area.

Three pages in, I still had no idea what exactly I wanted to do. No, I knew what I wanted—to race—but it was impossible. I grabbed my phone and texted some of the drivers who’d left messages about my dismissal from Sinclair Racing. I didn’t say much, but quietly put my feelers to the ground for information about any roles available with their teams.

Once I’d done that, I returned to the list of jobs on my screen. Accountant. Lawyer. Panel beater. Data entry. Apprentice chef. Dish-hand. Everything either required a trade and experience, or sounded as boring as bat shit. It wasn’t that I expected to come in at the top, just that nothing grabbed my attention. I was just contemplating giving up and getting off the computer to look for something for dinner when my phone rang.

It was Alyssa.

“Dec, they’ve done it again.”

“Who’s done what?”

“There’s a new article about you up at
Gossip Weekly Online
.”

“Yeah, I know,” I said, letting her know I’d already seen it. “That fucking pap yesterday sure made me look like a violent arsehole.”

“No, Dec. A new, new one. It seems someone is determined to keep you in front of the public, and maybe drive a wedge between us.”

Fuck.
I reopened the website. It loaded instantly and on the front page was a picture of Christina unlocking my front door. The headline screamed about cats being away and mice playing.

“Just hours after his love child and her mother left his luxury home, Declan Reede was spotted entertaining a mystery guest.”

I couldn’t read any more. “Fuck.”

“What’s going on?” Alyssa asked. Her voice didn’t seem to hold any suspicion or doubt, so I didn’t think the question was about the article, but I couldn’t be certain. I didn’t want to lose her over something as stupid as a fucking employee though.

“That’s Christina, she’s my housekeeper. Nothing—”

“I don’t mean that. I mean why are they doing this? Why put up those pictures, and yet leave me and Phoebe alone? What’s the game?”

I told her about my suspicion that it was all part of a plan to make me a villain. The words Paige had said to me on the phone played in my mind. That it was all about the spin. I wondered whether that was the plan—make me look as bad as possible and then use my family in an attempt to improve my image just as fast. Was that the reason the paparazzi had so far avoided the shots I had thought would’ve been the most valuable? Was that why I had such a small but seemingly dedicated group of paps following me?

Or maybe I was just being paranoid.

One thing was clear—I had to get to the bottom of it. And to do that, I had to figure out who the fuck T was and why her paps were following me.

CHAPTER TEN: CABIN FEVER

I PACED THE length of my living room. With each day I faced alone, I grew a little bit crazier.

The qualifying session for the Bahrain race played on my TV in the background but it wasn’t doing much to calm or even distract me. Somehow, the weekend had already arrived and I felt like I was trapped in my own home. Technically I
could
go out. But where. And why?

I’d tried calling Alyssa, but she wasn’t answering. I was stuck alone and unless I wanted to go outside and invite the handful of paparazzi doing a rotating shift in front of my house in for dinner, I had no one to entertain me.

Morgan’s name on the TV drew my attention momentarily as he claimed the fastest lap of the session. My lips curled up in celebration before falling again as Hunter’s car, decked out in the Wood Racing livery, flashed onto the screen, showing he was faster in the splits. I wondered whether the fact that he was nearing the end of his last season with Wood Racing would give him more or less incentive to win.

“Fucker!”

My pacing started again, heading from one end of the lounge to the other. As it did, the words of my finance broker played over and over in my mind. With my current expenses, I would probably have enough in liquid savings to last until Christmas, maybe the end of January.

Cashing out my longer-term investments would maybe get me another twelve months, even with getting rid of the cost of having Christina clean my house. After that, I was fucked unless I could get some income coming in. An income greater than I could earn flipping patties at the local burger joint. I had no idea how I was going to do it, especially when the costs of two extra people were factored in.

Why had I been so reckless with my money? All of the nights where I’d dropped a grand at the casino, a few hundred at a strip club, or God only knew how much in the VIP room of a nightclub. All of those stupid nights out that I could barely remember because of the free-flowing alcohol. If I’d stayed home for even half of them, I could have had enough money to last another few months. To go from not having to worry about what money was coming in because it was always more than I spent to having nothing was an adjustment I wasn’t sure I could make.

The clawing sensation of icy fingers at my throat grew as I looped around in front of the couch again. My chest tightened and my breaths grew shorter—each breath shallower than the last. My fingers clenched and unclenched as my steps grew longer and faster, so each lap of the room took less time. The walls closed in on me and the sound from the TV seemed to come through a tunnel.

