“Can I get you to sign something for my son, he’s a huge fan.”
Sure, your “son.” I resisted the eye roll that was building. Most people asked me to sign for someone else, but I often wondered how many were just using it as a ruse rather than admit the autographs were actually for themselves.
“No problem,” I said. “Have you got a pen and paper?”
He hunted for something, and I wanted more than anything to just tell him to forget it and walk away rather than let him waste any more of my time. It was the usual issue though, and the biggest problem with doing autographs. If I refused to sign things, the fans thought it was because I was too arrogant. If I did sign stuff, anyone who saw me assumed it was because I was full of myself. It was absolutely a lose-lose scenario.
My jaw tightened as the guard took another minute to find something. I didn’t owe him anything—not my time or my squiggle. I was on holiday, not there in any official capacity.
Maybe Danny won’t be too pissed if I tell this guy to fuck off.
The only thing that stopped me was that I’d learned long ago the two groups of people to never be rude to: those who prepared anything I ate or drank and those who had special potential to make my life more difficult. The guard definitely fell into the second group. I’d likely be held in some interrogation room, strip searched, and probed if I was too rude.
When he shoved a pen and paper in front of me, I quickly scribbled down a note. It was just the usual, “Race hard! Declan Reede” crap, but it made him happy. Handing it back to him, I breathed a sigh of relief that no one else had noticed. Or at least, no one else had approached. I understood that fans were important in the grand scheme of things, but when I was at a fucking airport trying not to draw attention to myself, the last thing I needed was a pack of autograph hounds chasing after me.
I quickly slipped my cap and sunglasses back on, ready to return to some semblance of anonymity, but it was too late. I’d barely taken two steps when the people who came through security behind me raced after me, calling my name loudly before asking for my autograph. Half an hour later, with a severe cramp in my hand, I’d finally signed autographs for almost everyone who wanted one. The one I hadn’t signed was a copy of Gossip Weekly thrust in front of my nose. Even I had my limits in vulgarity.
Once I’d broken free of the pack, I headed straight for the airport lounge, thankful that I had a membership considering Danny had only sprung for premium economy rather than the usual business class seat. I hid away in the corner with my back to all the other passengers and my cap tipped low over my face. I just wanted everyone to leave me the hell alone. There was enough shit going through my mind without needing to worry about other people.
I waited until the last normal call before I boarded. I really didn’t want to be stuck on the plane any longer than necessary, but I also didn’t want the airline to call my name over the loud speaker, effectively telling everyone in the airport that I was one of those arrogant people who think the whole plane should wait for them. Not to mention the risk that they’d announce my name on the plane as well, thereby informing everyone that they had a celebrity in their midst.
Walking up to the attendant at the gate, I handed over my boarding pass. When I did, I flipped her the best smile I could manage in the circumstances. Although I was positive it was more of a grimace, she let it slide and returned with a lifted lip of her own. She directed me through to the tunnel and then I entered the plane.
The next flight attendant looked at my ticket and pointed me in the direction of my seat. When I followed her directions, I smiled. There was a fine piece of tail bent over across the seats already. No doubt that gorgeous arse belonged to the person who would be sitting next to me for the duration of the flight. Or at least the first leg of it. More than enough time to find out if I’d have her joining the mile-high club, regardless of the doctor’s no-nookie rule.
As I walked closer, I admired the view. Whoever it was, she was struggling to get something out of her carry-on bag. Then I saw it. The now sickeningly familiar cover of Gossip Weekly.
Fuck.
At least ten hours, and possibly another twelve if we shared similar seats on the next leg, stuck next to someone who not only read Gossip Weekly, which would have been bad enough at the best of times, but who also had the issue with me ungraciously gracing the front cover as their early inflight entertainment.
The woman stood, and, if possible, things got worse for me. She was a fucking brunette. Which meant there wasn’t even a chance of me trying to add another notch to my mile-high club belt if by some miracle she was impressed by public displays of lewdness and wanted an example of my prowess.
