Deceive (Declan Reede: The Untold Story #2) (27 page)

I’d arranged with the DJ for there to be a pause in the apology songs for some instrumental music so we could sit and talk for a while, over dinner. But before we did though, there was one last thing I needed to do.

I brushed away the remnants of her tears with my finger. Then, after kissing her tear-stained cheeks, I stepped away from her and pulled a small box from my pocket. I sank to my knee in front of her.

She shook her head a little in disbelief.

“Lys, I know it’s only been a few weeks that you’ve been back in my life, but you’ve changed me, even in that short amount of time. I feel better about who
I
am when I’m with you. I love you with all my heart, and I know there will never be anyone else for me. I have no doubts anymore.”

She shook her head more fiercely and started to talk. I held up a finger and pleaded silently with her to wait. She closed her mouth again.

“I know this is fast, and I know it is the backwards way of doing things, but I would love for you to move in with me when you come to Sydney.” I flipped open the lid on the box and showed her the set of keys I had arranged to be cut especially for her. The key ring that held them was a smooth, unending silver circle that looked vaguely like a snake eating its own tail. The sales assistant had informed me it was an eternity circle. It was the perfect gift for Alyssa. Of course I could never tell her that it cost almost $300. She would freak if she knew.

She laughed, relieved. “Oh my God, Declan! You arse. I thought—” She cut off as she slapped my shoulder.

I stood back up and closed the lid again. I held out the box for her, but she just stared at my hand.

It was clear what she thought, and I decided to put her worries at bay. “Maybe one day,” I responded wistfully. “But we’re not ready for that just yet.”

She looked from my hand to my face and back again. “Can . . . can I think about it?”

I nodded but pressed the box into her hand. “Keep the keys regardless. I want you to be free to come and go as you please. I want you in my life. All of you, or at least, as much as you’ll give me.”

“Thank you. For the weekend. For tonight. For being here. For everything. This . . . this is something I never even dared to let myself dream of.”

I pulled her close to me again and put my lips to her ear. “I just want you to be happy. I love you.”

“I love you too. And I am happy.”

After pressing my lips to hers for a fraction of a second, I pushed aside the curtain and announced it was time to eat. Half the fairy lights had been turned off and a candlelit table for two had been set up in the room. I had to hand it to the hotel, they were doing everything right, and I hadn’t even noticed them making the changes they had while they set up the dinner table.

I pulled Alyssa’s chair out for her. When she sat, I kissed her cheek before taking my own seat.

“Do you ever do anything that is just plain and simple?” she asked, looking around again.

I grabbed the champagne from the cooler and popped it. As I filled our glasses, I responded, “Why would I do something plain and simple for someone so extraordinary?”

My words had the desired response—a red flush crossed her cheeks and ran down her chest. She dropped her eyes to the table and fidgeted with the loose strands of her hair. A moment later, she brought her eyes back up to meet mine and gave me a smile.

“Are you telling me I should just be quiet and accept what you do for me?” she asked.

“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m telling you.” I clasped one of her hands in mine, bringing it to my lips before placing it back on the table, still entwined with my own. I didn’t know if you could eat grilled barramundi with one hand, but I was willing to give it a try if it meant not breaking the connection with Alyssa.

“So what are your plans for tomorrow?” I queried, as we began to pick at our meals.

“I probably should have told you sooner. I work every Wednesday through Friday, while Phoebe goes to day care. I was on holidays until last Friday and this is my first full week back. So . . .”

“So, I’ll have to fend for myself.” I quirked my eyebrow at her. “That’s what you’re telling me?”

She smiled. “However will you cope?”

“I’m sure I’ll manage . . . somehow,” I joked. I thought now would be the perfect time to tell her about the fundraiser that I had agreed to attend. “Although, there is a way you can make it up to me.”

Her fork stilled halfway to her mouth and she eyed me warily.

“I’ve agreed to attend a fundraiser. You know the sort of thing—sign some V8 gear that’s going to be raffled off, have some dinner, and schmooze with the wealthy and wannabe elite. I was wondering whether you’d like to come and be my date. You can help keep me sane.”

