There was one way I knew of to do it.
The thought gave me a small sense of purpose. It was weak, and I didn’t know how long it would last, but it was enough to force me to set the bottle of whiskey beside me, climb to my feet, and get to my study.
After stumbling across the room, I yanked open the drawers. With one hand leaning on the wood to support myself, I rifled through the shit in my desk to find what I wanted.
Without letting myself stop and think about what I was doing, I slammed the pen and piece of paper onto the desk and sat my arse on the chair. In that moment, I knew it was vital that I tell her what she meant to me, even if she never believed a word of it. I would write her a fucking letter and I would make her read it.
Somehow.
If I had to, I would mail a copy of it to anyone whose life she’d ever touched. Hopefully at least one of them would be able to convince her to read my honest words.
Alyssa,
I’ve made so many mistakes over the years when it comes to you. To us. So many that it would be impossible to even try to list them all.
The first, and biggest, was letting you go.
I can never fix the wounds inflicted by that one action, or change what happened next. There is nothing I can do to wipe away the consequences of that decision. I’ve hurt you in ways I can’t even imagine.
Because of all the ways I’ve fucked up, I know I don’t deserve anything from you, least of all your understanding or acceptance. But I still want you to know what you mean to me. The time I spent with you in Brisbane was so fucking perfect. I might never be able to find the words to tell you exactly how special it was. All I can say is that rediscovering you was the best thing that could have ever happened to me. Despite what happened after it.
I promise that no matter what anyone else says, I was completely and utterly faithful to you for every second I was with you. You’re the only woman I want for the rest of my life, but I get why you ran. I’ve screwed up so utterly and completely that you may never be able to find it in your heart to forgive me.
Just know that for those few weeks I was happy, genuinely fucking happy, for the first time in I don’t know how long. Ever since I moved to Sydney, there’s been a void in my life. An absence that I’ve tried to fill. But I’ve never been able to. That’s why I turned to drugs. To other women. Even to alcohol. I tried it all to see me through when all I really needed was something much more wholesome and pure.
You.
I can see that now. You are by far the best thing that has ever happened to me. The best thing that ever could happen to me, save for Phoebe.
Our little miracle.
I’d never expected fatherhood to be like this, to feel like this. I would lay my life on the line if it would guarantee her safety and happiness. I’ve only known her for a few short weeks, but I can’t imagine ever forgetting the impact she’s had on my life.
That is why I have to beg you, even if you can’t find it in your heart to forgive me, please don’t take Phoebe from my life as well. Please allow me to continue to be her father. It pains me to think that I’ve lost you, but if I were to lose her as well . . . it would kill me.
If you can’t offer me that, then please can you at least make sure she always knows she was made by love, even if things got a little broken along the way?
With the way things are right now, I don’t expect anything more from you. I hope in time, you’ll recognise the honesty in my words. Maybe you could even find some small degree of forgiveness in your heart. Regardless, I need you to understand that you will always be my only true love. You will always be the last one on my mind when I go to sleep and the first one I think of when I wake up in the morning.
I love you, Lys. I always have and that will never, ever stop, even if the reverse isn’t true.
Yours forever,
Declan.
Once I was happy with the words, I rewrote the letter a number of times. I didn’t care how many tears I shed over the pages. When I was done, I folded each of the copies up and placed them in envelopes ready to send to any address with even the loosest connection to Alyssa. I didn’t know if it would be enough to get her to understand, but I had to try something. I couldn’t just let her go without some fight, however pathetic it might be.
With that task done, and the purpose it had instilled in me burned out, I made a fresh move toward the alcohol. Plucking the bottle from the floor, I balanced it in the crook of my elbow. Then, reaching into my liquor cabinet above the wet bar, and the bar fridge below, I gathered up every bottle. Without letting myself think about what I was doing, or feel guilty for what came next, I carried them upstairs.
The mere sight of the drinks tempted me, calling to me like a mistress and begging me to give in.
Just a little bit.
The bottom of each bottle held the promise of oblivion and a temporary peace. Not long ago, I wouldn’t have even paused before draining every single drop in a desperate attempt to find that momentary forgetfulness.
Even as the thought of the numbness I could achieve entered my mind, Alyssa’s words from the day we made our agreement replaced it. They ran through my mind as the bottles clinked together in my arms. “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?”
As much as I wanted to drink it—all of it—I couldn’t.
I couldn’t do it to Alyssa or Phoebe.
I couldn’t do it to myself.
When I reached the top of the stairs, I headed for the bathroom and lined the bottles up in a row on the floor. The longer they were in the house, the stronger their siren call would become. I had just enough reason left to be certain I wasn’t strong enough to resist for long.
Even as I stared at the bottles, there was a small voice in the back of my head that whispered to me, working to convince me to keep just one bottle aside. To drink just a little. Whispering that I could stop after one.
A little bit wouldn’t hurt. One glass. One sip.
