Phase (Phoebe Reede: The Untold Story #1)

by Michelle Irwin

  “I think—” She cut herself off and fell into a thoughtful silence. “You and your dad are very similar. I think you both feel things too keenly.”

  “So, I am broken.”

  “Not broken. Passionate. But it’s that passion that lends you both to a career on the track. You’re good at what you do because you care about what you do. It is easy for people to dismiss it as an impossible career, or a dream, but it brings meaning to your life. I think for you, love, family, friends, it’s all the same. It’s what draws people to you.”

  “Until I push them away.” I grabbed the strip of photos and stared at his face.

  She held me tight. “You were just doing what you thought was right. And you’ll do what’s right next too. Whatever that might be. And your dad and me, we’ll be here right beside you the whole way.”

  “Thanks, Mum.”

  “Anytime, sweetie. I’m here for you, always. You’re never too old to stop being my little girl.” She glanced down at the photos in my hand. “Is that him?”

  “Yeah, that’s Beau.”

  “Oh, he is cute,” she said, taking the photos from my hands.

  “You’re not supposed to say that!”

  “Why not?”

  “Because you’re my mum; you’re not supposed to find guys I’ve been with cute.”

  She stiffened slightly, and I saw the accidental admission in my words. I wasn’t sure whether I should admit Beau was the entirety of that list, but she made it unnecessary when she said, “Well, I’m sure everyone else is more than ready to find out more about your trip. Are you up for a show and tell?”

  “Yeah, I think so. I’ve got presents for everyone too. Oh, except Max. I didn’t know he was going to be here. How long is he here for?” It wasn’t overly unusual for Max to stay with us—just like it wasn’t unusual for me to stay with his family. Knowing what I did about his crush I was a little uncomfortable to have him in the house.

  “Just until the weekend, but he’s going to be back and forth between here and home for the rest of the year. Morg and Edie are going to be back and forth a fair bit with the takeover.”

  I nodded. Eden was obviously still in the process of taking over Sinclair Racing from her uncle, Danny. Technically, it meant she was going to be Dad’s competition, but Sinclair and Emmanuel had always been more like sister teams rather than true competitors. To keep the peace and make everyone else’s life easier, I could deal with him coming and going over the next few months.

  “Can you help me with these?” I asked, before passing Mum some of the presents when she nodded.

  Before I grabbed the rest, I glanced at the photo strip and slipped it into the frame on my bedside table. Then I grabbed one of the knickknacks I’d bought for myself. I couldn’t exactly give everyone else a gift and not Max.

  I headed downstairs, ready to spend some quality time with my family and get back into my normal life.

  TWO WEEKS AFTER I’d come home from my holiday, things were almost back to normal.

  Everything that had happened with Beau felt like a dream. Mum had asked once or twice whether I was going to contact him, and Angel had harassed me about it almost endlessly. They were the only two I’d told about Beau, so other than their questions, I could return to normality.

  Mum had even promised to keep the secret from Dad until I was ready to tell him myself. I think she was secretly hoping I’d break down and find some way to contact Beau. Both Mum and Angel hinted often enough that it would be easy enough to get Beau’s contact details from the web. That he might even understand why I’d left like I had.

  I wasn’t so sure. And I wasn’t willing to put my heart back on the line to find out. Not when I was coping fine with my emotions turned off and tucked away, buried with my memories of the trip.

  So instead of sitting and daydreaming of what might have been, I slipped back into my routine like a comfortable pair of socks, all while wondering whether it was time to find a place of my own. I had the money coming in to pay for an apartment, after all, but I wasn’t overly comfortable with the thought of it sitting vacant while I travelled around the country for my race commitments.

  “Phoebe, is that you?” Mum called from the kitchen when I unlocked the front door.

  “Yeah,” I replied, heading toward the sound of her voice.

  “Something arrived for you today.”

  I found her in the kitchen cooking dinner with Nikki playing in her playpen nearby. As soon as Nikki saw me, she lifted her arms into the air and pumped her fingers in and out to form tiny fists. It was her way of requesting I pick her up, and I readily obliged.

