Beastly (Phoebe Reede: The Untold Story #3)

by Michelle Irwin

  Her hand came to rest on my chest, and I waited for her to draw me closer, but she didn't.

  The mantle of memory rested heavily between us, and it took me a moment to realize her lips were different. Fuller. She tasted different too. Not as sweet, but still like summer.

  A moment later, far too soon—barely a handful of seconds after I'd initiated the kiss—she drew away from me.

  “Goddammit,” she muttered as she lifted her body off me.

  The whole encounter had taken less than fifteen seconds and left me wanting more. I could never have enough of Phoebe.

  “C'mon,” she said, tugging at my arm again. “We need to get you changed and into bed.”

  I chuckled. That explained why she'd climbed away from me. “Heh, ya just wanna git me nekkid, don't ya, darlin'?”

  “No. I just want to get you cleaned up and sober.”

  I climbed onto unsteady feet. “Now that you're here, darlin', I don't need no whiskey, I got mah fireball right here.” I wrapped my arms around her, leaning against her perhaps a little too heavily but unable to hold myself upright.

  “Beau, open your eyes and look at me.”

  I tried to comply, but between my heavy eyelids, blurry vision, and the darkness, I couldn't see her like I woulda liked to.

  “Ya look beautiful,” I said, movin’ to kiss her again.

  Her hands lifted onto my chest and she pushed me away.

  “You don’t understand,” she replied, her voice growin’ desperate. “I need you to look at me.”

  I rested against her shoulder as weariness grabbed my shoulders and tried to pull me to the ground. She held me up, kept me standin’.

  “My angel,” I whispered.

  “Oh, thank God. Now let’s get you to bed.”

  “I can’t wait to get ya into bed,” I muttered against her ear.

  “Fuck.” The word wasn’t given with the usual excitement or need Phoebe woulda given. It sounded more frustrated than anythin’.

  She led me to my bedroom and helped strip me out of my shirt and then my jeans. Throughout the undressin’, I tried to coax her to kiss me again. To spend the night with me once more. Every attempted kiss or suggestive statement was knocked down.

  “What about these,” I said, holdin’ the waistband of my boxer briefs and liftin’ my head to grin at the place I thought she was standin’. I couldn’t be sure she was there though. With the lights on, it was too bright to try to look at anythin’. Each time I tried, I had to squeeze my eyes shut again.

  “Those can stay on.”

  “But—”

  “They stay on.” Her tone left no room for argument as she spun me around and shoved me toward the bed. “And you sleep.”

  I hit the side of the bed and tumbled into it. The soft mattress called to me, singing me a silent lullaby to soothe me off to sleep.

  I WOKE THE next mornin’ with a swimmin’ head and sinkin’ hope. Memories of talkin’ to Phoebe, of kissin’ her, of her puttin’ me to bed, rushed through me. Even as it flooded through me though, I knew it couldn’t have been an accurate memory. It musta been a dream. Otherwise she woulda had an explanation for where she’d been. She woulda told me why she’d gone. How she’d escaped. Most of all, she woulda been at my side when I woke.

  My stomach snarled before twistin’ into knots. It’d been too long since I’d eaten properly, too long since I’d been sober. When I sat up, my head spun so bad I groaned and fell back down onto the mattress.

  Hopin’ that a shower might clear my head and the worst of the poundin’, I climbed from the bed and headed to the bathroom. When the water hit my back, my stomach twisted again.

  Why had I let myself go on a bender?

  I shoulda been tryin’ to do what else I could to find Phoebe. To clear my name. I needed to be up in North Carolina even if it meant livin’ in a lifeless shell. I needed to convince Mr. Reede to trust me again . . . somehow.

  Even though I desperately needed a shave, I couldn’t stay under the water or focus long enough to do that. Instead, I brushed my teeth, washed myself off, and fought to contain the limited contents of my stomach.

  After towelin’ myself dry, I wrapped the towel ’round my waist and headed to the kitchen to find somethin’ to drink.

