Decline (Declan Reede: The Untold Story #1)

by Michelle Irwin

She shrugged. “Complications.”

  “How did you know about the condom thing?” It was a weird, random thought that flew from my mouth long before I’d managed to stifle it. It had just sprung from my lips the moment it entered my head. When she’d said I always wore them, it wasn’t a question, she’d known. Somehow.

  “Darcy Kinsley,” she said as if that name was supposed to explain everything.

  “What?”

  “You slept with her almost a year ago. She took great pride in telling me all about it, including the little detail that you’d told her about condoms.”

  “Why?” I tried to remember Darcy. I remembered her from school, trouble-making bitch that she was, but I had nothing more recent than that. It must have been evident on my face because Alyssa laughed at something she saw there.

  “Yeah, I figured it was like that. Apparently, it was at a masked ball on New Year’s Eve. She recognised you immediately because of your eyes. Such an odd colour blue; not many people have truly turquoise eyes like yours.” Alyssa seemed to smile at something unseen, before shaking herself back to attention. “Anyway, apparently you fucked her in the cloakroom. But not until you’d hunted through half the bags looking for a condom to do it, even though she swore she was on the pill.”

  I swallowed heavily as her words jogged the memory of that night in my head. Truthfully, I had no fucking idea I knew the chick. She was just another blonde. Just another screw. Nothing special or memorable, except for the fact that we never removed our masks.

  One thing didn’t make sense about Alyssa’s admission. “Why would she tell you all that though? It’s not like you’re friends. Or are you now?” Maybe that was one of the things I’d missed by being away.

  Alyssa shook her head, the deep sorrow at the corners of her mouth back in force.

  “No, we’re not friends. She told me because . . .” She stopped and stared at her hands for a second before bursting into tears “Because I . . . God, Dec, I—I tried to tell you . . . I really did . . . but . . .” She disintegrated into tears and giant, gulping sobs.

  My arms were around her, comforting her, before I could even think of all the reasons why I shouldn’t.

  “Hey, now, what’s wrong?” I asked, swiping the fresh tears from her eyes with the pads of my thumbs.

  She shook her head and sobbed into my shoulder. “I wanted . . . I tried . . .” She was drawing deep gasps of air. If I didn’t know better, I would have thought she was having a panic attack. “You . . . you need—”

  There was a knock on the door. I frowned at the interruption before I remembered the food that she’d ordered.

  I unwrapped myself from Alyssa and grabbed my wallet. Because I’d left early and the cash exchange wasn’t open in Sydney airport, I hadn’t had a chance to get any money converted. When we’d landed, I’d been so focused on not letting Alyssa out of my sight the thought to get cash changed hadn’t even crossed my mind.

  “Do you take Visa?” I asked the delivery boy after I opened the door for him.

  He shook his head. “Cash only, sorry.”

  “There’re some pounds in my purse,” Alyssa whispered. She was curled up into a ball on the couch. “It’s on the counter.”

  I reached out to grab it, when Alyssa shouted. “No! Shit! Declan, stop!”

  Practically flying from the couch, she leapt for me. She was inches from me, hand held out to grab her purse, but it was too late. I’d already found what she was clearly trying to stop me from seeing.

  In her purse, in a clear pocket opposite her driver’s licence was a photo of a young girl. She easily could have been Alyssa. She had Alyssa’s face; the same nose and mouth. She even had the scraggly brown pigtails Alyssa used to wear on either side of her head.

  It could have been Alyssa.

  Except for the eyes.

  Alyssa’s statement from earlier flooded back into my mind. “Not many people have truly turquoise eyes.”

  Like mine.

  I turned to stare at Alyssa. Her face was twisted into a mask of horror. She didn’t want me to see the photo. My jaw clenched. She didn’t want me to know. How the fuck could she keep it from me? For four fucking years, she’d kept this a fucking secret. Questions ran through my mind in an endless circle.

  “Get out,” I hissed venomously.

  I’d been right in the first place; Alyssa “small town” Dawson was fucking poison.

