Decay (Phoebe Reede: The Untold #3.2 Declan Reede: The Untold Story #6)

by Michelle Irwin

  My empathy for his situation wasn’t enough to allow me to put any effort into comforting him rather than caring for Phoebe though. As I helped her into an ambulance, I caught sight of him watching her. His lips curled down and his eyes were wide. He traced his hands through his hair and barely looked like he was breathing.

  Still, even with that small glimpse at him, I knew he understood why my focus was on Phoebe. I didn’t think he’d want it any other way.

  BECAUSE OF THE things Phoebe had endured, the hospital was reluctant to clean her up too much until they’d been able to collect the evidence they needed. After an initial assessment, a dressing of the deepest of her wounds—a series of recent cuts on her chest—and a drip to help with the dehydration and malnutrition she was suffering, a nurse took her to a private room. I sat and waited for the next step with her, not knowing what I could say to fix the broken pieces of the girl in front of me.

  When the sexual assault specialist—a SANE—nurse tried to direct me out of the room, Phoebe started to sob and begged me to stay. Her quiet cries tugged at my heart and tethered me to her for as long as she needed me, fuck what anyone else wanted. In the end, to make it easier for Phoebe, and therefore everyone who needed to attend to her, they allowed me to stay in the room as long as she needed me.

  After the first hour, I wondered if it would’ve served my sanity better to have walked out when they’d asked me to. It would have saved me from having the image of every bruise and laceration Phoebe had suffered burned into my memory. From hearing her voice, small and broken in ways I’d never heard it before, as she answered the questions asked of her. And still, if it would have saved her even an ounce of the pain, I would have endured it all myself instead.

  The words this is your fault were burned across my heart.

  It was Hunter’s vendetta against me that had seen her hurt.

  Despite my need to destroy—to scream and shout at the world and rip Hunter’s house down inch by inch—I stayed quiet at Phoebe’s side and tried to keep my expression neutral, focused, as she showed how brave she could be.

  Torture. Rape. Miscarriage.

  They were all things I’d never wanted to come close to Phoebe—things I would’ve given up everything I had to keep her safe from.

  And yet she’d suffered them all because of me.

  I wanted to cry for her, but only if doing so would help her.

  “It, uh,”—Phoebe swallowed down a sob before continuing—“the baby, it . . . it was . . . I didn’t even know . . .” She sobbed again. “They wouldn’t give me the pill. Xa-Xavier said I had to be a good girl. Good girls don’t need birth control, you see. They gave me everything else, but not that. I didn’t even know until . . .” She held her hands out in front of her, and her eyes glazed over as if she was looking into the past. “It was so tiny. So small. It didn’t have a chance. I failed it.” Her tears fell harder. “I failed our baby. I killed it. Beau.” She winced as she said his name. “He’ll hate me.”

  “No, baby girl,” I said, unable to keep quiet any longer. “He won’t. He loves you. He wants you to be safe.”

  She skittered away from me, tugging at her arms and legs and balling herself up as she went. I wanted to ask what I’d done wrong, but her tears were too thick and the walls that had snapped into place over her emotions too impenetrable.

  The nurse set to work trying to calm Phoebe down and continue the interview.

  I sat back and buried my head in my hands. I’d never felt more helpless than I did knowing that I’d caused the panic that now rippled through Phoebe, even if I didn’t know how I’d done that.

  I closed my eyes and held her hand while the nurse assessed the damage of Hunter’s last attack—his worst one. I’d already heard all the details and now I had to watch as Phoebe was violated all over again to get what little evidence might’ve been left, considering the time that had passed since that moment.

  The fact that one of the worst psychological injuries had happened just days earlier burned through my stomach like acid. I might’ve been able to prevent it if I’d just acted as soon as I knew Hunter was involved. I might’ve spared her so much additional heartbreak and hurt.