Something.
Anything.
Tuning out the voice as best as I could, I shifted so that I was standing next to the line-up of booze. One by one, I picked up the bottles and hurled them into the bathtub. I flinched away as the bottle exploded on impact, sending shards of glasses flying around the tub.
The sound of the glass crashing and the liquid glugging down the drain filled me with a sick sense of purpose. Each smash brought back another memory of Alyssa, or of Phoebe. Of things that I’d done in the precious time that I’d had with them. Such a minute amount of time out of my whole twenty-two years, and I’d lost it again already.
The images raced on repeat.
Our family trip to McDonalds. Smash.
My date nights with Alyssa. Crash.
The trip to the track where I was able to show Alyssa the reason for my passion toward V8s, and thought she’d finally understood.
The last thought stopped me cold. Mid-throw, I held on to the bottle of vodka. That trip to the track was the one Gossip Weekly had featured in their exposé. The private moment Alyssa and I had shared, on display for the whole of Australia to fucking see. My hands shook as the happy memory burned at the edges. The bottle in my hand weighed more and more with every passing second.
The voice in my head screamed that it would be a lighter load if I just pressed the neck to my lips. If I drank down a draught—just a shot—of the clear liquid, it would make things better. It would ease the pain that surged through my body. Lessen the ache in my heart. Shake the memories from my head.
It would be one tiny step toward oblivion.
Toward peace.
It was so fucking tempting it was ridiculous.
One. Just one sip. Now.
Do it!
Sucking in a deep breath, I tossed the bottle across the bathroom just like I had all the rest. It landed higher than the others had, smashing into the tiles on the wall behind the tub. When it broke, I fell to my knees on the cold tiles and buried my face in my hands.
What have I done?
The voice in my mind cried a lament for the loss of my salvation and kicked off the chain reaction that threatened to drive off the last of my sanity. My chest constricted, my heart sped, and I couldn’t focus on anything but the rising panic clawing at my throat—the beast the alcohol would have appeased. Closing my eyes, I ran my affirming mantra through my head. I can get through this; I’ve had one before and I made it through then. I can get through this; I’ve had one before and I made it through then.
It barely worked, but barely was enough. After another couple of calming breaths, I stood. Without another glance, I turned my back on the alcohol-stained, glass-filled tub to drag myself into my bedroom.
I’d intended to cocoon myself under my blankets, but simply stepping foot into that room filled the space with inescapable memories. Ghosts of the past rose up to surround me, boxing me in with my own regret. The gasps and wanton cries of so many random screws flooded the space around me. Although I preferred my conquests far away from my private areas, there were still plenty that had made it through the door. Who’d given themselves to the great Declan Reede to do with as he pleased.
Fuck.
It was no wonder Alyssa was gone. No wonder she didn’t want to put up with my shit anymore. I was poison of the worst kind. Even though I hadn’t cheated on her while we’d been together, I’d done it so often in the time we were apart. Each time I’d bedded a new woman, it was always a way to stave away visions of Alyssa for just one more night. Even when I hadn’t admitted it to myself, I loved her. And yet, I’d fucked them all.
Fucking arse!
Needing a place as dark as I was inside, I squeezed into a tight corner in the back of my wardrobe, shutting out both light and life. It hid me from the ghosts and the demons that haunted my bedroom and quietened the cacophony of remembered moans in my mind.
Safely tucked away, I let the pain take me. Every tear I’d ever held in. Every curse I’d ever bitten back. Every bit of pain and agony that I’d ever suppressed came to the surface. A wave of remorse so powerful it threatened to wipe away every piece of me rose up, and I curled in on myself, letting it sweep me into the abyss.
Four years of wasted life ripped into my chest like a monster from a childhood nightmare, tearing me apart at the seams.
My throat was dry and ached with my need for a drink. My lips were parched and no matter how many times I wet them, they ached. Only booze would soothe the fire, but I’d smashed every bottle and lost every drop.
Fucking idiot! How could you be so stupid?
The pounding in my head crashed against my skull so hard that it rattled my mind and left me breathless.
Flashes of the life I’d missed with Phoebe rushed through me. The mistrust Alyssa had shown me—the look in her eyes whenever she didn’t believe my promise that I wouldn’t leave again—raced through my mind. Thoughts of my son, Emmanuel, and the fact I’d never hold him in my arms like I might have been able to if I’d been at Alyssa’s side through it all. Rage at the unfairness that he’d never grow up burned my soul before razing through me like a bushfire.
Instead of being there for Alyssa, for Phoebe, and for Emmanuel, I’d been in Sydney with a revolving bedroom door.
The thoughts were stolen away when I gave in to the chest-wracking sobs that struck me. Each sob was so painful, I was certain it would be my last. It was beyond me to fight the beast back, so I gave up and let it consume me.
I longed for the bliss of unconsciousness and cursed that I had nothing to speed me into the darkness. A few tablets, a shot, anything.