“Well, if your sanity is on the line,” she deadpanned.

“Absolutely it is,” I argued. “Two hours in a room full of strangers—knowing all the while you are at home waiting for me—may just be enough to destroy my last hold on reality.”

“We wouldn’t want that.”

“Exactly. So will you come with me?”

She tilted her head to the side and then smirked at me. She put the forkful of fish in her mouth and chewed it slowly, as if deliberating. She swallowed. “Okay, but only on one condition.”

“What’s that?”

“You pick me up from my parents’ house. Mum’ll grab Phoebe from day care like usual so it’ll be easier for me just to get ready and go from there.”

“Oh, I see how it is,” I joked. “You’re sick of me already and don’t want me around anymore, but you just don’t know how to tell me that.”

“No,” she said adamantly. “Why would you think that?”

“Because you know full well Curtis is going to kill me if I go anywhere near your parents’ house.”

“It’ll be fine,” she said. “He won’t do it while Phoebe’s in the room.”

I made a mental addition to my list—Curtis needed to be well fed, and Phoebe needed to be around, when I saw him next. Which was going to be tomorrow. I drew a shaky breath. “Okay.”

“Okay?” she asked, surprise evident in her voice.

“Okay. I’ll be there at six thirty to pick you up. Curtis be damned.”

She smiled and reached for my hands. “It’ll be fine, Dec.”

“No,” I argued. “It won’t. He hates me.”

“You’re probably right. And he’ll probably have a million and one questions and demands.”

“I’ll do it,” I said. “Or at least—I’ll try. For you.”

“Thank you, Dec.”

“I’ll get a dress delivered to their house. I’ll just need the address.” I figured that they must have moved because their phone number had been disconnected when I’d tried it in London.

She rolled her eyes. “I can pick my own clothes, Declan.”

“I know. I just know you won’t have time—and I want you to look stellar . . . not that you don’t always.”

She laughed. “You’re hopeless.”

“Hopelessly in love.”

“Fine, if you have to buy me a dress,” she said the words in disgust, “Do it. But no damn pink Hummer this time.”

“No problems, baby.” I brought her hand up to my lips again and suddenly had no appetite, except my insatiable desire for her. “Are you done?”

She nodded.

“Did you want to dance some more—or can I show you something?”

She shrugged. “I’m ready to go if you are.”

I nodded as I stood. The concierge suddenly appeared at my side. “I trust everything went to plan this evening?” he asked.

“Absolutely,” I said, but I couldn’t tear my eyes off Alyssa long enough to glance in his direction.

“Well, enjoy the rest of your evening, sir, madam.”

“We will,” I said. My voice was probably laden with carnal promises, but I couldn’t have cared less.

“Your car will be waiting out front.”

“Thank you,” I said, without a backwards glance. “Be sure to leave yourself a little something when you charge my card.”

Alyssa glanced back, no doubt beginning to wonder just how much it costs to hire the ballroom of the Suncrest Hotel for a private function like the one we’d just shared. I didn’t want to tell her, because the answer was a fuckton of money. But it didn’t matter to me, it was only money, and if I had achieved my goal of erasing some of the pain of the high school formal, it was worth every cent.

Once Alyssa and I were in the car, I drove across to West End, close to the spot where I had taken Ruby—or more specifically, she had taken me.

I helped Alyssa across to the railing, and we sat side by side with my arm wrapped over her shoulder, watching the moon over the city. We stayed still for almost half an hour, just revelling in each other, in our relationship, in the quiet.

“It’s beautiful,” she whispered.

“It’s nothing compared to the beauty I can see in front of me,” I said, staring at her.

She smiled at me before nuzzling in closer for a moment. “Let’s go get Phoebe and go home.”

I pulled her in to me, kissing her hard. Then I nodded. “Sounds good.”

Even though I’d had another plan for the spot, I’d realised earlier that she still wasn’t ready for what I wanted. I was glad I had done the bait and switch with the key ring. It had given me the perfect opportunity to see how she would react to the more important question.

I now knew that the ring burning a hole in my pocket would have to wait for a little while longer.

