Decline (Declan Reede: The Untold Story #1) by Michelle Irwin Page A
Authors: Michelle Irwin
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turn.
Realistically, the ticket should have felt light in my hands. It should have felt like the life preserver it was designed to be. One last lifeline thrown in to stop me from sinking further into the deep shit filling my life. For that reason, I was willing to cling to it with both hands. However, it also raised the question of how exactly I was supposed to get my head back in the game. How did I even start to try? It wasn’t as though I hadn’t tried to sort myself out.
I sighed as I threw the ticket onto the bed beside me and fell backward to stare at the ceiling. Almost two hours passed that way, with me lost in the same cycle of thoughts as always, before I decided that if I was catching a plane in the morning, I really needed to get some shit organised. Like clothes . . . and a suitcase.
In my head, I ran through a list of tasks. I thought it would probably be polite to contact my parents at some point before I left, to let them know I was leaving the country for a while. It was the sort of thing they liked to be kept in the loop about. For a second, I debated calling them. Mum would no doubt have already heard about the whole Gossip Weekly thing though, so I decided a text would probably be easier and involve a little less lecturing.
I turned my phone on and instantly regretted it. The thing went crazy, beeping and vibrating with all the missed calls and texts I’d received while it was off. I ignored them all, sent Mum a quick text and then turned the phone off again. I wouldn’t have time to call Telstra in the morning to turn on international roaming so no one would be able to contact me. I would be unreachable—which sounded fucking fantastic.
My list of things I needed to do before I left grew with every passing second. I realised I would definitely need my passport, so I’d have to hunt it down. The last time I’d used it was the team trip to Bahrain, but the trip back home had been a bit of a blur and I struggled to remember where I’d put my passport after that. I ran downstairs to check in the study, and saw my passport on the desk next to my old answering machine. The sight made me pause. It was a relic of the days when I’d first moved to Sydney and was no longer used. It wasn’t even plugged in to the phone line anymore. All it was good for anymore was storage. With everything running circles through my head, it would be dangerous to listen to a single message, but I couldn’t help myself.
With a deep breath that hurt like a motherfucker, I steeled myself and pushed play.
“ Hey, Dec. I hope you don’t mind your mum giving me this number, but I need to talk to you. Call me. Please? ” Alyssa’s voice filled the room. Even though she started strong, her words were teary at the end, especially as she added her quiet plea. The recording wasn’t the first time she’d tried to call—I didn’t have those early ones. Instead, it was from after I’d first moved into something slightly more permanent than Morgan’s spare bedroom, a little over a month after I’d arrived in Sydney. I didn’t know why I kept it, but I just couldn’t bring myself to delete it.
I frowned as my finger hovered over the delete button. She’d moved on anyway, why should I keep her old messages? Before I had a chance to act, the next message started.
“ Dec, please. I need you to call me. ” Her tone was harsher, but still filled with sorrow and the weight of expectation. “ What happened to you always being my friend? To you always having my back? I need— ” The message cut off as I yanked the machine off the desk, pulling the plug on the power with the movement. With Alyssa’s tear-filled voice echoing in my ears, I hurled the answering machine across the room, turning away before it smashed against the wall. She’d moved on from that—moved on to smiles and races with another man.
“Fuck you, Alyssa,” I said to the empty house.
Maybe I didn’t have her to keep me company, but I had
Realistically, the ticket should have felt light in my hands. It should have felt like the life preserver it was designed to be. One last lifeline thrown in to stop me from sinking further into the deep shit filling my life. For that reason, I was willing to cling to it with both hands. However, it also raised the question of how exactly I was supposed to get my head back in the game. How did I even start to try? It wasn’t as though I hadn’t tried to sort myself out.
I sighed as I threw the ticket onto the bed beside me and fell backward to stare at the ceiling. Almost two hours passed that way, with me lost in the same cycle of thoughts as always, before I decided that if I was catching a plane in the morning, I really needed to get some shit organised. Like clothes . . . and a suitcase.
In my head, I ran through a list of tasks. I thought it would probably be polite to contact my parents at some point before I left, to let them know I was leaving the country for a while. It was the sort of thing they liked to be kept in the loop about. For a second, I debated calling them. Mum would no doubt have already heard about the whole Gossip Weekly thing though, so I decided a text would probably be easier and involve a little less lecturing.
I turned my phone on and instantly regretted it. The thing went crazy, beeping and vibrating with all the missed calls and texts I’d received while it was off. I ignored them all, sent Mum a quick text and then turned the phone off again. I wouldn’t have time to call Telstra in the morning to turn on international roaming so no one would be able to contact me. I would be unreachable—which sounded fucking fantastic.
My list of things I needed to do before I left grew with every passing second. I realised I would definitely need my passport, so I’d have to hunt it down. The last time I’d used it was the team trip to Bahrain, but the trip back home had been a bit of a blur and I struggled to remember where I’d put my passport after that. I ran downstairs to check in the study, and saw my passport on the desk next to my old answering machine. The sight made me pause. It was a relic of the days when I’d first moved to Sydney and was no longer used. It wasn’t even plugged in to the phone line anymore. All it was good for anymore was storage. With everything running circles through my head, it would be dangerous to listen to a single message, but I couldn’t help myself.
With a deep breath that hurt like a motherfucker, I steeled myself and pushed play.
“ Hey, Dec. I hope you don’t mind your mum giving me this number, but I need to talk to you. Call me. Please? ” Alyssa’s voice filled the room. Even though she started strong, her words were teary at the end, especially as she added her quiet plea. The recording wasn’t the first time she’d tried to call—I didn’t have those early ones. Instead, it was from after I’d first moved into something slightly more permanent than Morgan’s spare bedroom, a little over a month after I’d arrived in Sydney. I didn’t know why I kept it, but I just couldn’t bring myself to delete it.
I frowned as my finger hovered over the delete button. She’d moved on anyway, why should I keep her old messages? Before I had a chance to act, the next message started.
“ Dec, please. I need you to call me. ” Her tone was harsher, but still filled with sorrow and the weight of expectation. “ What happened to you always being my friend? To you always having my back? I need— ” The message cut off as I yanked the machine off the desk, pulling the plug on the power with the movement. With Alyssa’s tear-filled voice echoing in my ears, I hurled the answering machine across the room, turning away before it smashed against the wall. She’d moved on from that—moved on to smiles and races with another man.
“Fuck you, Alyssa,” I said to the empty house.
Maybe I didn’t have her to keep me company, but I had
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