Great.
It was crystal clear the flight was going to be an hours-long torture test.
She pulled her bag up from the seat and tried to stow it in the overhead compartment, but was just a little too short to balance it properly. I watched her struggle for half a second, her blouse pulling up away from her stomach and displaying a sliver of her silky-smooth, milk-coloured skin. When it was clear she couldn’t do it alone, I closed the last of the distance between us and reached my hands up to help. Even though I wasn’t really in the position to be lifting anything, the bag looked light enough.
“Would you like some assistance?” I offered.
At first, I assumed that I’d startled her, because she froze and everything she held in her hands came toppling down on top of both of us. I wasn’t prepared for it, so the bag slipped straight through my hands, knocking off my hat and sunglasses as it fell.
I stumbled to catch my hat and then dropped to the floor to retrieve my sunglasses.
“Fuck!” I cried out as the move caused a sharp stabbing in my injured side.
Not wanting to be an arse, despite my injury, I put my hand out to help my seat-neighbour with her carry-on. At some point, she’d bent down too. Her breathing was shallow and her hands quivered as she reached to grab her bag off me. I thought she must have been a fan or something, so I raised my eyes to offer my assistance again.
Holy fuck!
CHAPTER SEVEN: UNDISCOVERED TERRITORY
I COULDN’T MOVE.
I couldn’t think.
All that kept running through my mind was holy fuck!
A flight attendant tapped me on the shoulder and I felt some semblance of feeling return to me. Too bad it was a hollow feeling that churned my stomach and stopped my breath. Finishing the coffee earlier despite my roiling stomach was an infinitely stupider decision than I’d thought. My stomach coiled back on itself and the taste of stale coffee rose in my throat like bile.
“Are you two okay here?” the attendant asked. “We need to get everyone seated for take-off.”
I nodded vaguely as I saw the red blush run up her cheeks. Her gaze hadn’t left mine since I’d met it, and she held me captive like a proverbial deer in the headlights. I wondered if she felt as breathless and empty as I did.
Hollow. Empty. Cold.
Finally her honey-gold eyes turned from me to the cabin crew member, releasing the hold she had over me and leaving me free to think again. As if a levee wall burst, my mind was filled with images, memories of the last time I’d seen those eyes. That blush.
Alyssa.
Her name was on my lips, but I couldn’t speak it. My mouth was dry and my eyes burned. The memory of the vision I’d had while in hospital filled me and I was rendered completely mute.
“Sorry,” she mumbled before picking up her bag.
The flight attendant helped her stow it away securely and then tossed mine in too. Although I’d stood up, I still couldn’t move or think enough to offer any further assistance. I watched as she slid into the seat closest to the window. I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t be stuck next to my past for the better part of a day—or more. Not the way my heart raced and my palms sweated. Not now. Maybe not ever.
“Excuse me,” I asked the attendant as quietly as possible. “Is there any chance of
getting another seat?”
“I’m sorry, that’s not policy.”
“Even in economy? Or first?” I begged urgently. “Any seat anywhere else on the plane? I’ll pay extra if I have to.”
She frowned. “I’m sorry. I’m not able to help with that. Now, please take your seat and fasten your seatbelt.”
Fasten my seatbelt is right.
Hours stuck on the plane next to Alyssa fucking Dawson was not a good start to the whole getting her out of my system plan. The worst part was that the way she stared steadfastly out the window, her face a shade of red so bright she would have put a tomato to shame, made it clear she’d heard me asking for another seat.
After I’d sat down, I threw my sunglasses and hat into the storage pocket and then pinched the bridge of my nose before realising that fucking hurt with my still-black eye so I tugged at my hair the way Danny did when he was pissed.
I had no fucking clue how to handle the Alyssa situation. Talk? Don’t talk? Reminisce? Ignore? If someone wrote a book of helpful hints that dealt with running into your ex on an almost day-long flight to another fucking country, I wanted ten copies.