I HELD Alyssa in my arms, a satisfied smile on my face. Helping her from the dress had been every bit as enjoyable as I’d thought it would be. Phoebe had fallen asleep before we’d arrived home, so we’d just carried her into the house and put her straight into bed. Then I’d enjoyed every part of Alyssa—repeatedly. I still marvelled that I had ever sought comfort in the arms of anyone else. No random encounter could ever match what we shared.

“Declan!” Alyssa called unexpectedly, her voice filled with terror. “Don’t go . . .,” she whimpered.

I pulled her closer and kissed her mouth softly. “I’m not going anywhere. You’re my reason to live,” I whispered, to comfort her. “I want to be with you forever.”

She smiled in her sleep and curled in to me.

I watched as her emotions flitted across her face. Even though I was starting to grow tired myself, I fought the urge to sleep, more content to watch her sleep.

“You want me to marry you?” she asked.

My heart thudded as I held her tightly, waiting for the answer to the dream proposal.

“Yes,” she breathed.

I kissed her cheek and settled down to sleep, comfortable in the knowledge that eventually—when the time was right—I might get the response that had once scared the hell out of me, but that I now wanted more than anything in the world.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE: CREATIVE VISUALISATION

THE NEXT MORNING, I woke to an empty bed and a silent house. A note from Alyssa rested on the bedside table, thanking me for the previous night, and again for early that morning. She also reminded me to pick her up from her parents’ house, leaving their address at the bottom. I folded it up and put it into my wallet, but not until I had taken an extra minute to read the words a second time.

Taking a moment to relax, I rolled over onto Alyssa’s side of the bed, relishing in the smell of her that clung to the blankets and sheets. I began to imagine what it would be like if—no,
when
—she was living with me. When I could roll over in the morning and she would be there. Her presence would be stamped on every surface of every room in my house. I could already picture which room I would change to give Phoebe a toy room as well as planning out a dream bedroom for her. It was easy to imagine a swing set beside the pool in the backyard. Everything was going to be . . . maybe not perfect, because nothing ever was, but it would be real.

With those images in my mind, I stood and began to get ready for the day. First, I made a mental list of everything I needed to achieve before the time came to collect Alyssa from her folks’ house. I tried to put the actual reunion with Killer Curtis out of my mind, because when I allowed my mind to brush across that subject, my knees began to quiver, my heart began to pound, and my palms grew sweaty.

Despite pushing it from my thoughts as best as I was able, the worry remained buried inside me, waiting for the worst possible moment to strike me down with panic. Each time I’d thought I was finally free of the panic, it clawed down my throat and clenched my heart in its icy grip.

Getting ready for the day, I grabbed a change of clothes. As I yanked them out of my bag, it struck me that I really needed to get some more casual clothes. Especially as I was planning on an extended stay. With things working so well with Alyssa, there was no need for me to return to Sydney until I absolutely had to for preseason preparation.

The shopping trip Alyssa and I had taken a week earlier hadn’t exactly stocked up my wardrobe. I had two choices: wear the same outfit every few days and learn how to wash my own clothes, or buy more shit. The “buy more” option won hands down.

After I’d set my plan, the first thing I did was ring the dress shop I’d visited the previous day. I asked for the assistant who’d served me and was in luck, because she was on. When I had her on the phone, I double-checked that she remembered me. It was a stupid question really, because how many blokes came in, ordered an Armani tux off the rack plus demanded a dress—which must be available immediately—with only a photo and a borrowed dress to work out sizing.

The clerk asked how our evening had gone, and I politely told her it went well—which was the understatement of the century—then I told her I needed a favour. A new dress, exactly the same size, delivered to a different address. I explained the basics of the type of event it was for but left it in her court to select what Alyssa would wear. I also ordered a new bow tie to match the dress. It was going to piss me off that I couldn’t be completely ready for Alyssa when I picked her up, but there was little I could do about it if I wanted us to match.

I packed my tux back up into the bag it came in, getting it ready to take to the dry-cleaners. With those two items ticked off my to-do list, I climbed into the car for the rest of my tasks. I was halfway down the street when the phone rang. I pushed the Bluetooth button to answer it.

“Declan.” Dr. Henrikson’s voice filled my car.

