“He came charging in like Prince Charming and stopped Mum’s fist. She was so pissed. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her get any redder. But then he started talking to her about his foster mum, stuff that had nothing to do with what he’d walked into, but something he said hit a raw nerve and she started crying. He told her he was taking me with him and she could talk to him if she wanted to see me again. When we left, he took me out for a drink. That was about three weeks ago now.”
My mouth gaped open. Mum, Dad, me, we’d all tried to convince Angel she needed to escape her toxic mother, but none of us had been able to get her to actually leave the house until her mum had been carted away in an ambulance or police car.
“He told me off for staying in that situation. Said it’s not healthy.”
“I’ve been saying that for years!”
She brushed a strand of her blonde hair behind her ear. “I know, I guess it’s just different hearing it from someone independent.” She glanced up at me through her lashes. “From someone who doesn’t have a perfect life.”
I scoffed. “Yeah, my life is just fucking perfect. A real dream.”
She reached for my hand, but I snatched it away at the last second. She sighed at my reaction. “You know what I mean. It was hard to accept from you that I shouldn’t stay with Mum because your parents are so awesome, you don’t know what it’s like to be on the other side. Beau didn’t have that sort of upbringing.”
“Mabel was pretty great from what he’s told me.” I wanted to remind her that I knew him too. That he was my boyfriend.
The words spread through me like wildfire, igniting the tinder that had been left in the wake of so many attacks. Boyfriend. My boyfriend. A smile twisted my lips. I could get used to those words again. Xavier never called himself that—at least not after locking me away. Down there, he’d call me his fiancée and claimed to be mine in return.
“I’m sure she was, he hasn’t really said too much about her.”
A pleasant warmth spread over me that he’d shared those things with me and not her. It was terrible I was jealous of my best friend, but her obvious captivation with him was a reminder that Beau was pretty fucking wonderful. That if I didn’t treat him right, my biggest fear could come true—he could leave sooner than he had to.
“Have you gone home yet?” I asked. I could easily imagine the things her mother had in store for her after being told off by a stranger.
She shook her head. “I found somewhere else to stay.”
“Really? Where?”
A grimace twisted her lips as she assessed me. “I’m not sure you’re going to like this if you don’t already know.”
Despite the panic rising in my throat, I tried to remain calm as I waited for her to continue.
“I’m sure Beau’s got his reasons for not saying anything.”
“What?”
“I’m staying with him.”
“What! Why?”
“Free accommodation and food in exchange for keeping it tidy and handling his phone calls from overseas. Considering my work has dried up since I took so much time off—and had so much comfort food when you were missing—it’s a better offer than I had anywhere else.”
I sat staring at the water, trying to absorb the fact that not only was my boyfriend living with another woman, he hadn’t told me about it.
It’s not another woman. It’s Angel. That’s different. Even as the thoughts crashed against each other in my mind, images filled me. Nights spent on the couch when I’d kicked him out. Closeness afforded by Angel’s very nature. She was sexy. Even with the apparent extra kilos she believed she’d put on, her body was an athletic hourglass. More va-va-voom than overweight. There weren’t too many hot-blooded men I knew who wouldn’t want to climb into her bed if she granted them permission, even briefly.
Her naturally dark lips, thick lashes, and long, wavy blonde hair were the epitome of most men’s fantasies. I didn’t think Beau would be immune to her beauty, especially when I’d been pushing him away. If she tried to seduce him, would he have resisted? It’d been almost five months since we’d last been together—surely he’d had urges in that time. Especially when I’d made it clear that I wasn’t likely to want that with him again.
Had they become friends with benefits?
It wasn’t like she’d had our friendship to stop her from taking things in that direction.
I could almost picture the two of them in bed together.
“Are you sleeping with him?” The words blurted from me before I could think twice.
“What?” Angel recoiled in such a rush, I knew I’d hit a nerve—but not an entirely guilty one at least. “How can you even ask that? We’re friends. That’s all.”
