Free Decline (Declan Reede: The Untold Story #1) by Michelle Irwin Page B

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