“Alyssa,” I finally murmured in greeting, the feel of her name rough and awkward on my tongue. Even though it was tempting I couldn’t just ignore her, or the giant fucking elephant between us.
Her head shifted almost imperceptibly in my direction and she seemed to be having a similar internal debate. Then she closed her eyes, sighed, and nodded. “Declan.”
Why did my name have to sound so fucking good on those lips?
At that exact moment, the safety announcements started. It provided me with a few precious moments where I could ignore Alyssa without feeling guilty. I’d never been more fucking interested in having an emergency situation before. All too quickly the video was over, and then the uncomfortable silence began as the plane started its run-up for take-off.
Of all the fucking shitty luck I had; only I could end up stuck on a plane next to the very reason I was leaving the country.
The plane vibrated as it raced faster and faster down the runway. The sensation set me on edge. I wasn’t a bad flyer necessarily, but I figured it would be just my luck to crash on take-off or something equally as crappy. When the vibration increased to a bounce, I instinctively reached for the armrest, ready to dig my fingernails in and hold on for grim life. Only Alyssa had beaten me to the one between our seats. My hand grazed hers before I pulled it back. She turned her head away and moved her hand to her lap. When her hand was gone, I moved mine back. There was no point neither of us using the damn thing.
Once we were settled in the air, she pulled out her magazine and I could have sworn a small smirk crossed her lips as she looked at the cover.
I rolled my eyes and pushed myself back against the seat. Fucking great!
She buried her face into the magazine, holding it up so every time I looked at her all I saw was myself sandwiched between two strangers whose names I didn’t even fucking remember. Their faces were blurred and unrecognisable both in the photo and in my mind.
I don’t know what compelled me, but I had to speak to Alyssa again, if only to dispel whatever thoughts she must have been having reading that trash.
“You can’t believe everything you read,” I whispered to her conspiratorially.
She dropped the magazine onto her lap. “Oh really? So you’re not really a megalomaniac arse who finds it impossible to keep your pants on? And you’re not more interested in screwing random women than you are in doing your job properly?” she replied in a curt tone.
Ouch. I deserved it, but it still hurt to have the confirmation that she thought so little of me. I’d somehow managed to convince myself that after I’d left, she would just hold onto the memory of what we’d had. That she wouldn’t look for anything else about me—that she’d care enough to forget me and ignore whatever mistakes I made. It was clear I’d been wrong.
I glanced around, wondering how long it would be before the cabin crew started to serve the drinks, because I desperately fucking needed one—or ten. It would be the easiest solution to my current situation—just get so shitfaced that I couldn’t speak even if I wanted to. It fixed almost everything else in my life, or at least made the crap more manageable. This wouldn’t be any different.
“Josh is still a huge fan,” she said, with a sarcastic edge to her voice. A definite smirk twisted her lips. Was she enjoying my obvious discomfort that much?
“Yeah, I heard.” It slipped out before I thought about what I was saying.
She froze. “What do you mean you heard?”
Fuck. ”I was in the newsagents when I heard his voice.”
“I didn’t see you there.”
I scoffed. “You really think I’m going to show my face anywhere near Josh? I’m not a complete fucking idiot. What would I even say to him? ‘Hey man, how’ve you been? Haven’t seen you since the day you beat the shit out of me. Wanna give it another go?’”
For a moment, her face was aghast, but then she chuckled. To my ear, it sounded forced and nervous, but maybe that was just the way she laughed these days. How was I supposed to know? It wasn’t like I knew anything about her anymore.
“There are some benefits to having a big brother like him. He keeps the fuckheads away at least.”
My smile fell to form a scowl. We’d almost had a civil conversation—our first conversation at all in almost four years—and she’d used the opportunity to call me a fuckhead. It was no less than I deserved, but still . . .