“I’m sorry,” I muttered, trying not to let my jealousy come between us. “I swear I’m going crazy.”
“I would never dream to try to steal him away from you,” she said, laughing as she spoke. I noticed that she didn’t deny she found him attractive or state that she wouldn’t have jumped on him if the opportunity had arisen. “The boy is madly in love with you, and only you, Pheebs. That’s the way it should be.”
“Where is he?”
“Over there.” She turned and pointed at a spot behind us, in the direction I’d come from. “Near the stairs.”
I glanced back at the crude steps that led to the basin, and sure enough, Beau stood near the bottom rung—looking far too casual to be comfortable. He raised one hand when he saw he’d caught my eye. “Why isn’t he over here?”
She rolled her eyes before resting her head on my shoulder. “Because he doesn’t want to hurt you, girlie. He doesn’t know if you want him to be here. He’s afraid he might have set things back between you two today.”
“Fuck.” I scrambled to my feet and then tried to run to him—mostly unsuccessfully with the slime-coated rocks beneath my feet. Despite slipping a couple of times, landing on my knees each time, I found my way closer to him. I needed to reassure him. It was my issue; he didn’t need to stress about it.
“Darlin’, I—”
I threw myself over the last of the distance between us and crashed into his arms. My mouth found his and before I could second-guess my decision, I slicked my tongue across his lips. With an indrawn breath, he took my offering and pressed his own tongue forward to meet mine.
His hands tangled in my hair as I deepened the kiss. Even though panic rose in me, and memories flashed behind my eyes, I didn’t want to push him away. Couldn’t. I needed to show him how much he meant to me first.
I didn’t want to lose him. Wasn’t sure I’d survive it.
My heart expanded in my chest as the heat of him washed over me.
“Much as I could stand here and watch you two make out all day, we probably should let your parents know you’re okay, Pheebs.”
Beau’s lips left mine as soon as Angel spoke. He kept his hand in my hair and rested his forehead on mine. The breaths that left him were ragged, as if I’d blown his world with the simple kiss. His gaze locked with mine and instead of uttering any apologies, or demanding one from me, his lips turned up into a grin. “Thank you.”
Although an apology for my actions leapt to my lips, I bit it back. He didn’t want it—that much was clear. He kissed my forehead.
“I’m just glad you’re safe.” He raised his hand to my chin, guiding it up to meet his eyes. “I can’t lose you. I can’t say goodbye.”
His words were so similar to those uttered in another place, and another time. My breath sped as I tried to force myself to ignore it as I tugged out of his hold.
“Let’s go.” I tossed the words over my shoulder as I hit the stairs hard.
“What’s wrong?” Beau asked as he caught up with me.
I debated lying to him and saying there was nothing, but that wouldn’t help anyone. “Those words . . . anything like that . . . they just make me think of Xavier. He—he had a hard time saying goodbye too.”
“Dang. I’m sorry, d
arlin’, I didn’t think.”
I ignored his apology because it just spun back to the same old thing. He should have been able to make those statements. If it was anyone else, it wouldn’t matter, but in my head sirens went off. I had no idea how to fix it—I couldn’t expect him to never stumble across words that hurt me, and neither should he have to change his behaviour just to avoid any chance of hurting me.
The best I could hope for is that we’d keep fumbling our way through like we had been. Maybe one day, the hurt would be less.
As we climbed, Beau admitted he’d already let my parents know that he’d found me. It was clear in his tone that he thought I’d be pissed, but I wasn’t. Truly, I was happy he’d alleviated their worry. I hadn’t meant to hurt them, I’d just needed to be free—only I’d realised it was impossible to be free of my own mind.
By the time we reached the top of the stairs, a tow truck was on site, parked in front of my bike. It was only when I got closer I saw Uncle Flynn crouched beside the Honda.