  After the rape kit and blood tests were done, they finally allowed her to shower. With the help of another nurse, I carried her into the small bathroom attached to the private room we had secured for her. The nurse shifted a chair into position so Phoebe’s cannulised arm could stay as dry as possible. She slipped a plastic sleeve over the site as an extra precaution against the water. Then, between the two of us, we supported Phoebe as she sat down onto the chair under the showerhead. Once she was settled, the nurse slipped out of the room.

  “Did you want me to stay with you?” I asked. It didn’t matter to me that she was naked, or still coated in blood, all that mattered was whether she needed me. But after what she’d been through, I didn’t want to make any assumptions that could end up hurting our relationship in the long run.

  She shook her head as tears burned in her eyes. “I’ll be okay.”

  “Are you—”

  “Please . . .” Her voice was still so broken and quiet. “I just want to be alone.”

  “Okay, baby. I’ll be right outside the door if you need me.”

  Her tears tracked down her cheek. “Don’t go anywhere else though, please?”

  “No. I’ll be here beside you as long as you need me.”

  She whispered a barely audible thank you before reaching forward to turn the shower on as I slipped out of the bathroom.

  Before the door had even clicked shut, her sobbing started. Deep sobs that sounded like they came from the bottom of her soul echoed around the space. It fucking tore me up that I could do nothing more than find my way back to the seat beside her bed and let my own tears fall.

  It was my duty as her father to keep her from harm, but because of me she was hurting worse than I’d ever imagined possible.

  Knowing she’d be in the shower for a while—her sobbing told me there was more to that shower than just getting outwardly clean—I took a brief moment to contact Alyssa. In the hustle and rush, I hadn’t had the time to let her know that Phoebe was safe—or how badly she’d been hurt.

  When I turned on my phone, I saw a message from Beau letting me know he was at the hospital and wanted to see her if he could. I didn’t know how to handle him because I knew if it was me, and Alyssa was in the hospital, I wouldn’t take no for an answer—I would do anything and everything in my power to get in to see her—but I’d also seen Phoebe’s reaction to him. Her sorrow at the thought that she’d somehow let him down by losing their child.

  My grandchild.

  The words chilled me and the loss she’d suffered echoed deep within me as I imagined a different scenario. How would I have felt if she’d come to me at her age and told me she was pregnant by Beau? How would I have felt about him? Having witnessed Phoebe’s pain, and Beau’s steadfast loyalty, it was easy to say I would have been supportive and done what I could for both of them, but a small part of me recognised that discovering that under better circumstances would have been a vastly different situation.

  After a brief internal debate, I texted Beau back to let him know that I’d meet with him when I was able. I wouldn’t leave Phoebe’s side until it wasn’t going to hurt her for me to be gone, but I owed him more than just a text message dismissal for the way he’d helped to find her—and the way he’d been vilified while she’d been missing.

  Without waiting for any further response from him, I called home. It was early evening already in North Carolina, so I hoped that meant Alyssa would already be out of bed.

  “I have her,” I whispered as soon as Alyssa was on the line. “She’s safe.”

  There was a sharp intake of breath and then a sob. “Y-you found her?”

  “She—It . . .” I tried a few times to force out the words to let Alyssa know the severity of Phoebe’s situation. “Hunter Blake had her.”

  �
�What? Fuck!” Alyssa’s breathing grew erratic. “Is—Is she okay?”

  I pinched the bridge of my nose as I tried to think of the best answer.

  “Dec? God, what is it? Just tell me. Please.” Her voice indicated she knew how bad it could be. I didn’t have the heart to tell her it was worse than that.

  “Physically, she should be okay. She’s damaged a tendon in her ankle, has a number of cuts and bruises, and there might be some scarring on a couple of the wounds, but I’m sure she’ll recover from those injuries well enough.”

  “What do—”

  I couldn’t let her continue or I’d lose my ability to get it out. “Psychologically, I think the scars are going to run deeper. I—I’m worried for her. The shit he did . . . it’s not normal.”

  Alyssa’s pain escaped in a gut-wrenching cry.