  She looked up at me, her eyes wide and her body shaking. Tears ran freely down her cheeks and dripped to the floor even as her eyes welled over with fresh ones. She opened her mouth to speak, no doubt to spill more lies and bullshit, but I cut her off.

  “Get the fuck out of my life!” I pushed past her and stalked up the stairs to the bedroom. The instant I was through, I slammed the door shut behind me and collapsed against it. I couldn’t deal with the revelation that had just been thrust upon me. It was likely that I’d never be able to fucking deal with it. How could I even begin to process something so huge? So monumentally enormous that my life had shifted completely off-axis in one instant.

  I listened as Alyssa paid for whatever she’d ordered. There was no doubt in my mind that she would be apologizing to the driver about the display—her cheeks probably burning with shame.

  Good. She should have fucking told me!

  She fucking owed somebody a great big apology, and I wasn’t in the mood to hear it. Her footfalls were slow and heavy as she made her way up the stairs and I could hear the sound of her tears, and her steady stream of sobs, but I ignored them. I could almost sense her through the door as her footsteps paused in front of the room. Not long after, they trailed into her room.

  A few minutes later, I heard her on the stairs again, along with a thudding that suggested she was dragging her suitcase behind her. My anger must have made my hearing more acute, because I could have sworn I heard the sound of a key being dropped onto stainless steel counters and then the front door being pulled closed. Or maybe I just imagined, and hoped, that I could.

  I couldn’t believe I hadn’t realised earlier. But then Alyssa had been very careful about keeping it hidden since the first time I’d spotted her. As I thought about the secrets and lies, the realization that, against my better judgement, I’d fucked her with no protection smashed into me like a freight train. My stomach heaved emptily and I wondered if that’s what the previous night was for her. The chance for another child. A perfect matching fucking pair to the same unknowing, unwitting, arsehole father. Maybe her boy, Flynn, wasn’t gay, just firing blanks and I was nothing more than a ready-made sperm bank she knew was up for anything.

  The worst thing was that everything was crystal fucking clear. All the pieces of the jigsaw I hadn’t even known existed had clicked into place: the photo, the silences, the pauses, the strange half-completed words, the blow up about town scandals, Josh’s words at the airport, even the fucking scar. They all added up to one startling, fucking scary conclusion. That conclusion was Phoebe.

  My fucking daughter.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN: REGRET

  I HAD NO idea how long I’d sat with my back against the door and my hands tugging through my hair, but eventually I realised that time had passed even though I hadn’t felt its passage. It was growing light again when reality eventually crept back in, shifting the bitter blackness that had taken up residence in my brain. When that left, regret steadily filled the gap.

  I stood and threw the door open, darting down the staircase. With the new emotion building in my chest, I hoped that what I’d thought I’d heard was wrong; that Alyssa hadn’t left after all. Maybe she was just sitting downstairs at the dining table or on the couch. I pictured her like that, suitcase in front of her, tears in her eyes—but there. Ready to shout at me for being an arse, or plead with me to understand—but there. My hopes were dashed when I hit the bottom of the stairs. The whole space was too dark and too quiet to be occupied.

  Even before I’d cleared the last step, I saw the key sitting on the k
itchen island. A piece of paper sat next to it. Hoping it was a hotel name or phone number, or something—anything—that would help me get in contact with Alyssa, I grabbed at it. As I pulled the paper off the bench, a photo fluttered to the floor. Not just a photo, the photo. Of Phoebe.

  Once more, I was caught by the oddity of my own blue-green eyes staring out from a miniature Alyssa. Grabbing my wallet, I tucked the photo safely away inside. I turned my attention to the piece of paper. At first I thought it was blank, but then I noticed two words, I’m sorry, in small, fine print along the bottom edge. The ink was splotched and leached into the paper around it, making it difficult to read. She’d obviously been crying when she wrote it.

  I read the words again. She was sorry?

  I’d fucking ignored her for years and she was sorry.