  On my way past the bedside table, I picked up the phone and checked the time and date. It was Wednesday already, and a little after lunchtime. A four-day bender was the last thing I shoulda done. I shoulda been home from Atlanta already and preparin’ for Vegas. There were so many other things that woulda been better than gettin’ a gutful of Fireball and wastin’ the days.

  It struck me that it had been more than three weeks since Phoebe had called me.

  Twenty-four days. Almost a month.

  And in that time I’d heard nothin’ from her. All I’d had were photographs that showed she’d been hurt by someone.

  It was no wonder I was goin’ crazy, picturin’ her in my head.

  I pulled open the refrigerator to see what there was inside to drink.

  “I see you’re awake then.”

  I spun around, clutchin’ tightly to the towel to ensure everythin’ was covered as I did. The speed of my spin left my stomach churnin’ more than ever.

  “Angel?”

  “I have to say when I arrived, I didn’t expect to walk into a fucking liquor store.” She stood with her hands on her hips starin’ at me. Her lips were set into a frown and her gaze was purposefully levelled at my eyes or above. “Or a male revue.”

  Her words and the way she resolutely looked anywhere but down made me acutely aware of the fact I was practically naked in front of her. “Dang, I’m sorry. Give me a minute.”

  I disappeared back into my room and quickly pulled on some clothes. I was still too hungover to move too fast, but I did what I could—anxious to find out more from Angel. Had somethin’ happened?

  “What’re ya doin’ here?” The question left me even before I was out of my room.

  “When I saw you weren’t at the race on the weekend, I decided to come to find out how you’re going. I made your boys let me in, they’re worried about you too because you wouldn’t answer the door or the phone.”

  “I didn’t wanna talk to anyone.”

  “You wanted to hide away from the allegations about you.”

  I couldn’t deny her accusation. “I could never hurt her,” I said.

  She gave me a softer smile. “I know that, you dolt. Why do you think I’m here?”

  “Why are ya here?”

  “You wouldn’t answer your phone, and I was worried about you. Phoebe would kill me if she thought I abandoned you when everyone thought you were guilty of doing something to her.”

  “Does Phoebe’s daddy know you’re here?”

  “No offense to Mr. Reede, but it’s not really any of his business. I’m a big girl, and old enough to decide who I want to trust. And I trust you, Beau. Maybe I shouldn’t, but I do. Possibly because I know Phoebe trusted you, and I value her opinion more than anyone else’s. Besides, I needed to get away from that vile woman who keeps coming around.”

  “What woman?”

  “Cora or Coral, or something like that. I don’t know. I can never hear her over the noise of her clothing. Her fascination with the color pink borders on obsessive.”

  “Xavier’s mama?” Why would she have been visitin’ Phoebe’s daddy?

  “Yeah. She keeps bringin’ casseroles and soups and shit. Doing the ‘good Christian thing’ is what she says. I think she’s just trying to get an eyeful of Mr. Reede. Not that I blame her.”

  “What?”

  “Well, he’s not exactly hard to look at.”

  “Are ya tryin’ ta say you find Phoebe’s daddy attractive?”

  “I’m not saying I want to have sex with him or anything, but as far as old guys go, there are far less attractive ones around. He’s definitely something of a silver fox. Well, not quite silver yet, but getting there.” Her lips twitched upward at
whatever expression she saw on my face. “But that’s not the point. The point was I needed to get away from all the family planning that was going on.”

  “What d’ya mean?”

  “Cora still seems to think that Xavier and Phoebe are together. That they’re going to get married and be one big happy family. Mr. Reede won’t let me tell her the truth. Man, the things I would say to her about her son . . .” She trailed off and curled her fingers into fists. “Not that you’re any better, I should add.”

  “What?”

  “You disappointed me big time, buddy. I didn’t expect to find you drunk and almost paralytic on the couch when I turned up.”

  My mind replayed my apparent dreams from the night before, the ones where Phoebe had come back to me. A sickenin’ feelin’ grew inside me. So many little details came back to me.

  Her voice tellin’ me off.

  Pullin’ her down against me and kissin’ her.

