“Captured the moment you viciously attacked me real well. If I do say so myself.”
I blew out a breath through my nose, not trusting myself to unclench my teeth even to breathe.
Needing something to distract me, I turned on my mobile phone. It was the first time I’d turned it on since Alyssa had returned it to me, and it lit up with notifications. I sighed as I flicked through them all. There were at least a dozen text messages from various other drivers, mostly trying to get the lowdown on why I was out of Sinclair. Some of them I only spoke to at race meets, so I felt no obligation to call or message them back in any hurry.
Scattered throughout those messages were ones from Morgan. I knew I’d have to speak to him before too long, but I didn’t know what I’d say. He’d gone from my hero to my friend during my time at Sinclair Racing, and I wasn’t sure how to approach the situation now that I’d gone back to being a nothing. Would he even still want my friendship?
By the time I’d finished glancing over the text messages, I was at the short-term parking bay. With the small gaggle of photographers following my every step, I headed for my car. As soon as I was locked away inside the Monaro, I called message bank to listen to my messages on speaker as I headed home. I had no doubt that I’d have cars following me before long, but I was a better driver than any of the paps, so it didn’t worry me too much.
As expected, there was a stack of messages from Eden, mostly ones trying to warn me about the magazine before I turned up at Danny’s office.
How different would it have been if I’d known what I was walking into? I tried not to think about it. The worst thing I could do was start to turn over all the what-ifs in my head. After all, Danny had been set on his course. He’d set it up so that I would know exactly what was happening before he even had to say a word. I doubted me having any additional warning would have done much except given me something extra to stress over on the plane.
After Eden’s frantic messages, there were a few relatively normal ones. Mum had called to ask whether Alyssa and I would be willing to come around for a dinner before Mum’s flight overseas. I felt bad that I’d missed the message, and that I hadn’t been able to see her off in person, but at least I had spoken to her before she went.
The last message was from Dr. Henrikson.
“Declan, I saw the Gossip Weekly article and the press release from Sinclair Racing. I think it is important that you call me as soon as you are able. Please, do not wait for our next appointment.”
Checking the time, I decided to give him a call. After a short chat with Lucy, I was put straight through to the doc.
“Declan, I am glad you called.”
“You did ask me to.”
“Indeed. However, that didn’t mean that you would.”
A chuckle escaped me. “Ain’t that the truth?”
“You sound like you’re in a better mood than I would have expected under the circumstances.”
“Circumstances? You mean having someone try to destroy my life with a magazine article and then getting the sack on top of it all?”
“Yes. Those circumstances. How are you coping?”
“The last few days have been better than I would have expected. I’ve been able to spend some time with Alyssa and Phoebe. I’ve just dropped them at the airport now.”
“Is Alyssa aware of the article?”
“Yeah. That’s why she was in Sydney. She was . . . worried. About whether I’d have any issues.”
“Did you?”
I chewed on the inside of my cheek and reminded myself that there was little to gain out of the sessions if I wasn’t honest with him. And with myself. “It was close. I was so damn tempted to drink myself into oblivion—especially when I found out Alyssa was gone.” I told him about the phone call with Alyssa’s mum and the night that followed.
“I would like you to book in some face-to-face sessions as soon as you can.”
“Uh, doc, I really don’t know how I can afford it.” The words tasted like poison in my mouth. It was the first time I’d admitted to anyone besides Alyssa that I had worries about my finances in the long term. “I don’t have a job. I don’t even know what I can do for a living. I mean, what transferable skills has being a driver given me? I don’t—”
“Declan,” he cut me off. “This is exactly the reason I would like you to come in. I know this situation is likely to set you into a long-term panic spiral. Especially with everything else that has occurred over the last few months. In regards to payment, you are entitled to ten sessions from Medicare. All you’ll need to do is get a GP referral and consultation. Outside of those sessions, we can discuss a sliding scale payment system. I’m here to help, and I think it is important we don’t lose any progress you have made in the last few weeks.”
“Thanks, Doc.”
He gave me the name of a GP. It might not have been my usual doctor, but she had a relationship with Dr Henrikson and would give me the referral to Henrikson on his word.
“Come see me on Friday afternoon; that’ll give you time to see Dr Ling for the referral.”
We set a time for my appointment, and I thanked him again.
The conversation left me feeling a little more in control. By the time it finished, I was almost back home. Letting my eyes slide past the cars gathered in front of my house and quickly trying to find parking along the street, I pushed the button to open my garage and drove straight inside.
I had no plans for the rest of the day, but I wanted to be in a familiar setting, around the new memories I’d made of my new family. As I headed into the house, I called the GP Dr. Henrikson had recommended, making an appointment for the following day. Then I called my finance broker’s office to arrange a meeting to plan out my finances.
After I’d hung up from the broker’s receptionist, I just found a seat at my dining table and rested my head in my hands. The words I’d said to the doc came back to me. What the fuck was I supposed to do with my life? I had some basic mechanical skills, some minor race management knowledge, a little bit of an idea of sponsorships. None of those had anything to do with anything outside of racing though. Even inside the racing world, none of my knowledge was complete enough to make it a new focus.