My throat ached, screaming for the delicious burn that only a shot could bring. I tried to roll my tongue around my mouth, but it felt sticky and swollen. As if it were three sizes too big and couldn’t fit behind my teeth any longer.

On my next loop, I stumbled. My feet were moving too fast and I couldn’t control them. The ceiling pressed downward and I fell to my knees to sink away from it. Curling into a ball, I gasped for air. It was too much.

I needed . . .
something
.

I needed Alyssa. Only, she was a thousand Ks away.

Without her, only one thing could get me through. I needed a fucking drink.

Forcing myself to my feet, I staggered into the hall even as I gasped for air. I leaned against the wall and tried to catch my breath. When I reached the side table, I grabbed my Monaro keys and headed out to the garage.

I needed to get out of the house. There was a bottle-o up the road where I could find what I needed.

With my breath coming in sharp, painful pants, I forced myself to move to my car. After I climbed into the driver seat, I shoved the key in the ignition and pushed the button to lift the garage door.

Two seconds after the purr of the engine echoed around me, the radio kicked into life.

Blaring from the speakers was a CD we’d listened to on the way to the airport and that Alyssa had forgotten. A fucking CD full of stupid Aussie nursery rhymes and songs that Phoebe loved.

The icy claws of panic that had held my heart in a vice grip only seconds earlier disappeared at the sound of the beginning bars of “Teddy Bear’s Picnic.” A peal of laughter burst from me. Even though she was almost a thousand Ks away, Phoebe could warm my heart. I flicked the car into reverse as a plan for the rest of the day doing came into my mind. Instead of drowning myself in the bottom of a bottle of whiskey, I’d get started on a new project. After all, I’d promised my little girl I’d paint her room.

On the way to the hardware store I thought about the fact that I’d have to mention the renewed panic attack to Dr. Henrikson. My meeting with him the day before had been relatively uneventful. There was an initial layer of awkwardness being face-to-face with him again. Of being able to see his reactions to my admissions rather than making them into the impersonal speaker of a phone.

Despite that, we hadn’t really covered too much that we hadn’t spoken about earlier. He once again expressed concern that Alyssa and I were perhaps moving things too fast with her moving into my house, but he countered the statement with his delight that her influence on me was so positive.

By the end of the session, we’d done little more than set a structure in place that would allow my continued visits for as little money as possible. After he’d finished laying out his plans, I almost had to take back all the cracks I’d made over the years about him being opportunistic. They were true at the time, and if I was still raking in the big bucks he probably still would have charged top dollar. But with my chips down, he showed he did care about more than just the bucks in his bank account.

I wondered what he’d have thought about my little project to paint Phoebe’s room. No doubt he’d have some warning about how dangerous it was to make big life decisions in a time of crisis, but fuck him. Paint colours were hardly life-altering, and if it made Phoebe’s life that little more comfortable when she returned to our house, that was all that mattered.

An hour later, I returned home with all the essentials to paint and redecorate her room, including tins of paint the precise shade of purple that Phoebe had selected on the computer, rollers, and drop sheets.

Walking past the TV I’d left on in my haste to get out the door, I saw that Morgan had claimed pole over that fucker Hunter, which put a smile on my face. Sometimes good things did happen.

The rest of the afternoon was a meld of physical labour and painting. First I stripped the bedroom out, then I laid the drop sheets. As I used the rollers to paint the walls, I discovered I had no idea what I was really doing. The paint went in every direction, coating some areas darker than others. Even though it threatened to overwhelm me, I took a deep breath and started again.

I was halfway through my second coat when I wondered whether maybe I should paint the whole house. Maybe it would get rid of the ghosts of the past. Before I could get that far, I shut down the idea. One thing was clear: I had too much time on my hands. Before long, I’d be tearing down the walls just for the sake of it.

“HEY, DEC.” Alyssa’s voice was a welcome change from the monotony of silence I’d been surrounded with all day. “You want to see me and Phoebe again as soon as possible, right?”

Her voice was ringing with excitement—she was planning something. “Uh, yeah.”

“Are you free next weekend?”

“Unless a job miraculously falls into my lap, I’ll be free for the rest of my fucking life. Why?”

“Well, Flynn came over for dinner tonight—”

I clenched my jaw at the mention of his name. Even though I’d agreed to try with him for Alyssa’s sake, that didn’t mean I had to like the smug arsehole, or the way he spoke to me. He always seemed so fucking happy about my misery that it wouldn’t have surprised me if he was laughing it up big time after the
Gossip Weekly
article and subsequent online stories. Fucker probably thought it was all my just desserts or something.

“—and he had a really good idea.”