“What’d you do to her?” he asked after lifting his eyes in greeting. His hand caressed the scratch in her bodywork.
“She got knocked over,” I said, not willing to admit to him that I’d caused the damage when I’d had a freakout. Despite how close we’d once been, I’d only seen him once since I’d been home. Just like everyone else in my life, I’d pushed him away.
Staring at him stroking the bike like a lover, genuine sorrow on his face over the “injury” she’d sustained, I couldn’t help hoping that there was a tether on our relationship. The fact he was there was a positive sign, considering the “everyone” Mum and Dad recruited to find me must have included both Flynn and his boyfriend, Luke.
With his eye focused on Beau, he closed the distance between us—the physical one at least. The potential for overcoming the emotional one grew when he said, “How are you going, kiddo?”
My lip quivered as I nodded. “Better.”
It was the best word I could think of to sum up everything I needed to say. Good was too simple—it implied I was okay, which I wasn’t entirely.
His gaze slid to Beau. The concern present when he’d looked at me hardened into steel as he stuck his hand out. “Flynn Olson.”
“Beau Miller.” He took Flynn’s offered hand. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance, sir. Phoebe’s told me good things ’bout ya.”
Flynn fought a smile as he turned to me. He leant in close, causing me to clench my fists so I didn’t flinch away, and whispered, “He’s a keeper.”
“I know,” I said, taking a step back from Flynn. I reached for Beau’s hand.
“Angel, shall we leave the lovebirds alone?” Flynn asked. Despite addressing her, his eyes were focused on me.
“No, she can come with us,” I said. “If that’s okay with you?”
She took my other hand. “It’s okay with me.”
“Your wish is my command.” Flynn clasped his hands in front of his face—as if he was praying—and gave a little nod. “I’ll get your bike fixed up for you.”
He turned to climb into the truck with the driver. I moved free of the hold both Beau and Angel had on my hands. “Uncle Flynn,” I called, covering the steps he’d taken as fast as I could.
“What’s up?”
“Can you not fix her all the way up?” I asked. My hand played against the place where my shirt covered the scar above my heart while I recalled the way I’d felt when I’d seen that small blemish. “I like knowing she’s not quite perfect anymore.”
“I’ll do what I can, kiddo.”
I nodded in thanks before heading back to where Beau and Angel were waiting by his car.
THE CAR RIDE back home was quiet. Angel climbed straight into the back seat, sitting behind Beau so she could talk to me, but our conversation had soon dried up. Not because there wasn’t anything to say, but because I still had too much to think about.
It was impossible not to run over the argument with Brock in my head again and again. I had to get to the bottom of what his problem was. I was sure Mum and Dad would’ve spoken to him, but I doubted he would give them the real reason—whatever it was. I could only hope they weren’t too hard on him. As much as he’d pissed me off, my reaction to him had made me see there was obviously something deeper he was dealing with. Just like me and my inability to control my anger or fear when certain buttons were pushed.
The instant Beau pulled up, I was out of the car and heading into the house.
“Where’s Brock?” I asked Mum without any preamble or greeting.
“Why?”
I sighed and closed my eyes. “Just please . . . where is he? I need to talk to him.”
Dad came out of the hallway. “I think it’s probably best if you two stay out of each other’s paths at the moment.”
“No. I need to talk to him.” My voice left no room for arguments. It might help, or it might make things worse, but at least I’d know there was nothing more I could have done.
“He’s in his room,” Mum said.
Dad gave her a pointed stare and she shrugged.
“Thank you.”
I paused in front of his room, drawing a few comforting breaths. In the living room, Beau and Angel were talking to Mum and Dad. When I felt I’d gathered all the courage I was going to muster, I knocked on the door. “Brock, can I come in?”
“Go away, Phoebe.”
“Please? I just wanna talk.”
There was a pause and I held my breath as I waited. “Is he with you?”
“No, it’s just me. I promise.”
The door cracked open an inch before swinging open completely.
