After finishing the food, I grabbed the bottle of vodka and headed up to bed. I figured if I drank myself into oblivion there at least I wouldn’t have far to fall. As soon as I hit the bedroom, the events of the previous twenty-four hours crashed down on me—hard—and I couldn’t breathe. I skulled as much of the vodka as I could and took another painkiller. Then I closed my eyes and let the panic take me away, stealing my breath and exploding my heart.
Maybe it wouldn’t bring me back. At least then I wouldn’t have to deal with any of the shit I faced.
The last thoughts I had before unconsciousness took me was that I was fucked-up. Too fucked-up to inflict myself on an innocent child. She didn’t deserve to be stuck with a fuck-up like me in her life in any capacity, not even watching from the sidelines.
She deserved better than that. She deserved Alyssa, who could do this a hundred times better on her own than she ever could having to put up with my shit. A thousand. I decided I would call the airline first thing in the morning and book my return flight. There was no fucking point staying in London any longer than I already had. There was nothing there for me. Maybe there was nothing for me anywhere. Not anymore.
Not long after that thought, I blacked out.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN: WAKE-UP CALL
ALYSSA STOOD IN front of me, her face lined with tears. She held her hand protectively over her stomach. Her eyes were downcast, staring at my feet. I followed her line of sight and saw a gaping chasm between us. As soon as I saw it, the distance seemed to grow exponentially until I could barely see her features anymore. Except her eyes—they were clear as day to me.
“Alyssa, I want to talk to you!” I shouted to her. “Is there any way to cross?”
I couldn’t look for myself, I was completely immobile.
She shook her head.
“Please, Alyssa? I need to make this right!”
She raised her eyes and they locked on to mine. I expected to see them full of pain, or anger, or something. But they were dead. Flat lifeless pools of golden brown stared back at me. I cried out in strangled agony.
“Please, Alyssa! I need to talk to you!”
She shook her head and then turned away, walking slowly into the distance.
“Come back!”
She stopped but didn’t look back at me.
“Please?”
She shook her head slightly.
“I love you!”
She turned back toward me and opened her mouth to speak, but all that came was a shrill ringing.
Waking with a gasp, I opened my eyes. My heart raced in my chest as I tried to calm myself. Just a fucking dream, I realised, only the ringing from within it continued.
I sat up in bed, and regretted it the instant that I did. My head swam and my stomach churned. I didn’t know if the pain was because I needed more painkillers for the bruising on my face and cut on my arm, or if it was a result of the—oh fuck—bottle of vodka I’d drunk the night before. I really couldn’t start with that shit again—it was a slippery slope that I’d climbed to the top of not that long before, and I didn’t want to end up back at the bottom. The drinking needed to stop.
The ringing still continued. Rubbing my temples to try to clear some of the cobwebs and cottonwool that seemed to have taken up residence overnight, I wondered what the fuck it could be. Where the fuck was that ringing coming from?
I climbed—fell—out of bed and staggered toward the stairs. Whatever the fuck was ringing, the noise definitely came from downstairs. I held tightly on to the railing; my head was spinning too much to risk trying to pick my way down safely without the support. When I saw the desk, I worked out what was making the sound. The fucking phone.
Who the fuck has this number?
I debated ignoring it, but it had been ringing persistently for a while now—more than just a casual caller would try for. I walked over to it and stared at it for a few seconds, daring it to stop ringing before I could pick it up. It didn’t, so I cradled the handset to my ear.
“Hello?” My voice sounded like I’d downed a cup of bleach. Although I supposed downing a whole bottle of vodka probably wasn’t far off that.
“Declan.” I recognised Danny’s voice of calm authority immediately. Fuck. I really didn’t want to talk to him while I had the hangover from hell and my body ached.
“Danny.” I responded. I couldn’t think of anything more appropriate to say.
“I trust you had a productive flight.”
What the fuck was that supposed to mean? Productive flight—not safe flight, not easy flight, fucking productive flight. Who the fuck talks like that? Oh yeah, fucking multibillionaire team bosses obviously do. Who the fuck am I, the hired fucking wheelman, to argue?
“It was very interesting,” I countered.
“How are you going with our little agreement? Are you getting yourself together?”
Fuck no. I’m more fucking shaken apart now than I have ever been in my entire fucking existence, and I don’t know which fucking way is up anymore. “Sure, or at least, I’m working on it.”
“I just wanted to let you know we’ve decided to run you in the new car next season, so I’ll need you back a month earlier for fitment and testing.”
Fuck me. The new fucking car. He was really hanging his balls out there on this one. Actually no, fuck it—he was hanging my balls out there.
“Why?” I managed to force the solitary word out around the lump in my throat. I really shouldn’t have felt as terrified about it all as I did.
“Morgan’s stoked with the way his car has been running lately and wants to stay in it. And I decided it was more beneficial to spend the dollars on the new car than to repair yours after Bathurst.”
Fuck me. “So when do you need me back?”
“January. So get your shit together by then.”
“Uh huh.” Fuck me.
I hung up the phone and grabbed some more painkillers. This time, I washed them down with water. For a moment, I thanked my lucky stars that I’d had the fall and the hospital grade painkillers because normal paracetamol wouldn’t have done shit all for the fucking roaring ache in my head.