  “Something?” I asked Mum as I gave Nikki a little cuddle. “Care to elaborate?”

  Mum gave me a secretive smile. “A package. It came in your fan mail.”

  I frowned. Usually the fan mail was redirected to work where one of the PAs would sort it, remove the ones from creeps, and then leave the rest at work for me. “From who?”

  Mum’s smile grew. “I left it in your room. Figured you wouldn’t want anyone else opening it before you got it.”

  “But what is it? Who’s it from?”

  “Well, you’ll find out when you go open it, won’t you?”

  “But why do you have it? Why here?”

  “I asked Renee and Linda to keep an eye out for something I hoped might come, that’s all.”

  My curiosity burned my insides. Despite the fact it made her fuss and whinge, I put Nikki back in her playpen and headed to my room.

  On the bed was a smallish box, just like Mum promised. My heart leapt into my throat when I took in the US airmail stickers on it.

  It can’t be . . . Can it?

  Approaching the box slowly, as if it might suddenly leap at me with fangs bared, I crept forward, pushing my door shut behind me as I went. The return address in the top corner stilled my breath. I willed myself not to read too much into it, but the name Mr. B. Miller was impossible for me to miss.

  I snatched up the box and ripped the tape from the edges. Once I’d removed enough that I could open the lid, I tore into the parcel—desperate to see whatever was inside. The first thing I saw was another box, and then the envelope on top with the name Dawson printed across in a somewhat untidy scrawl.

  Placing the box on the bed beside me, I reached for the note. My pulse raced as I tore open the envelope and unfolded the letter inside. I swallowed down the rising hope before letting my eyes find the words. The very first thing was the address from the front of the box, and then a phone number.

  Then the words that made my heart soar and my lips curl upward.

  Dawson,

  Or should I say Phoebe?

  Either way, I hope this finds its way to one of you. Ideally into the hands of whichever part of you will be most likely to respond.

  The first time I gave you this, I said no expectations. It was a promise I tried to keep, but it was impossible around you. This time, I won’t make the same guarantee.

  I won’t make that mistake again.

  Instead, I am begging you to contact me, but warning you that if you do, I’ll have expectations. In fact, they’ll be set so high I might just refuse to let you go again. Maybe all we can have is phone calls and video chat, but I’ll take it. All of it.

  If you really don’t want me, then I’ll leave you be. I’m a big boy, and I can take rejection. What I can’t do is leave this thing behind me without at least trying to talk to you again.

  In case the phone don’t work, I’ve left my phone number and address at the top of this note.

  I look forward to hearing from you.

  Or not.

  But I hope so.

  Love,

  Beauregard

  I CLUTCHED the note to my chest. He didn’t hate me. More than that, he wanted me to contact him. How had I thought I’d be able to walk away? That either of us would be able to.

  I picked up my phone and programmed his number in.

  Then, with my h
eart pounding in my throat, I dialled it.

  It rang. And rang. For what seemed like an impossible amount of time, it rang. Just when I was about to check the number again, someone picked up.

  “Hello?” the voice that answered was slow, tired, and full of concern. As if pulled out of sleep in the early hours of . . .

  “Shit, what time is it there?” I’d been so excited by the note and contact details, I hadn’t even stopped to think that it might not be a reasonable time for him.

  “Dawson?” His voice was sharper, a little more intent.

  “Phoebe. It’s definitely Phoebe.”

  “Ya don’t know how good it is to hear your voice, darlin’.”

  I rested back on my bed as my smile grew at his familiar voice. Had it really only been a few weeks since I’d spoken to him? “Actually, I think I do.”

  “I take it ya got my package.” I could picture him in my mind, rolling onto his stomach and rubbing his hand over his face to wake himself up, his package well and truly ready to be received.

  “Yeah. I did. Thank you.”