“What do you want?” Brock’s frame blocked the doorway. Even though he was growing faster than he had any right to, he was still smaller than me and I could have easily shifted him to demand entrance, but I didn’t. My room was my sanctuary, the one place no one was allowed to go without my permission. I owed my siblings the same courtesy.
“To talk. Can I please come in?”
He turned his back on me, retreating into his room. “Whatever.”
I took a tentative step beyond the frame. The room had the not-so-delicate funk that all teenage boys seemed to share. Sweat, dirty socks, and a tinge of something else no one wanted to think about. As soon as we were old enough, it was Mum’s edict that we cleaned our own rooms. If they were dirty, stank, and were filled with creepy-crawlies, that was our problem. Clearly Brock had decided to take that discussion to heart—or maybe as a challenge.
I tried to find a place to sit that wasn’t covered in dust, dirty clothes, or . . . apple cores.
“Why do you have a problem with me?” I asked. It was the most direct way I could ask the question, and that shocked even me, but I was too committed to the course to back out.
“What makes you think I have a problem?” He had a small novelty basketball in his hands that he tossed back and forth as he spoke.
I rolled my eyes. “Are you fucking kidding me? Ever since I—” I paused to take a deep breath. “—came home, all I’ve had from you is attitude.”
“That’s all you’ve given me.” He tossed the ball between his hands again before tossing it at the basket set up over his bed. It sailed straight through. Not that it surprised me; as much as I’d always shown an aptitude for driving, Brock’s passion had always been basketball. “All you’ve given anyone,” he added.
I stared at my hands as I considered the truth in his words. It wasn’t that I’d wanted to give attitude, I just hadn’t known how to talk to anyone anymore.
“Until that stupid Yank,” he muttered under his breath as he collected his ball and tossed it again.
“Beau doesn’t deserve your shit,” I snapped. “If anything you should be thanking him.”
“Whatever.” He focused solely on the basket and the ball, letting his entire being focus on that smaller-than-regulation ball as if playing for the NBL.
“No. Not whatever. Brock, this is tearing me apar
t, and I don’t have many pieces left intact. You need to tell me what your fucking problem is.”
He turned and pegged the ball at the wall behind me.
I screamed and shrank away from the clear anger on his face.
“You wanna know my problem?” He threw his hands in the air. “It’s you. And it’s him. And it’s this whole goddamn situation. You were home but not home. It was like a ghost had taken over your body. Then all of a sudden this stranger turns up, and I can start to see bits of you back again, but only when he’s nearby. Why’s he so fucking special, Phoebe? What’s he got that your family doesn’t? You’ve always told me that family has to come first. That we’d be nothing without each other. You lied to me.” He beat his tears away with his fists as he spun away from me.
“No, Brockie, I didn’t lie. It’s just . . .” The thoughts were a jumble in my head and trying to straighten them took effort. “Beau is a link to a different part of me. The young naïve girl who went on holiday to the States. So much of what B—of what happened to me was linked to home, to Dad, that I’ve had no way of separating the two. I’ve been floundering in a pool of despair, trying to get someone to throw me a lifeline, but no one’s been able to throw it far enough. And that’s no one’s fault, they just haven’t known how. Beau . . . he figured it out. And it’s something that no one else knows. That no one could have ever figured out. Even I didn’t know.”
“W-what do you mean?”
“Can I trust you with my secrets?” I asked. “I don’t want Beth, Parker, or Nikki hearing about these things.”
They didn’t need to hear the worst things—they were still innocent enough to not understand. Plus, I needed to impart to Brock the significance of the information I was sharing.
When Brock agreed, I glanced up at the door to check we were still alone. “When I first met Beau, during my first holiday, I did something a little bit bad.”
Brock sat on the bed, leaning toward me, no doubt waiting to hear the gossip—and probably already planning how to use it against me.
Physis (Phoebe Reede: The Untold Story #4) Page 15