  “It’s all because of me,” I admitted, wishing I was closer to Alyssa so she could wrap me in her comforting embrace and help with the demons gnashing their teeth into my heart. So many things that I’d thought I’d put to bed were stirred up and agitated with the knowledge that every injury Phoebe suffered was my fault.

  “Dec, you can’t—”

  I traced my hands through my hair. “Don’t, Lys. Don’t try to tell me it’s not my fault. I should’ve done better by her. I should’ve known that it was him.”

  “How? How could you have possibly known he was behind it?”

  Knowing there was no point arguing back and forth over an issue we were never going to agree on, I changed the subject. “Can you have Audrey get some information on shipping Phoebe’s stuff home, and have her get organised to book some flights home as soon as Phoebe is released from hospital?”

  “You don’t want to check with Phoebe whether she wants to stay there first?”

  “You haven’t seen her. She’s not going to want to stay here.”

  “Are you—”

  I didn’t want to go into all the details over the phone. “Trust me on this. Please.”

  “Okay. I’ll get onto it.”

  “And talk to our lawyers. I want to hit Dale fucking Richards where it hurts.”

  “What?”

  “He knew about Xavier’s issues and didn’t pass it on when he gave us the staff details. He didn’t disclose that Hunter was involved with the business right up until a few days before we started due diligence. He doctored the books to roll Hunter’s share of the business into his own shareholdings in the financials. There were a hundred things he should have told us that would have warned us about the fucking rat’s nest Phoebe was walking into.”

  “It’s not going to help her.”

  “I don’t care. I want him to pay, Lys. I’ll donate every cent of the winnings to charity. I just want him to suffer.”

  “Okay, I’ll talk to them, but Dec—”

  The shower shut off. “I have to go. Phoebe needs me.”

  “Call me back when you can. There’s something I need to talk to you about.”

  “I love you, Lys. Give everyone there an extra kiss for me, won’t you? Tell them we’ll be home soon.”

  After settling Phoebe back into her bed, a police officer came to collect her statement. Over and over, he made her relive the last day. I squeezed her hand and closed my eyes as she described what had happened with Xavier. The words he’d said and what she’d had to do in order to save herself.

  “A-are you going to arrest me?” she asked before sniffing as her tears started anew.

  “No, baby, of course they’re not,” I said.

  “I’m afraid that’s not up to me,” the officer taking the notes said. “I’m just taking statements.”

  After the police had left her alone again, Phoebe asked for more pain relief and was given a sedative. With a number of reassurances that I wouldn’t let anyone else but the nurses into the room—not even Beau—that she wouldn’t be moved while she was sleeping, and that even if I had to leave I wouldn’t be far away, she relaxed a little. I sat at her side and watched the nurse medicate her so she’d sleep without nightmares.

  Then I broke down.

  The same chest-aching sobs that had escaped after I’d first learned of Emmanuel’s death echoed in my body. My soul wept for her, for all that she’d suffered and the injuries she’d earned because of me.

  “I’m so sorry, baby girl,” I whispered as I held her hand. “I’ll never let you down again.”

  The tears didn’t last long, emptying in a cathartic rush that was over almost as soon as it began. It helped wash away the hurt, but the guilt and anger remained, staining my heart with black ink.

  After washing my face, I went in search of the waiting room Beau was in. A number of hours had passed since we’d found Phoebe, and he still had no idea of the things she’d faced. Or what he’d lost.

  I was certain the image of her flinching away from him in fear as he tried to help her would burn behind my eyes in the days and weeks to come. The expression on his face . . .

  All of the bad things I’d ever thought of him were washed away in that instant. He’d made a mistake trusting Max’s words. He’d followed that up by being an arse to her. Those decisions were stupid and foolish—not one of them had earned him the depth of heartbreak he’d suffered in that one moment.

  And he didn’t know the worst of it.

  Before I reached the waiting room, I passed a private room with a police officer stationed just inside the open door. Somehow I knew who was in there before I got any confirmation. A red haze filled my vision and all I wanted was five minutes alone with him. If I could have that, I’d dispense my own justice. I’d make him pay and then I would kill him.