For a fraction of a second, I wondered whether maybe I should ring Paige Wood and take the position she’d offered. Without Hunter, she’d have no lead drivers ready to step into a ProV8 car. She’d be desperate and no doubt willing to offer anything I fucking wanted.
It wasn’t worth it though.
Giving her what she wanted wouldn’t make me happy. Yes, it’d be a job. Yes, I’d still be able to race, but at what cost? She’d have my balls in a vice and she’d fucking know it.
Alone, and lost in my own thoughts, it was easy to regret not listening to Alyssa when we were kids. If I’d followed her advice, if I’d taken my head out of my arse long enough to consider that maybe racing wouldn’t be there for my entire life, I might have something else to do. Or at least a plan. It wasn’t like life came with a built-in guidance counsellor, like school.
I hadn’t realised how long I’d sat lost in thought until my mobile rang. When I saw Alyssa’s name on the screen, I leapt for the phone and had it at my ear in a second.
“We’re home,” she said. “There were no paps waiting for us, which is good. I think they’re just targeting you at the moment.”
It was something to celebrate, for sure. The last thing I wanted, or needed, was for Phoebe’s life to be made into a living hell just because she’d been saddled with me as a father.
“I still need to get Phoebe down for a nap, but I wanted to call and see how you were.”
“I’m as good as anyone can fucking expect, really.” I told her about my conversation with the doc, and my meetings the next day. “I keep coming back to the same question though, Lys; what the fuck do I do now?”
“You’ve got a little time to think about it. Maybe jump onto one of those job sites and see what grabs your atte
ntion. You’re not stupid, Dec, you can do anything you put your mind to.”
“At least one of us has some faith,” I muttered.
“When does Eden get back?”
I wasn’t sure whether Alyssa hadn’t heard my statement or if she was ignoring it. “Next week.”
“Talk to her about it then. She knows you better than anyone—”
“Except you.”
“In some ways, she knows you better than I do. Especially about this. She might have some suggestions for jobs for you.”
Life might not have a built-in guidance counsellor, but Alyssa was right. Eden knew me, knew my style, and knew the many positions that went into a race team. Maybe I’d have some way of staying around racing, even if I wasn’t driving.
“I still don’t know how I was lucky enough to get you back in my life.”
“I wonder the same thing, Dec. I really am happy.”
Her statement drew a chuckle from me. “Sure, an unemployed, drunken fuckhead with a pack of paparazzi on my tail; I’m a total catch.”
“I happen to think you are, and no one will convince me otherwise. Not even you.”
We spoke for a little longer before the sound of a key in my front door drew my attention. There was only one other person who had a key to my house. Christina.
“Shit, Lys, I’ve gotta go.” I tossed out a quick, “Call you later,” before hopping up from the dining table and heading to the door to meet Christina.
CHAPTER NINE: CLEANING UP
“HI.”
WHEN I MET Christina near the front door, she stopped in her tracks. Her green eyes widened at my greeting and her hands moved to play with her mousey-brown hair. She unknotted and retied the messy bun as she returned my hello.
After the initial greeting, I was uncertain where to start or how to approach her. Even though she came to my house every Thursday, we’d never really had much conversation. Usually, she’d be in and out without more than a handful of words shared between us. “We need to talk.”
“Okay?” She blinked, clearly still uncertain about how to take my direct approach.
I led her over to the kitchen table.
Indicating a chair, I said, “Sit. Please.”
Smoothing down her skirt, she sat. Then she folded her hands in front of her and watched me with uncertainty in her gaze.
“You know how easy you’ve made my life over the years, don’t you?”
“Sorry?”
“Having you come and clean, do the washing, all of that shit. It’s made my life so fucking easy.”
“It’s my job, Mr. Reede.” Initially, I’d hired her mother, Susan, but when Susan had gotten sick, Christina had taken over all of the clients and we’d had a great working relationship ever since. Christina understood that I didn’t want to be disturbed and kept to herself whenever she came. She’d handled everything to do with maintaining the house and keeping my closet stocked with clean clothes. She’d done it all silently and mostly in the background. She’d been fucking discreet about my ways and had earned a decent Christmas bonus off me every year because of it.
“Yeah, maybe, but you’ve done a good one. I want you to know that. I want you to know I’ve appreciated it even though I’ve never really said it.”
“Okay. Sorry, but what’s this about?”
“Do you read gossip magazines?”
Her eyes widened and she swallowed hard before squirming in her seat. The reaction was enough to confirm that even if she didn’t make a habit of reading them, she knew the reason behind my question.
I found myself smiling in spite of the situation. “Obviously you’ve seen the one I’m talking about at least.”
“I saw something, and I wasn’t sure what to believe.” With some of the things she’d seen and parties she’d had to clean up after, it didn’t surprise me that she suspected some truth in the words. “But of course it’s not my place to speculate.”
Something told me that she had in fact speculated regardless of her assertions.
“I don’t really give a flying fuck what anyone thinks about what was printed, but it’s mostly bullshit.”
She nodded, but I could see her mind working. No doubt she was trying to figure out the “mostly” part.