“Doc,” I replied as I pulled the car over to the side of the road so I could give him my full concentration. “Sorry I missed your call yesterday. I, uh, wasn’t sure whether you’d call back today.”

“I told you I would in my message.”

I didn’t say that I’d told him to fuck off last time we spoke, and that was part of the reason I hadn’t answered when he rang while Alyssa and I were having our lie-in. That and the fact that I was buried balls-deep in the woman I loved. But, now that he was on the phone, I was happy to ignore the issue of our last phone call and the things he’d said. At that moment, I actually needed to talk to him. A moment passed in silence while I tried to think of the best way to raise my problem.

“Did you want me to stop calling?” he asked tentatively, when I still hadn’t spoken.

“Fuck, no, Doc. I mean I
was
pissed off over your suggestion.”
Couples’ therapy
. I wanted to laugh, especially considering how well our last two dates had gone.

“I still think it’s a good idea,” he said. “Even if you do it just to prove me wrong.”

“I dunno, but I’ll talk to Alyssa about it,” I conceded.

“I think that would be a step in the right direction. You need to keep the lines of communication open between the two of you if you want to have a stable relationship.”

“I do.”

“Okay,” he said, and I knew the matter was dropped. “Why don’t you tell me what has happened since we last spoke? Are there any new developments?”

I smiled to myself. “Are there ever,” I said enthusiastically. “I asked her to move in with me.”

Although I wanted to be honest with him, I refrained from telling him about the engagement ring I’d purchased. He would be about as supportive of the idea as Alyssa had been when I was down on one knee.

“And what did she say?” His voice was still tentative, as if he was uncertain what to say—or maybe he was just unsure how I would react to his question.

“She said she needs to think about it.”

He breathed in relief. “She sounds like a wise woman.”

“What? Why?” I wondered why her needing to think about it was such a good thing.

“Because, as I said the other day, I think you need to be careful about pushing things too far too soon. You’ve only just come back into her life. You’re still adjusting to the idea of being a father and of being in a committed relationship again. Don’t misunderstand me, I think it’s commendable that you want to make up for past mistakes. I would just like to see that you don’t make an even bigger one in the process.”

“There are no bigger mistakes than leaving Alyssa,” I snapped. Then I pinched the bridge of my nose and sighed to calm myself down. “Sorry, I’m just . . . on edge.”

“What about, Declan? Remember you have the ultimate control in our conversations. We can discuss anything that is bothering you.”

“I’m seeing Alyssa’s parents again tonight, or at least her dad. It’ll be the first time since . . . well, since everything happened. I saw her mum, Ruth, the day before yesterday, not long after our last conversation actually, and it went pretty well, but I don’t think a reunion with her dad is going to go nearly as smoothly. He hates me, both Lys and Ruth have said as much.” I had a major case of verbal diarrhoea, but I couldn’t stop the word vomit once it had started.

Dr. Henrikson chuckled a little. “Yes, you do sound a little nervous. What worries you most?”

“You mean besides the fact that he’s a prison warden who knows entirely too many criminals and police? So many in fact that he would probably know how to murder me and get away scot-free?”

He laughed. “Yes, besides that.”

“I guess my biggest concern—besides the fact that I honestly think he may very well kill me—is that I’ll disappoint Alyssa somehow.”

“Why do you think that?”

“I just . . . well, what if I have a panic attack and then pass out or something? I’m going to look like a fool.”

“You’ve been having the attacks more regularly lately?” he asked.

I nodded, even though he couldn’t see me.

He must have guessed at my answer because he continued. “Have you been using your mantra when you’ve experienced the attacks?”

“I’ve been trying, but sometimes it’s hard to focus on the mantra with the thoughts and images in my head. I just feel so tightly wound, like someone is crushing every part of me.” I felt the sensation begin to build in my chest even thinking about it.

“Maybe we need to work on some other coping techniques. I don’t think they’ll help you tonight, unfortunately; generally it takes time to be able to exercise your mind to the point where it is able to work logically through the panic.”