  I was the one who kicked her out onto the street in a fucking foreign country and she was sorry.

  My mouth went dry as I processed the thought and guilt that accompanied the knowledge that she was alone in London because of me. The image came to me crystal clear: Alyssa walking alone on the streets, dragging her suitcase behind her, tears streaming down her face. Any one of a hundred horrific situations could have happened to her. I leaned over the kitchen island, and tried desperately not to think about those. Instead, I tried to focus on where she would go. She’d said she had a hotel room, but she’d never mentioned where or which hotel.

  She’d said something about being in England to check out some law firm that’d offered her a job, but I couldn’t remember its name either. I’d been my typical, self-obsessed dick self—too fucking interested in my own issues to even fucking pay an ounce of attention to anyone else. Other than to fuck her like the cock I was, of course.

  No fucking strings? Bullshit!

  A child would constitute a pretty major fucking string. I wanted to leave the house and run; to scour every inch of London until I found her and spoke to her. It was pointless though. She could be anywhere, and I didn’t know London at all.

  I was lost and I had no way of contacting her.

  She was lost to me.

  Think, you idiot! Fucking think! How can I get hold of her?

  In an instant, the answer was there.

  Her mum! She’d know where she is and Alyssa called her last night.

  For half a second, I hoped the number would be on redial.

  Shit!

  Alyssa had used the phone twice since then. For the ambulance and the food.

  I turned on the computer assuming that if the apartment had a phone, it had to have the Internet too.

  Fucking wrong! Damn it.

  Even though it was a long shot, I decided to try Alyssa’s childhood phone number. Those digits were so deeply ingrained into my brain after years of dialling them that I would probably remember them for the rest of my life. I just had no idea if Alyssa’s parents had moved or not in the four years since I’d left town. Again, I was reminded just how fucking little I knew about any of the people to whom I’d once been so close. I’d fucking alienated myself from everyone and everything. In fact, I couldn’t remember speaking to Ben at all after the fucking formal, and he’d been my best friend, besides Alyssa.

  I picked up the phone and dialled but all I got was a recorded message in a high-pitched voice that the phone number had been disconnected. I hung up the phone and growled in frustration.

  I needed to find her. My anxiety shot through the roof and I was positive I was about to have another fucking panic attack any second. I wasn’t sure I would be able to survive another one in my current state.

  If anything happened to Alyssa, I would forever hold myself personally responsible.

  There was only one other number I could possibly ring. It was by far the longest of long shots, but it was the only other number I had. My childhood home. Mum answered the phone on the third ring. She heard the tone to indicate it was an international call and sounded confused when she said, “Hello?”

  “Hey, Mum.”

  “Declan?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Seriously, who else would be calling you mum?” I was going to ask whether she had a love child I didn’t know about, but the words froze on my tongue when they hit too close to home.

  “Sorry, it’s just a little odd. I mean, getting a call from you.”

  “Actually, I was calling to ask a question . . .” I hesitated. How could I ask for Ruth’s phone number without sounding like a complete fucking lunatic?

  “What is it, Declan?” She sounded worried.

  I sighed. “Do you have Ruth Dawson’s phone number?”

  Something dropped and clattered in the background, a pan or pot or something. It clanged loudly when it hit the ground.

  “Why?” Her voice was low and harsh.

  “I need to speak to her.”

  “About?”

  “About Alyssa.”

  There was a sharp intake of breath. “Declan, what’s going on?”

  What is this? The fucking Spanish inquisition? I decided to answer with as much of the truth as I thought I could handle speaking aloud. Which wasn’t much. I still didn’t know if my mouth would work if I tried to form the word “daughter.”

  Fucking daughter!

  Not even a baby, but a ready-grown fucking little lady daughter. I tried to do the math to figure out how old she must be, but my brain just wouldn’t fucking work. I wondered if someone had permanently disconnected the fucking thing.

  “I ran into Alyssa and got some news. I was . . . well, I was a fucking dick to her. Now, I need to find her, but I have no fucking idea where to start. I’m hoping Ruth might be able to give me a fucking clue.”