I turned my body away from her and stared out into the aisle instead. Despite picking a random spot and devoting my entire focus to it, I heard her laughter behind me. I didn’t want to know what she found so fucking funny, but inch by inch my body betrayed me and drifted back toward her to see what it was about.
“Did I offend you?” she asked when I caught her gaze. Her lip twitched and I frowned. The action made her laugh louder.
“Why the fuck would you think that?” My voice was ice and steel. I didn’t want to talk to her. She obviously didn’t want to talk to me either. I didn’t know why we were wasting each other’s time—aside from the fact that neither of us could escape.
“Yeah, because the way you just turned away from me wasn’t a dead giveaway.”
I rolled my eyes and turned away again.
“You’re acting like a three-year-old, you know.”
I resisted the urge to twist my head and poke my tongue out at her.
“Look, I don’t need this,” she snapped. “Frankly, I couldn’t care less whether you’re offended or not. I’m not sitting here to please Declan Reede. I just thought I should try to be pleasant, considering it looks like we’re stuck together for the better part of a day.”
She pulled out her purse and grabbed a small box of pills.
“What’s that?” I asked.
“None of your business,” she snapped back.
“Maybe not,” I said. “But I’m still curious.”
She sighed and closed her eyes. I could almost hear her counting in her head as if it would ease her frustration. “If you must know, they’re sleeping pills. I had them prescribed for this trip. It just struck me that spending as much as possible of the next ten hours unconscious seems like a pretty good option considering the alternative.”
“The alternative being me, the megalomaniac arse? Or as you implied, the fuckhead.”
Her lip twitched. “I thought that much was pretty clear.”
“Well, if that’s the case, are you sure you can trust me to keep my pants on?”
“Who would know?” she asked. She took a deep breath and glanced at me again. Buried in her gaze was a pain I didn’t understand. “You’re still making friends I see,” she said after a moment.
At first, I thought she was referring to the magazine again, but her gaze was locked on my face. Oh right . . . my black eye. A mirthless chuckle slipped from me as I touched my fingers to the swollen skin and winced.
“Yeah. My co-driver wasn’t too impressed by my performance at Bathurst.”
“Right.” She nodded and her fake half smile was back in place. It was as if she had a mask she’d slipped on to hide her feelings. I hated it, only I wasn’t sure why. It was only her eyes that gave away any emotion at all, and that was pain. “What’s up with that anyway? You’ve crashed out of the last, what, five meets?”
What the fuck? How does Alyssa “I Hate Cars” Dawson even know that?
After a moment, I remembered. The bloke she’d been with at Queensland Raceway. He’d obviously changed her in ways I never could. It must have been fucking love if he’d turned her around to the point where she actually knew how many rounds I’d crashed out of. At that thought, the coffee I’d forced down twisted in my stomach until I was certain I was going to retch. The image of her lips on his seared into my brain and raced down my spine in a shiver.
“Why?” she asked.
“Why what?” I snapped as I was forced back to the present by the sound of her voice.
“Why do you think you’ve been crashing?”
“If I fucking knew don’t you think I would have stopped by now?” My tone was still harsher than I’d intended, mostly because the vision I’d had of her kissing that other fucker had twisted into something more in my mind. I swallowed hard to force down the bile that rose in my throat.
“Sorry for asking.”
We sat in silence for a few minutes.
“You, uh, ended up in hospital after the last one, didn’t you?”
I scoffed. “That wasn’t the crash.” I pointed to my black eye. “That was Morgan.”
“Why would he do that?”
“Why does Morgan do anything?” I laughed as memories of Morgan’s past exploits ran through my mind. Even though he’d delivered the blow that had landed me in hospital, I couldn’t stay pissed at him for it—I’d have done the same if the roles were reversed.
“You were in hospital. How can you be so blasé about it?” Even though I didn’t see what business it was of hers, Alyssa seemed aghast at the idea.
Declan Reede: The Untold Story (Complete Series) Page 17