  “I didn’t even google ya either. Just guessed at a website address, and there ya were. As pretty as ever. Although, you don’t know how tempting it was not to look up more.”

  “Actually, I do. I’ve had my fingers poised over the keys so many times to plug in your name.”

  “Ain’t nothing interesting about me on there,” he said.

  “Fuck, I’ve missed you.”

  His light chuckle echoed in my ear. “Me too, li’l darlin’, me too.”

  “You didn’t answer me though, what time is it?”

  “Uh, it’s, um,” it sounded like he was pulling the phone away from his face, “a little after four.”

  “In the morning?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Shit. I’m sorry. I didn’t even think. I got your note and was so excited I called you straight away.”

  “Hmm,” he mumbled in his sleepy tone. “’S okay, I need this more than I need sleep anyways.”

  “I think I can understand that. I’m really sorry for the way I left.”

  Another sleepy hum came down the line. It was clear he wasn’t really present in the conversation.

  “Hey, I’ll let you get back to bed. Call me back when it’s a more reasonable time for you. Or let me know that it’s okay to call you. Whatever works for you.”

  “What time’s it there?” he mumbled.

  “A little after six. At night, I mean.”

  “What time’s your bedtime now that you’re home, li’l lady?”

  “’Round ten, I guess.”

  “Why don’t we rendezvous ’round three and a half hours from now then?”

  “Yes!” Any attempt to hide my enthusiasm failed long before I could even try.

  “And this number’s yours?”

  “Yep. It’s my mobile, so I have it with me all the time.”

  “Actually, have you got Skype?” he asked. “I kinda need to see your pretty face.”

  The butterflies that had returned at the sight of his address on the box came back in force. “Yeah.” I gave him my screen name.

  “Okay, I’ll Skype you in a few hours.”

  “Okay. Bye, Beau.”

  “Bye, darlin’. For now.”

  I hung up the phone and then pumped my fists in the air. After flicking Angel a quick text, I raced back to the kitchen and threw myself at Mum. She must have asked the girls to keep an eye out for any fan mail from the USA.

  “Thank you!” I squealed as I wrapped my arms around her neck from behind.

  “I take it you like whatever arrived.”

  “Yes. God, yes! I just spoke to him. I spoke to him and we’re going to Skype later, and he doesn’t hate me, and his voice is as perfect as I remember.”

  “Spoke to who?” Dad asked.

  “To her boyfriend,” Brock teased from behind Dad, no doubt trying to get a rise out of me.

  “Actually, yeah,” I said with a growing smile, causing Brock’s brow to shoot upward toward his hairline and his mouth to gape open. I’d never admitted to anything of the sort before. Beau and I hadn’t really discussed anything like that, but I was happy to think of him that way. I loved him. I wanted to give us a go, even if any us was only going to be via technology for the foreseeable future. “My boyfriend. In the States.”

  “You don’t have a boyfriend,” Max chimed in.

  I rolled my eyes. “I think I’d be the one to know if I had a boyfriend or not.”

  Dad looked at Mum behind me. “Is this something to do with the shit-eating grin you had on when you came by the office today?”

  “Maybe,” she replied in a coy tone.

  “Well, I guess you better tell me all about him then,” Dad said to me.

  “Oh, Dad, he’s so wonderful!” On a high from talking to Beau again, it was easy to gush about him as I led Dad to the table to tell him the story. “And you’d like him. He drives in stock car.”

  “Really?” Dad asked before casting Mum a meaningful look. “And if he’s so wonderful, why am I just hearing about him now?”

  “Because I thought we were over when I had to come home, but we’re not. He wants me to keep in contact with him, and he proved it to me with a parcel that arrived today. And I didn’t think I could do it, but now I know it’ll be harder not to.” I couldn’t have stopped the word vomit if I’d tried.

  “I take it you think he’s pretty special.”

  “I love him.” The words left me so easily because I was no longer afraid of them. I had no idea what it meant in the long term, but I loved him and he loved me. I told Dad the details I’d already told Mum, all except Beau’s age, while Mum called everyone down to dinner.