After the pain slowly lulled to a dull throb, I realised I was famished again. I wondered if it was too early in the morning for curry, but then figured fuck it, because there was nothing else in the apartment anyway. I’d have to go get some normal fucking groceries soon if I was going to stay. And that was the kicker: despite my moment of “clarity” the night before, I couldn’t fucking decide whether to stay or go.
If I stayed, I could only hope that Ruby spoke to Alyssa and that by some fucking miracle she could convince her to come talk to me. I still didn’t know if I wanted to inflict my fucked-uppedness on Phoebe, but I did know that I needed to talk to Alyssa before I made any definite choices. If only to find out what Ruby had meant by her statement that I didn’t actually have any rights.
Rubbing my eyelids, I thought about the phone conversations I’d had. I wanted to know what the fuck had happened. Everyone seemed to hint about there being more to the story, but no one was willing to spill their guts on exactly what that might be. They all just told me to fucking ask Alyssa. Too bad Alyssa was the one person in the fucking world I couldn’t fucking find.
I heated the curry in the microwave for longer than the previous night. This time none of it was cold. Instead, it varied from lukewarm to molten lava. I’d really have to fucking learn how to use that shit properly if I was staying. Fucking if.
While I ate, I tried to remember what Alyssa had said on the plane. I was certain she’d told me how long she was in the country for, but as I ran through what I could remember of our conversation, I came up blank.
After a moment, I remembered she was staying for a week, but she hadn’t told me while we were on the plane. No, she’d imparted that information while she was standing over her fucking vibrator.
Oh God!
The thought of her using that on herself took over my mind and ma
de me instantly fucking hard. The image was clear in my head—her hand sliding the silicone dick in and out of her body. Her moans would grow louder with each thrust. Her other hand would massage her breasts or her clit. Her mouth might scream my name as her orgasm took her away.
A boy can fucking dream can’t he?
Had it really been just a little over thirty-six hours ago that we’d had that conversation? My whole fucking world was different then.
My mind was rebelling, picturing her the way I wanted to, rather than figuring out the problem at hand. Fuck, what was I trying to work out?
How long she was in London for, and how long I wanted to stay myself. I jumped on the phone and booked my return flight. If Alyssa was only there for a week, I wasn’t going to stay any longer than that. I figured Danny would probably be pissed that I used his fucking expensive-arse seats for a week-long holiday, but I honestly didn’t give a flying fuck. I was doing what he told me to do—I was getting this fucking shit out of my head so I could race. Or at least, I was trying to.
With that organised, I raced upstairs. When I hit the bedroom, I was lost in memories of Alyssa and me in that space. Part of me wanted to just sit and relive the images, but I couldn’t. I needed a fucking shower. It had been far, far too long since I’d had one.
It was only when I reached the bathroom that I recalled Alyssa was the last one in there. With that thought, her naked body was back in my head. She would have been all wet and hot from the steam. I could almost see her sliding her hands up into her hair to brush the water off her face. Fuck me. I shouldn’t be thinking about her like that.
The small tattoo on her chest raced into my mind. For the first time ever, I wished I knew which constellation was which. Maybe the stars and lines had something to do with the story everyone kept mentioning—the one they said was Alyssa’s to tell me.
Knowing there was nothing else to it, I turned on the water and stood under the stream while images of Alyssa assaulted me relentlessly.
The trip wasn’t supposed to go that fucking way. I was supposed to get Alyssa out of my head—not lodged even more permanently inside. Standing under the water, the images of our fun-filled night raced into my head again. I couldn’t stop my hand making a quick downstairs visit. I needed to think clearly and as long as my cock was in charge, I wouldn’t be able to.
Stroking up and down in rapid succession, I brought myself to the edge as fast as I could. I needed relief, not love. Closing my eyes, I didn’t even need to try to fantasise—Alyssa was already there. I saw her as she had been that night, lying on the floor underneath me, her legs wrapped around my neck. Oh fuck. I leaned against the bathroom wall as my orgasm hit me almost painfully, providing only a fraction of a moment of brain-emptying, mind-numbing relief before everything flooded back in. Fuck!
I climbed out of the shower and dried myself off. For the first time since before I’d jumped on the plane, I looked at myself in the mirror. Fuck, I was fucked-up. I still had the black eye, although it was more yellow, green, and brown now. Along the right side of my head was a long, deep black bruise from where I’d smashed into the floor and passed out. I shuddered to think what the fuck might have happened to me if Alyssa hadn’t been there to call the ambulance. Especially with the cut on my arm. I looked at the waterproof covering. Fucking five stiches they’d told me I had. I looked at myself in the mirror again, meeting my own gaze. I saw Phoebe’s face staring back at me. Did she deserve that sort of fuck-up as a father?
The answer was a resounding no, but what exactly did that mean? Did it mean I couldn’t—shouldn’t—even bother? Maybe it just meant I needed to try to be less of a fuck-up.