  “Declan,” Mum admonished. I thought I was going to get a lecture about swearing—God knows it wouldn’t be the first—so I was surprised by her next words. “As if that poor girl hasn’t had it hard enough. You had to go and make things worse, didn’t you?”

  “What the fuck do you know about what Alyssa’s been going through?” I asked harshly. How the hell was I going to explain to my parents that I had a fucking child running around in the world?

  “A whole lot more than you do, I’d be willing to bet. God help me, Declan, if you’ve hurt her—”

  When the words hit my ears, my brain decided to kick in with a painful thud as it recognised the truth in her statement. “You knew?”

  She sighed, then whispered, “Yes.”

  “You fucking knew and you never fucking told me?” My fingers formed a fist around the handset.

  “It’s a bit more complicated than you make it sound.”

  “Well, then un-fucking-complicate it, Mum, and tell me why you didn’t fucking feel the need to tell me I have a fucking kid.” The neighbours on both sides of Danny’s apartment could probably hear every word I said, but I didn’t give a crap.

  “I promised Alyssa I wouldn’t.”

  “When?” I was trying very, very hard to keep myself together. It really wasn’t working. I drew in measured breaths through gaps in my teeth as my heart thudded against my chest.

  “What?”

  “When did you promise Alyssa you wouldn’t tell me?”

  “When Alyssa first told me she was pregnant. She came to me and told me everything and then begged me not to tell you. She wanted to do it personally. She was so excited about telling you, but she was never stupid enough to think it would change anything. She was still so scared and happy, but then you wouldn’t take her calls and day by day I saw her heart break. And then . . .” She paused, and took a deep breath to calm herself. “Well, I don’t know if you’ll ever really comprehend just how much you hurt her.”

  “Why didn’t you fucking tell me though? Didn’t you think I had a fucking right to know?” I asked again, trying to be demanding, but my voice just didn’t have any volume anymore.

  “After I realised you weren’t going to talk to Alyssa, I told myself I would tell you the next time you asked about her. But you never did. You never even rang home. Alys
sa brought Phoebe around to see me at least once a week, and I didn’t even get a single phone call from you.” It sounded like she was in tears.

  “I called,” I argued, but it sounded weak even in my own ears, because honestly, I couldn’t remember calling her. Had I? Surely in four years I’d called at least once? I remembered emails and texts, but I couldn’t recall ever picking up the phone and calling my parents.

  “No,” Mum argued. “In the four years you’ve been gone, the only time I’ve spoken to you was if I called you, and then I was usually off the phone again within five minutes.”

  “So you’ve met her?” I felt hollow.

  “Yes. Like I said, Alyssa brings her around regularly. She wanted to make sure I had a chance to get to know my granddaughter.”

  I didn’t want to talk about it anymore. My heart was somehow both in my throat and my feet at the same time. My head and face were starting to pound once more, which was probably a good fucking reminder to take some pain medication for the fucking bruises that now lined my body, not to mention the lovely cut now gracing my arm. All because of Alyssa and her fucking with no complications.

  “Whatever,” I said dismissively, anxious to get off the phone. “Do you have the fucking number or not?”

  She rattled it off from memory and I hastily wrote it down.

  “Don’t hurt her again, Declan.” It almost sounded like she was begging.

  The fear in her voice chilled my blood. What sort of monster was I that my own mother was afraid of me on behalf of the woman I’d once loved?

  “I think it’s too late for that,” I admitted in a whisper as I hung up the phone.

  I picked up the receiver again. I knew this next call was going to be even worse than the last.

  “Hello?” The voice belonged to Alyssa’s arsehole brother.

  My mind spun with questions. Why was Josh even there? Wasn’t he married now? Shouldn’t he be out fucking living in his own fucking house by now? I knew I couldn’t speak to him about Alyssa. He would probably find some way of reaching down the phone to kill me. Not that I didn’t fucking deserve it.