  Had I . . .

  “When did you get here?” I pressed my fingers to my lips as I thought about the kiss I’d shared with my vision of Phoebe the night before.

  Angel’s eyes cast downward as she pressed her lips together, confirmin’ I’d pushed myself on her after she’d tried to show me some kindness by supportin’ me.

  “Dang, I’m sorry. Ya sound so much like Phoebe . . . I guess my mind was playin’ tricks on me.” A new knot twisted in my stomach, twistin’ all the others up tighter. The poundin’ in my head resumed with renewed vigor.

  “Don’t beat yourself up about it. I’m used to drunk people acting out. Usually it’s with fists, so a kiss isn’t the worst thing that can happen.”

  “I shouldn’ta done it. I—”

  “Thought I was Phoebe. I know. It doesn’t make it any better, but I do know that much at least.”

  I wanted to apologize again, but didn’t want to keep relivin’ the fact that I’d kissed someone else over and over. It was exactly what the media was accusin’ me of—at least in part. Somethin’ else Angel had said registered with me while I was beratin’ myself over the kiss.

  “What d’ya mean, it’s usually fists?” An irrational anger built in me that someone could deliberately hurt her.

  She crossed one arm in front of her body and rubbed the opposite bicep. “It’s nothing.”

  “It ain’t nothin’.”

  “It is. It’s nothing. Forget I said anything.”

  Even though I didn’t want to drop the issue, I was willin’ to for her comfort. I held my hands up to let her know I wouldn’t push. I would find out though, even if I had to wait until Phoebe was safe and sound.

  “Has there been any information?”

  “Not really,” Angel said. “The police told Mr. Reede that you were cooperating fully and had provided security footage that seemed to corroborate your story that Phoebe never came back.”

  “But?” It was clear there was one, because she wasn’t sayin’ I was free and clear.

  “Mr. Reede’s private investigator found some information which Mr. Reede believes proves you are actually the father of your ex-fiancée’s baby. He wouldn’t believe me when I told him you weren’t.”

  “What?” I recoiled a step.

  “Apparently you’ve set up a trust for her child.”

  “Yeah. And?”

  “And some people would say that’s the sort of thing someone with a guilty conscience would do. Something the father of the child might do.”

  I paced as she spoke. I hadn’t considered what others mighta thought of my actions. It wasn’t anyone else’s business.

  “Or it’s somethin’ someone does for a friend,” I retorted. “Cass was my sister’s nurse before she was my girlfriend. She helped Abby, helped me, so much, it’s only right that she shares in Abby’s estate. That trust will ensure Cass’s baby has a good life. A chance to go to college. Lord knows the father ain’t gonna step up and help. ’Sides, I didn’t want no one accusing Cass of gold diggin’ when we were plannin’ on gettin’ hitched. She don’t even know about the trust. It was gonna be a birthday surprise for her li’l un.”

  “I told Mr. Reede it’d be something like that, but he doesn’t wanna listen. I think he’s so desperate for a lead—any lead—that he’ll doggedly follow the trail regardless of what anyone says.”

  “Meanwhile the person who has Phoebe is still out there.”

  Angel shifted to the sofa. “Do you think there’s a chance she’s still alive? It’s been so long.”

  I frowned because the statistics probably weren’t great for her to still be alive. With all the dreams I’d had, and the images of her hurt in my mind, it was easy to give up hope. That had been what had set me on my course for a bender after all. But I had to hold on to hope that she would be okay. “I believe that Phoebe is a fighter, and that I won’t give up on her until we know what happened.”

  “But you have.” Angel’s voice was filled with tears. “You’re here, holed up and not helping. That’s the very definition of giving up on her.”

  There were no words I could use to argue, because she was right. Of course, her statement only caused the guilt to twist and turn that much faster through my body, rippin’ through me like a tornado.

  “She’d want you out on the track every race, regardless of what’s happening behind the scenes, and she’d want you at her daddy’s side helping him out however you could even if he’s pushing you away.”