  When the conversation turned away from Beau and me, I was left with my thoughts. My gaze kept moving to the clock, watching as the seconds ticked away. Each one took too long, making it seem like nine thirty would never arrive.

  When eight o’clock rolled around, I helped Mum and Dad get Beth and Parker rounded up for bed for no other reason than to waste another half hour. Once they were settled and I’d read Parker a bedtime story, and let Beth read me one, I headed for a shower.

  Even though it was impossible, I tried to still the nervous energy zinging through my body. At nine, I booted up my laptop and spent a moment trying to work out the best camera angle. Maybe it was a little vain, but I wanted to present my best front for our virtual reunion.

  First, I sat at my desk but decided it looked too staged.

  I moved my laptop onto my bed, resting it in my lap, but the angle shot straight up my nose. Just as I was moving to lie down on my stomach, my computer blipped and my heart flipped.

  I dropped the laptop onto the mattress and pushed to accept the contact request. Almost the second I’d accepted, he rang.

  With a huge grin stretched across my mouth, I pressed to answer the call despite not being quite ready. After a second, Beau’s face flashed up onto the screen. When it did, my breath caught.

  Fuck. He was able to take my breath away even over WiFi. His gaze roamed my face, lingering on my hair. In the days after arriving home, I’d gone to the hairdresser, who’d stripped the colour from it and returned the whole lot to my natural colour, the same chestnut shade as Mum.

  “Hi,” I breathed, trying to fight the nerves. The guy had seen me naked, and yet inviting him in like this—bringing him into the personal space of my bedroom even just by camera—felt like a leap to the next level. Exactly what I’d been trying to avoid when I’d run from Georgia.

  His smile lifted in the slow way it did, blossoming across his features until everything lit up. “Howdy.”

  “You’re early.”

  “You’re beautiful.”

  “You’re sucking up already?”

  “I just wanted to remind ya of that in case no one else had today.”

  My bedroom door swung open behind me. “Are you talking to your boyfriend?” Brock teased
in a loud, sing-song voice.

  I jolted around and threw my pillow at him. “Fuck off, Brock.”

  Brock shot me an evil smile and swung off the door. “Mum! Phoebe swore at me.”

  “Phoebe, don’t swear at your brother. Brock, leave your sister alone, you know she’s waiting for an important call,” Mum said as she swept past my door, leading Brock away as she did. A second later, my door closed.

  Fuck my life. This was exactly the reason I’d wanted the memories of the States to be separate from my home life. I was certain I’d turn back to the screen and see Beau either annoyed at the interruption or just gone.

  Instead, he looked like he was trying not to laugh.

  My eyes pinched. “Don’t.” Even as I said the word, my lips twitched in response to his amusement.

  He sniggered and offered his best innocent expression. “Don’t what, darlin’?”

  I was sure my face was beet red. “It’s not funny.”

  “It’s kinda funny.”

  “It’s really not.”

  “So you’re waitin’ for an important call from your boyfriend?”

  I buried my head in my hands. “I’m going to kill him.”

  “He looks a lot like ya.”

  I was sure Beau had selected his words to draw me back into the conversation when I just felt like cringing under the covers, and I was willing to go along with him. “Brock? Nah, he takes after Dad way more than I do.”

  “Y’all got the same colored eyes.”

  “Yeah, we were the unfortunate two who inherited Dad’s eyes.”

  “I’d disagree on the unfortunate part. I love your eyes.” The way he said it made my stomach clench and I bit my lip.

  “It’s just they’re so unique, you know? It’s hard to hide them. Everyone else got Mum’s light-brown colour. Much more . . . normal. Hang on.” I reached behind my laptop to get the most recent photo I had of my family. “See? That’s Mum and Dad, and Brock, Beth, Parker, and the baby is Nikki.” It was only when I’d pointed each one out that I realised how lame I was being. “Fuck, I’m sorry. You called to talk to me and I’m doing show and fucking tell.”