Brian Burns: Tell me about yourself.
Declan King: Right, I’m Declan King, I’m twenty-seven years old and I’m a boxer. Born and raised in Manchester, and now I live in London.
Brian Burns: And why do you want to be onSummer of Love?
Declan King: I’m looking for that perfect girl, you know? I’ve been around the ring a few times, taken a few beatings, and definitely taken an L when it comes to love. But I’m ready to put my gloves back on and get back out there. Who knows, maybe the love of my life is waiting for me in paradise.
Declan closed his eyes against the harsh light of the main cabin, forcing a deep breath into his lungs. The beginnings of a headache formed at the base of his skull as a bead of sweat dripped down his back. Hot and faint and wanting nothing more than to get to his seat, Declan glowered at the petite woman further down the aisle struggling to load her carry-on into the overhead bin.
He let the breath out slowly, watching as the woman finally won the battle with her luggage and settled into her seat. The line moved forwards again, and Declan reached his still-emptyrow. He swung his suitcase into the overhead bin, wincing as a familiar, sharp pain shot up his left arm.
Declan didn’t remember much of his title fight against Alexei Petrovitch, but he’d heard the story from his brother and father, had seen the replay on TV. It still felt disconnected from his body, like it had happened to someone else. The most important night of his life, and all he could remember were flashes: his wrist bent at an impossible angle, white bone poking through skin, his hand hanging limply.
It had been nearly four months and his chest still constricted uncomfortably at the memory, a dull pain throbbing behind his eyes. He had the fleeting, mad thought to grab his bag and run off the plane. Instead, he bit his lip and shoved himself into the aisle seat.
His phone rang and he struggled to pull it out of his pocket, annoyed that the simple task was still difficult for him.
‘What?’
‘Hello to you too,’ drawled the voice on the other end.
‘Sorry,’ Declan said, softer. ‘I didn’t see it was you, George.’
‘On the plane, then?’ she asked, feigning nonchalance. Declan had met Georgia Hastings on a red carpet seven years earlier for an event neither of them could remember, and they had been inseparable ever since. The next eight weeks apart would be hard on both of them, and listening to her voice brought on another wave of panic.
He scanned the line of passengers, absently determining an escape route. ‘I, uh—’ He swallowed. ‘I’m making a run for it, actually,’ he tried, but the joke was feeble.
‘You’d better not; I worked way too hard to make youSummer of Lovematerial.’
It had been Georgia’s idea to audition for the stupid show. She’d sold it as a two-month holiday, just a girl, her best mate and a bunch of fame-hungry strangers. Declan had gone alongwith it, like he did with all of Georgia’s schemes. He’d wanted to drop out when she had, but she hadn’t let him, reminding him that he needed more followers and the UK’s top reality show was the perfect way to get them.
‘But honestly,’ she continued more seriously, ‘how are you feeling?’
‘Incredibly hungover,’ Declan said, closing his eyes and willing the throbbing behind them to dissipate. ‘Thanks for that.’
‘I wouldn’t be your best mate if I didn’t get you good and drunk before your big day,’ Georgia said, and Declan could hear the smile in her voice. ‘Buck up, Decs, and get excited. This will be huge for you. When you win, I bet you’ll leave even more famous than me.’
‘Oh boy,’ Declan said, without a hint of enthusiasm. He continued quickly, ‘Enough about me. How are you? Think you’ll survive without me?’
‘Maybe.’ Georgia was silent for a long moment, then: ‘James messaged me.’
Declan counted the few stragglers left in the aisle, worried. He’d spent too many late nights counselling Georgia through her break-up with James to believe he could talk her out of a bad decision quickly.
‘It’s funny,’ she continued. ‘You’re not even out of the country and he’s already crawling back into my DMs.’
Declan rubbed his eyes – talking about James was no cure for a headache. ‘What did he say?’
‘That he still loves me, and he’s done with the cheating if I am.’
‘You didn’t cheat,’ Declan said automatically, and Georgia gave a tired laugh.
‘As if that matters.’
A decent boyfriend would have accepted Georgia’s explanation that she and Declan had only ever been friends. ButGeorgia already knew that, and she’d heard what Declan thought of her ex’s pathetic excuse for cheating on her.
‘Just block him,’ Declan said instead. ‘Don’t engage.’ He couldn’t help but feel responsible for Georgia’s heartbreak and found himself desperate to prevent it from happening again. One of the reasons he’d decided to go through with the show was so he wouldn’t ruin any of her future relationships. With Declan linked to someone else in the tabloids, Georgia would be free to find love elsewhere.
‘You know I can’t do that,’ Georgia said. ‘Even with all this shit, I can’t cut him off.’