At some point, someone knocked on my front door, as if trying to draw me back from the ledge. At first, I could barely hear it, but then whoever it was banged against it harder than before. The sound offered tiny distractions from my destructive darkness, but I couldn’t find it in myself to move. Nor could I give the pounding anything more than a moment’s attention.
I couldn’t even raise my head to acknowledge the noise. There was no way I would be able to climb to my feet, trudge down the stairs, and answer it. Ultimately, it didn’t matter who it was because nothing mattered anymore.
Everything important to me was gone.
My career, which had once flown so high, had sunk to depths so low that I couldn’t see any way for it to be salvaged. It was in the trash somewhere in Danny’s office, hidden among the pages of a glossy magazine.
By far the worst loss I had endured though was the love and family that I’d barely admitted I wanted. They’d been cruelly ripped from my life far too soon, just when I was finding hope for a different future. I would give back everything I’d ever achieved on the track for another day with Alyssa. For just a single hour more with Phoebe.
After some time, the banging stopped, and I was alone again. I didn’t know minutes from hours, or hours from days. I could have been hiding in the back of my wardrobe for any length of time. I had no idea, nor any inclination to care.
The blackness in my heart and surrounding my eyes was too absolute. I was happy to reside in that pit for the rest of eternity. I deserved it for the darkness I’d bestowed on those who’d done nothing but offer me their love.
Thoughts of Alyssa crept into my mind again, invading all my senses. Reckless hope that she might one day see the article was a fabrication created a devastating cocktail when mixed with unending despair that she never would. Together the hope and fear twisted through my insides, forming knots that might never be undone.
Eventually, my mind cracked, and I heard the voice of an angel call my name.
For a moment, the beautiful sound held me in place as my heart began to beat once more—whole and undamaged at just the imagined sound of my name in that perfect voice. When it called again, it compelled me to rise from the ground. It was enough to pull me from my hiding space and send me hurtling out of my bedroom. Especially as it continued to call my name on a desperate loop, sounding more concerned with each repeat.
Racing down the hallway, I tried to work out where the sound was coming from.
When I reached the stairs, the sight waiting for me at the bottom stopped me dead in my tracks as my heart all but exploded in my chest.
CHAPTER TWO: THE DREAM
ALYSSA WAITED ON the ground floor. At the sight of her, I said a silent thank you to whatever god had granted my prayers.
She was dressed in the same clothing she’d worn when she’d left me at the airport. Her hair was up in a ponytail, but little strands of chestnut poked out at random intervals as if she’d been rubbing at her head repeatedly. Tears streaked her face, and it looked like she had just endured the worst twenty-four hours of her life.
In that moment though, it didn’t matter. Because she was there.
I didn’t know if she was getting ready to scream and shout at me for the stupid things the magazine had accused me of doing, but I didn’t care. She was there.
“Lys,” I sobbed.
At the exact same time, she glanced up at me and whispered, “Dec.”
I threw myself down the stairs with no regard for my own safety. I took them two at a time, screaming toward the bottom as fast as I could. My only goal—my one objective—was to get to Alyssa. I needed to hold her and know that she was really there, that it wasn’t some sick joke my mind had invented to torture me.
My heart beat against my throat, each painful thump evidence that this was real.
As soon as I hit solid ground, Alyssa’s warm body smashed against mine. Her hands grasped my face, guiding my lips to their home. My tongue pushed forward without waiting for invitation, attempting to imprint the memory of her taste on itself just in case this was the las
t time she would ever allow me the opportunity.
My hands gripped her waist and I pulled her against me, not allowing even an inch of space between us. Despite that, I couldn’t get nearly close enough. I had to prove to myself that it wasn’t a dream. Even though I could see, feel, and taste her, I still couldn’t believe she was actually there.
After releasing her mouth, I planted continuous small kisses on her lips and cheek. Her name left me again and again as a reverent prayer. With each passing second, the light of her presence penetrated further into the darkness that had welled up inside me.
Finally, I laughed in spite of myself.
The joy I felt at having her close again pushed aside any concerns that it wouldn’t be for long.
“I can’t believe you’re really here.” I chuckled again as I rested my forehead against hers. I kept the questions of how and why suppressed because I didn’t want to break the spell that was keeping her in my arms.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
I shook my head and gently clasped her face between my hands as I continued to pepper her with kisses. “It doesn’t matter how I am. I don’t matter. You’re here. You’re really here.”
But for how long?
“Dec,” she started, but I stopped her.
“I need to talk to you. About the magazine. About Eden . . .” I trailed off as I braced myself for the worst. When I thought about the fucking magazine, about how guilty it all made me appear, I wasn’t sure how exactly to form the words I needed to say without risking losing her.
“It’s too late,” she said. “I already know about your relationship.”
Decipher (Declan Reede: The Untold Story #3) Page 2