  She was right again. On both counts. I knew it. I’d known it all along, and I couldn’t have denied it even if I wanted to. It was just easier to do those things without the pressure of public scrutiny.

  “I’m flying home on Monday. I have to go check on Mum. I’ve been away for too long already. Plus, I can’t afford to miss any more shoots or I can kiss my career good-bye, but I need to know you’ll be okay when I’m gone. I need you to patch things up with Mr. Reede—”

  “Why do you do that?” I asked as a thought occurred to me.

  “Do what?”

  “Call him Mr. Reede. The way Phoebe spoke about you, it’s like you’re a sister to her. I know her daddy doesn’t like formalities”—that was clear by the number of times he’d told me not to call him sir—“so why don’t you call him Declan?”

  I still couldn’t think of him that way in my head, but our relationship had been tenuous and strained, nothin’ like the obvious affection Angel shared with Phoebe’s whole family.

  She flinched. “It’s a sign of respect.”

  “Course it is, but usually familiarity minimizes that. Particularly when someone asks that ya call them somethin’ else like I know Phoebe’s daddy musta done.”

  “I just—” She sighed and rubbed her arm again. “Can you please just drop it?”

  I wondered whether it was linked to the other thing she’d mentioned. Considerin’ she was one of the few on my side, I didn’t wanna push things too far. “Just so long as ya know ya can talk to me if you ever wanna. It was nice gettin’ to know ya last week. It makes me feel closer to Phoebe.”

  She gave me a small smile. “It’s been nice getting to know you too. When Phoebe’s back with us, I’ll be sure to give her my seal of approval.”

  “Considerin’ the way you two are, I’ll take that as the highest honor.” I moved to the pantry and grabbed a small box of cereal. I held it up to see if Angel wanted some too, but she shook her head.

  “You should. It’s not one I’ve bestowed on any of her boyfriends before. Heck, I barely think I’ve bestowed it on any of mine.”

  I’d been movin’ to get a bowl outta the cupboard but stopped mid-stretch. “Your boyfriends? But ain’t ya—” I wasn’t sure the most politically correct way to say it, so I busied myself with gettin’ the bowl instead.

  She waited silently until I turned back to see if she was still there. One hand was on her hip and she quirked a brow at me. “A lesbian?”

  “Yeah. I mean, ya like women don’t ya?”

  “Yes.” Her lips twisted upward. “And m
en. I’m bi.”

  I placed the bowl on the counter and tipped some cereal in as I asked, “How’s that work, exactly?”

  She chuckled. “I’d usually get offended by that question, but I’ll pretend I’m not this time, shall I? It just means I don’t fall in love with a set of genitals. I fall in love with what’s in here.” She pressed her hand over her heart.

  “I ain’t ever met no one who’s bi before.”

  “You probably have, they probably just haven’t told you that they are. It’s not exactly something that needs to be screamed from the rooftops, and a lot of people aren’t comfortable with expressing it ’cause a lot of people don’t understand.”

  “So you’ve had boyfriends?”

  “Sure. Most of them have been jerks, but that’s more to do with them being arseholes who don’t want to wait until I’m ready for sex rather than anything to do with them being boys.”

  “And your girlfriends?”

  “I’ve only had a couple, but most of them have turned out to be disappointments too.”

  “Why’s that?”

  Her gaze met mine, and she looked a little sheepish. “I guess because they can’t compare to an ideal that I have.”

  I frowned in confusion. “What ideal?”

  “It’s nothing,” she said dismissively, shifting her gaze away again. “I actually thought the last one might’ve been different. Jamie was so wonderful.” She clasped her hands to her chest and drew in a breath. “And beautiful. If she chose to go on the other side of the camera, she could be the next Tyra Banks. Before my holiday, I thought she might’ve finally been the one to claim that top spot. But she doesn’t understand why I’m back here in the States, so she broke up with me. I couldn’t stay at home with Phoebe missing. Of course, I thought we might’ve had some answers by now, and not bullshit ones that Blind Freddy could see are fake.”

  “Me too.”

  “Do you think you’ll be able to recover your reputation after this?”