“What sort of tools?” I asked. Anything that would help me, even a little, was a good thing. I was sorely tempted to have a glass or two of scotch before picking Alyssa up—just a little something to help take the edge off—but I knew I couldn’t. I owed Alyssa more than that. And I definitely owed Phoebe more than that.

“Creative visualisation techniques.”

“What the fuck?” I asked.

“Imagining that you’re in your happy place,” he explained.

I smiled—and then groaned—when I thought about what I would regard as my happy place. How was I supposed to not panic around Killer Curtis when I was picturing myself between his daughter’s thighs? “I don’t think that will help.”

“It won’t in the short-term. As I said, you need to train your brain to react to stimuli the way you want it to. It’s not an instant fix, but unfortunately there are no instant fixes.”

Typical quack talk to try to leech as much money from me as possible. He spent the next twenty minutes talking about various coping strategies and how I could implement them.

“Doc?” I asked, as he began to wind up.

“Yes, Declan.”

“I just wanted to say thank you. I know I’ve given you a hard time about some things, but I do think you’ve helped me. I just wanted to tell you that.”

“That’s what I’m here for.”

“And, well . . . I’m not sure if I’ll be needing daily sessions anymore.”

“You don’t want me to call anymore?”

“No, it’s not that. I think, in fact I
know I’ll still need to talk to you. Just maybe only once a week for a while.”

“No problems, Declan. I’ll have Lucy arrange a regular appointment for you. Once you get back in Sydney, we’ll make it our face-to-face time too.”

“Thanks, Doc. That sounds great.”

As I hung up, I felt marginally better about the night. Nothing would save me when faced with the wrath of Alyssa’s father, but at least I had a feeling that
someday
things would be all right again. I would be able to cope with the panic when it built. After all, I could do it on the track—the focus I needed to drive the car usually put all thoughts of panic attacks out the window. I considered what the doc had talked about as I drove the rest of the way to the Grand Plaza before my mental to-do list took over my thoughts.

I found a dry-cleaners and put my suit in, insisting they have it ready for me in no more than four hours. To ensure it happened, I promised them a huge-arse tip if I had it back in time. Then I went through the small collection of surf shops that Browns Plains had to offer. It was a reminder that I hated shopping for clothes. No, I
despised
shopping for clothes. The only reason my last shopping trip had been bearable was because of Alyssa.

As if things weren’t bad enough—having to trudge from shop to shop to stare at mindless, repetitive fashion—I found I was followed by stares and whispers wherever I went. Everyone seemed anxious to celebrate the return of the small-town boy who made it big.

I was in City Surf, or Beach Biz,
or something surfer-wannabe sounding like that, leafing through their meagre selection of shorts, when hands came to rest over my eyes.

“Guess who,” a horrid, nasally voice whined in my ear.

It wasn’t Alyssa, that was clear, so whoever it was had no fucking right to be touching me. Twisting roughly out of the hold, I dislodged the hands from my face. When I spun around, I found an overly tanned face smiling up at me from beneath too-blonde hair.

“Darcy,” I said in greeting.

“I heard you were back in town,” she purred. “I was hoping for a reunion.”

She took a step toward me, and I retreated straight into the clothing racks. When she reached for me, I twisted out of her grasp. Stepping away as far as I could, I watched her constantly. I couldn’t believe her gall. Of course she knew I was in town—I’d beaten her husband to a bloody pulp on my first night back.

Yet she was coming on to me in the middle of their local shopping centre. It said a lot about the state of their relationship.

“How’s Blake?” I asked. I didn’t really care, but I wanted to remind her of her marital vows—not that they’d mattered much to her during the masquerade ball when she’d let me fuck her in the cloakroom.

God, I was a fucking idiot.

She giggled—fucking
giggled
—before she replied. “He’ll be fine. He has a thick head, so it’s hard to do much permanent damage. But I don’t want to talk about him. I want to talk about
us.
”

She lunged toward me again, her hand reaching toward my crotch.

I jumped backwards. Because there was nowhere for me to go, I just smashed against the rack, dislodging a few pairs of shorts. “Whoa! Back the fuck up, bitch,” I said, as the plastic hangers clanged against the ground. “There is no
us.
There never was, and there never will be.”