  I barely made it to the doorway before the guard stepped out and stopped me. One of his hands was already hovering by his hip—whether for a gun or a Taser I didn’t know. Even though I wanted nothing more than to push through and fuck Hunter up, I raised my hands and backed away. No good could come from me ending up in prison because of that arsehole.

  My blood still boiled when I reached the waiting room. It cooled instantly at the sight of Beau though. I’d seen him in a number of different scenarios, and each one he was mostly level-headed and calm. Through the accusations, he’d remained unflappable—it was part of the reason I’d assumed he was lying—but he wasn’t unflappable anymore. His eyes were wide and bloodshot. His lip trembled as he stared at his hands.

  When he stood and asked me how she was, I was struck dumb. In that moment, he wasn’t a twenty-six-year-old practical stranger in love with my daughter, he was a lost little boy—one of my own sons—looking to me to make the world right again. Only, I didn’t know how.

  As gently as I could, I told him her condition and the things I’d learned in the time I’d spent with her. Even if she didn’t want him to know about their baby, I couldn’t keep it a secret from him. If someone had told me sooner about my children, and the loss of Emmanuel, how different might my life have been?

  After I’d finished my story, he looked to me again—with that same lost boy look, and muttered, “Can I see her?”

  There was nothing I could do but shake my head. I may have been willing to divulge the secret of her baby so that he didn’t go through his life not knowing the truth, but I wouldn’t let him near her until she allowed it. “She doesn’t want to see you.”

  He crumpled to the floor, and in my mind’s eye, I watched myself falling to pieces at Emmanuel’s graveside—saw the darkness that engulfed me when I’d thought I’d lost Alyssa and Phoebe through a mixture of my own stupidity and magazine gossip.

  “I’m sorry.” I wanted to say something more profound, something that would give him comfort, but I didn’t have the words. Stepping closer to where he’d fallen to his knees, I gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “I’ll see if I can get her to change her mind, but for now . . .”

  I closed my eyes and let my statement trail off. He’d understand well enough without me forcing him to see it. After drawing down another breath, I returned
to Phoebe’s side.

  A PIERCING SCREAM yanked me from sleep.

  “Go away!” Phoebe thrashed in her hospital bed.

  The tubes and wires attached to her all whipped against the rail on the bed, adding a pinging sound into the mix. I yanked my arm back, pulling away from where my hand had rested after I’d fallen asleep holding hers.

  I stood and leaned over the rail. “It’s okay, Phoebe,” I whispered. “You’re safe.”

  “I don’t love you!” Her shrill cries continued. “I don’t. I never will.”

  Trying to avoid hurting her, but needing to stop her from hurting herself, I reached out and grabbed her shoulders. “Sweetheart, you’re safe. You’re in the hospital.”

  She swatted at my hands. “Just let me go!”

  The nurse on duty charged into the room. “What happened?”

  “I don’t know,” I said, feeling helpless in the face of my daughter’s blind panic. “She just started screaming.”

  Phoebe’s breath grew short and her screams turned to near-silent pleas. “Just leave me alone. Please.” An instant later, her eyes snapped open and she took a shuddering breath. Her gaze darted around the room, cutting from me to the nurse and back again.

  I could see the instant reality set in for her. She took another deep breath and curled around toward me before hugging her pillow closer to her and crying.

  “Are you okay?” I asked.

  She didn’t lift her head enough to shake it or answer me, but it was enough for me to get the picture.

  “Do you need anything?”

  She shook her head again.

  “Are you hungry? I can get some food for you if you like?”

  Her hand shot out and grabbed my wrist. “Don’t go, Daddy.”

  I sat back in the chair that had been my makeshift bed during the night and reached for her hand. “I’m not going anywhere, baby girl.”

  With Phoebe calmer, the nurse checked her chart. “I’ll go order some painkillers.”

  Phoebe’s gaze was glued to my face, as if she was imploring me for something I didn’t understand.