The first step was going out and facing the fucking world. If I hid away in the apartment, I would go fucking crazy. I would drink the other bottle of whiskey, and I couldn’t do that. I couldn’t return to that fucking lifestyle. A shudder ran through me at the thought. I wouldn’t. I wouldn’t submit to it and live like I did just after I joined the team, between the November I arrived and the February before the first race of the season.
Now that was fucked up. I was only lucky that Danny had never found out about how badly I’d fucked things up then. If he had, I wouldn’t still be on the fucking team. I was fucking thankful that I was just driving production cars then. Their drug testing wasn’t nearly as rigorous and preseason activities were much more limited.
I could still remember the first time I’d given in to the temptation of the lifestyle Morgan had introduced me to.
The spiral had escalated pretty quickly after that night.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN IT’S IN THE PAST
“COME HERE, SQUIRT,” Morgan called over the pounding music.
He’d given me the nickname on my first day with the team, even though he was only six years older than me. Because he was already in a ProV8 car, and I was only a production car driver, he thought he was king fucking shit.
Truthfully—he was.
That was just the ranking in the team. Morgan was it. He couldn’t shit without fifteen people knowing about it. Me, on the other hand . . . I got to skulk around doing whatever fucking shit I wanted to most days. So long as I was in the car on race day, and ideally on podium at the end of the event, I was left alone.
Even though it meant losing my anonymity, I wanted what he had. The thrill of the fucking V8, the roar of the engine, the bonus money for every win, and the fucking women coming at him from all angles—if only as a way of getting rid of the one who haunted my dreams. I hadn’t admitted it to anyone, but I hadn’t been with anyone since my one night with Alyssa. In Morgan’s eyes that left me practically still a virgin. The thing was that I wasn’t sure whether I even wanted to be with anyone else. The thought of it hurt my chest and made it hard to breathe.
To make things worse, she’d called me practically every day since I’d first moved to Sydney. It was all I could do to ignore her. A big part of me wanted to call her back and beg for forgiveness, but she deserved more than I could ever give her. She was due to start uni around the same time that the racing season kicked off so it would never work between us. I was better off not returning her calls at all. Calling her would start me down the path of getting back together with her.
It was easier to try to forget about her and go out on the town when Morgan had invited me. The thought raced through me that maybe he was right. Maybe I just needed to get over myself and get my dick wet.
“See those sweet-arse honeys over there?” He tipped his head toward a gaggle of girls wearing nothing more than thin slips of clothing.
I nodded. Moments earlier, the three had been dancing with him in a very seductive fashion while I minded the booth and drank anything that Morgan ordered for me. I was definitely a third—or possibly fifth—wheel. With his wavy blond hair, ice-blue eyes and boisterous personality, he’d been centre of attention at every venue and could have taken any number of girls home—maybe even had some of them on the spot.
While I wasn’t bad on the eyes, I didn’t have the confidence he had either—especially not when I knew I wasn’t even supposed to be in the club. I wasn’t even eighteen, and yet Morgan had dragged me along with him from nightclub to nightclub all night long. None of the bouncers had questioned him or even batted an eyelash at me, but I still didn’t want to draw extra attention to myself.
“What about them?” I asked.
“They’re coming home with us.”
I didn’t see any point in arguing.
“Betty and Veronica are coming with me.” He pointed out two of the girls. I knew Morgan enough to know the names weren’t real names. He often came into work telling stories of his conquests, always giving them names from comics. Betty and Veronica had obviously been duelling for his affections, like most of the other girls, and he’d obviously convinced them to do a double act. The things I’d learned from the periphery of his life would probably have made my mother’s hair turn grey. “I’ll toss the third your way. Trust me, she’ll be
an easy catch. She’s ready and waiting for it.”
I did a double-take at his words. “W-what?”
“C’mon, squirt, it’s time we made a man of you.” He slapped my back.
My breathing came in fast bursts. At that moment, I couldn’t even remember why I’d gone along at all, except I didn’t have anything else to do but mope around my apartment and try not to think of Alyssa. “But . . . I . . .”
He laughed. “Seriously man, you are far too uptight. Maybe getting fucked by a woman who knows what she’s doing is exactly what you need.”
Before I could argue, he moved away—back toward the group of girls. He whispered something in the ear of the one he’d designated for me and she’d laughed before casting a sneaky glance at me with a smirk on her face.
It was a little after two in the morning when we left the club. My head spun with whatever alcohol Morgan had funnelled down my throat all night. It was the first time I’d ever been truly drunk. Like really fucking-smashed-off-my-face drunk.
We stumbled into a maxi taxi. Inside the cab, Morgan had started his night with Betty and Veronica. The three of them were going hard at it right then and there. I tried to look away as he pressed his hands against the breast of one of the women as the two girls kissed each other but I had to admit that the sight was making me so fucking hard.
The girl who sat next to me looked a bit more timid up close than she had in the club. A bit younger too maybe—although she still had a couple of years on me. I smiled shyly at her in apology for the way Morgan was acting. As soon as we got back to his place, he disappeared into the bedroom with the two girls, only to come out minutes later and grab a can of whipped cream and a bottle of chocolate sauce from the fridge. He threw a couple of condoms at me and winked.
Declan Reede: The Untold Story (Complete Series) Page 26
