Decline (Declan Reede: The Untold Story #1) (4 page)

CHAPTER FIVE: SURPRISE ENDINGS

AFTER I GOT home, I camped out on the couch to assess my shitty-arsed weekend. With a cold beer in my hand, I tried to ignore the ghost of Alyssa dancing just behind my eyes. It was proving hard though, especially when I was inside my own head trying to concentrate on anything except the ache in my ankle and the pain that was blossoming steadily over my side.

I couldn’t help but wonder how things had slid so out of control so fast. One thing was clear, Danny would demand some answers when I saw him next, and I knew I’d better have some damn good ones if I wanted to stay on the team.

I sighed. Maybe the first step to moving on was working out where my life had started to go wrong. The problem was that
nothing
had changed. Not really. I knew that—was acutely aware of it. The reality was before I’d seen Alyssa again, I was fine. After seeing her with the new man in her life, I was fucked. But the sighting hadn’t
changed
a single goddamned thing.

When I’d first left Brisbane, I’d realised Alyssa was going to date again—so that hadn’t changed. I hadn’t
said
anything to her when I saw her—so that hadn’t changed. I hadn’t made any embarrassing cock-ups or done something which would sear myself into her memory or her into mine.
Nothing
. There was no fundamental shift or cosmic U-turn which had occurred. I still felt the same as I always had, only now she was
there
whenever I closed my eyes. Fresher in my mind maybe, and sexier than ever.

It wasn’t like I wanted Alyssa back in my life though. Not really. She might have been the subject of my fantasies on the rare occasions I jerked off, but that wasn’t a sign of anything serious. Neither was it new. It had been that way ever since I’d left her. There was logic in that though. She’d been the one woman who’d had something of a semipermanent role in my sex life when we were younger, during my formative years at that. With my revolving bedroom door and buffet of choices, I never had time to study any of the women long enough to actually remember faces or specific details. That was all it was, I was certain of it.

Besides, I doubted there were many red-blooded men who wouldn’t fantasise about Alyssa if they’d seen her naked. Especially the way she’d bloomed in the last four years. I swallowed hard just thinking about it. Some things hadn’t changed though: she still had the ideal girl-next-door look, clearly still didn’t slather her face with inches of make-up, and I was certain still had just enough snark in her personality to guarantee a wild night in bed.

Is she wild in bed
? My palm slid down to caress my cock before I’d given it a thought.
I bet she is
.

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.