“After it was released though, Sinclair Racing released me from my contract.” The words seemed almost too gentle for what had actually happened, but I couldn’t bring myself to say anything worse. “Because of that, I’m going to have to start cutting costs.”
“Oh.” Her gaze met mine. “I understand.”
“I’m sorry. If I could keep you on, I absolutely would. You know how domestic I am.” I chuckled at the thought. Alyssa really didn’t know what she was getting herself into. I didn’t expect her to do everything, in fact unless I found a job I knew the bulk of it would likely fall on me, but that didn’t mean I had a single fucking clue what I’d have to do.
“No, no. It’s okay, I get it.”
I felt bad to be giving her the shaft after close to two years. “Can you work through to Christmas? I’ll probably be going away again soon, and I’d like to know there’s someone looking after the house.”
She smiled, her eyes softening and her posture relaxing. “Sure. At least, I’ll stay until then unless I find another client to fill the gap.”
“That works for me. Thank you, for everything you’ve done for me.”
We made a little small talk around her mother’s health. She said it was deteriorating less rapidly than it had been—which was the most anyone could hope for. After that, she set about doing her job and I headed into the study to find out just how bad the website article the paparazzo at the airport had mentioned was.
Only seconds after I’d clicked to load the website I saw how bad it was, but despite that I felt nothing but relief. The article painted me as a monster unable to control my temper, but I didn’t care because there were no photos of Phoebe. It made me think Alyssa was right—they’d been told to target me. It was clear they were still trying to paint me in a negative light, and showing happy snaps of the family man I’d become wouldn’t do that. It made me more certain than ever that there was something more behind it.
It was good and bad because it meant it would likely continue until I took Paige up on her offer. Or found some way to prove that she was behind the article.
If only I knew how to do that.
The need to figure out who was trying to ruin my life was strong. If it was Paige Wood, as I suspected, I needed a way to gather some evidence to prove it. Despite that, I decided to follow Alyssa’s advice. I opened up the job search website and started scrolling through jobs in the area.
Three pages in, I still had no idea what exactly I wanted to do. No, I knew what I wanted—to race—but it was impossible. I grabbed my phone and texted some of the drivers who’d left messages about my dismissal from Sinclair Racing. I didn’t say much, but quietly put my feelers to the ground for information about any roles available with their teams.
Once I’d done that, I returned to the list of jobs on my screen. Accountant. Lawyer. Panel beater. Data entry. Apprentice chef. Dish-hand. Everything either required a trade and experience, or sounded as boring as bat shit. It wasn’t that I expected to come in at the top, just that nothing grabbed my attention. I was just contemplating giving up and getting off the computer to look for something for dinner when my phone rang.
It was Alyssa.
“Dec, they’ve done it again.”
“Who’s done what?”
“There’s a new article about you up at Gossip Weekly Online.”
“Yeah, I know,” I said, letting her know I’d already seen it. “That fucking pap yesterday sure made me look like a violent arsehole.”
“No, Dec. A new, new one. It seems someone is determined to keep you in front of the public, and maybe drive a wedge between us.”
Fuck. I reopened the website. It loaded instantly and on the front page was a picture of Christina unlocki
ng my front door. The headline screamed about cats being away and mice playing.
“Just hours after his love child and her mother left his luxury home, Declan Reede was spotted entertaining a mystery guest.”
I couldn’t read any more. “Fuck.”
“What’s going on?” Alyssa asked. Her voice didn’t seem to hold any suspicion or doubt, so I didn’t think the question was about the article, but I couldn’t be certain. I didn’t want to lose her over something as stupid as a fucking employee though.
“That’s Christina, she’s my housekeeper. Nothing—”
“I don’t mean that. I mean why are they doing this? Why put up those pictures, and yet leave me and Phoebe alone? What’s the game?”
I told her about my suspicion that it was all part of a plan to make me a villain. The words Paige had said to me on the phone played in my mind. That it was all about the spin. I wondered whether that was the plan—make me look as bad as possible and then use my family in an attempt to improve my image just as fast. Was that the reason the paparazzi had so far avoided the shots I had thought would’ve been the most valuable? Was that why I had such a small but seemingly dedicated group of paps following me?
Or maybe I was just being paranoid.
One thing was clear—I had to get to the bottom of it. And to do that, I had to figure out who the fuck T was and why her paps were following me.
CHAPTER TEN: CABIN FEVER
I PACED THE length of my living room. With each day I faced alone, I grew a little bit crazier.
The qualifying session for the Bahrain race played on my TV in the background but it wasn’t doing much to calm or even distract me. Somehow, the weekend had already arrived and I felt like I was trapped in my own home. Technically I could go out. But where. And why?
I’d tried calling Alyssa, but she wasn’t answering. I was stuck alone and unless I wanted to go outside and invite the handful of paparazzi doing a rotating shift in front of my house in for dinner, I had no one to entertain me.
Morgan’s name on the TV drew my attention momentarily as he claimed the fastest lap of the session. My lips curled up in celebration before falling again as Hunter’s car, decked out in the Wood Racing livery, flashed onto the screen, showing he was faster in the splits. I wondered whether the fact that he was nearing the end of his last season with Wood Racing would give him more or less incentive to win.
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