“Uh huh.” I couldn’t manage to form any other words or I risked saying something I’d regret.

“He suggested we have a mini-break. Just you and me.”

I wasn’t sure I’d heard her right, but it didn’t seem like she needed a response from me anyway.

“He thought it could be a good chance to get everything out in the open. You know, a weekend where nothing is off limits. Where every question we ask each other has to be answered, regardless of how bad the answer might be.”

Fucker! There wasn’t a doubt in my mind that he was trying to set me up for a fall. And what about Phoebe? Where the fuck was she supposed to go while we had this weekend away?

“And the more I think about it, the more I think it’s a great idea.”

“Where?” It wasn’t what I wanted to ask, but I wasn’t sure what else I could say. Even though I wanted to say no, I couldn’t. If I argued against it, she’d only think I had something to hide. Even though the words, “Fuck Flynn and his fucking idea,” were on the tip of my tongue, I couldn’t let them go.

After all, Dr. Henrikson had made a similar, albeit less outright, suggestion. In my session, he’d advocated getting everything between Alyssa and me out in the open. Especially with the paparazzi breathing down my neck, seemingly desperate for a scandal. At least if Alyssa knew everything, anything they dug up that could threaten the happiness we had would be meaningless. Or at least, she’d be aware of it long before it could become an issue. On the doc’s advice, I’d already decided I was going to share any details she wanted, but I’d hoped it would be at our own pace and not all at once. And certainly not to a timeframe dictated by her fucking friend.

Obviously my discomfort over the idea was evident in my question because when Alyssa answered, it was with less confidence than before. “We don’t have to do it. I mean, if you don’t want to, I’m not going to force you to. It has to be something we both agree on or it’ll be pointless anyway.” 

“It’s okay. It might be good for us.” My jaw was still tightly clenched so I had to force the words out between my teeth.

“Can you pick us up at the airport on Friday and drop us back the next Monday?”

“Airport?”

“Yeah, I, uh, I’ve already booked a weekend up at a motel near Bondi. It was a last-minute special and I . . . well, I really think it’s worth us going there for our weekend of truth. I mean, I booked it hoping you would agree, but figured the deal was worth it even if I just had to use it for some time away. I could take Mum and Phoebe for a girls’ weekend or something instead, if you’d rather.”

There was no way Alyssa was going to come to Sydney and not spend time with me. “No, it’s okay. I can pick you up.”

“Great. Mum’s going to come with me to watch Phoebe for the night. Did you want her to book a hotel?”

A weekend of letting Alyssa sort through my dirty past and having to see Ruth again for the first time since the magazine shit went down.
Fucking great.

“Dec?”

A silent sigh slipped from my lips. “No, of course not. She can stay here. Hopefully Phoebe will be a little more comfortable than if she’s at a hotel.”

I found out all the details before disconnecting the call. The excitement that overtook her voice for the rest of the conversation almost made everything I’d agreed to worth it. Almost.

Placing my phone down on the counter, I closed my eyes and said a silent prayer for strength. And for Alyssa. There was so much I needed to tell her, and I could only hope my demons wouldn’t chase her away.

As if to stave away the panic, the memory of the ring I’d purchased before our do-over date at the Suncrest Hotel flittered through my mind. Needing to have it in my hands again, to confirm that I was doing the right thing—that we were heading in the right direction—I headed straight to my bedroom. Digging through the top drawer of my dresser, I shoved aside my boxers and stray socks to find the little velvet box I’d hidden there shortly after Alyssa arrived on my doorstep.

Flicking open the black lid, I looked at the ring. The diamond was bigger than I remembered. I was fucking grateful I’d purchased it before I’d lost my job or I never would have splashed out on something so extravagant.

I gently plucked the white gold ring from the stand inside the box and held it between my fingers. It was the perfect ring for Alyssa. Slender enough to be feminine, but still packed with enough diamonds to shine like her inner beauty. The one-carat princess-cut diamond in the centre was set in a twist at a forty-five degree angle to the rest of the stones. I’d picked that setting because the rotation of the main stone represented the twists we’d faced on our way back to each other.

Cradling the ring between my fingers, the words Alyssa had spoken the night before she’d left Sydney floated back to me. Of wanting to chase away the ghosts and exorcise the demons from my past. That’s what the weekend was about. If we were strong, the weekend would purely be a continuation of that process. My cock grew hard at the thought, because it would be two days and a night of nothing but Alyssa.

Besides, she knew most of the shit, and she was still there for me. Still willing to give me her trust despite the campaign
Gossip Weekly
seemed to be running against me.