Physis (Phoebe Reede: The Untold Story #4)

by Michelle Irwin

  “I gave Beau the wrong name.” I remembered when that was the worst of our problems. It seemed almost ludicrous now. “I told him my name was Dawson.”

  “Mum’s maiden name? Why?”

  “You’ve been shielded from the worst of it, but you still know what it’s like being Dad’s kid. Add in the responsibilities I always had to sponsors, and honestly I was just sick of being me.” Of course, now I’d give anything to go back to that. To have the crushing weight of responsibility be the worst thing I had to face. “I needed to be someone else for a while, and I worried if I gave Beau my real name, he’d find me online.”

  “What’s that got to do with any of this?”

  “That name, Dawson, is how he reached me the first time. It’s not something that ever touched me in that hellish place. No one ever called me that there. They used my name. They called me beautiful.” Tears fell down my face. “They even told me they loved me. All of those words, they’re tainted. They make me think of my time there. They make me relive the pain of being trapped.”

  As my tears fell harder and my voice was stolen by my sobs, he fell to the ground in front of me. I couldn’t see him through the water in my eyes. His hand lifted, reaching for me—no doubt to comfort me—but I flinched away.

  “What happened to you, sis?” he murmured. Mum and Dad had given him the same cleansed-down, washed-out version they’d told everyone. He didn’t need to know the details, but maybe that was why he struggled so much with understanding.

  “Hell, Brockie. Hell happened to me, and I’m trying to deal with it as best as I can.” I drew my legs up onto the bed and wrapped my arms around them.

  “Why are you being so hard on Mum?” he asked.

  “Did they tell you I was pregnant?” I whispered, certain he hadn’t been told. He knew enough about the birds and bees to understand the meaning of those words though.

  “What? Did—did those arseholes—” Clearly he knew and understood rape, but I didn’t know how to answer his assumption. I couldn’t deny it, but neither did I want him to think I was pregnant to those arseholes.

  I bit the inside of my cheek until the ache took away from the agony in my chest. Instead of confirming what had happened to me, I said, “It was Beau’s. I-I lost it.” Taking a breath, I tried to calm myself.

  “Oh shit,” he whispered.

  “If I hadn’t, I’d be twenty-four weeks along.” I stared at my hands, certain the timing wouldn’t be missed on him. He might’ve had his head up his arse sometimes, but he cared about family.

  “Damn.” His voice was near silent.

  “Now do you understand why it’s been hard for me?”

  “But it’s not fair for you to keep—”

  “I know, Brockie, I know. I need to talk to Mum, and I will. Today, I’m fixing all of my mistakes. I’m just asking for time and patience. I’m going to have bad days. I’m going to have days where I won’t be able to stand to be around anyone, and where you’re probably not going to be able to be around me. But, I still—” I closed my eyes and clenched my fists as I struggled to release the words I thought he needed to hear. “I still love you all.”

  He sat back on his haunches. Although he didn’t say anything, I had to assume he understood and would lay off me a little. I didn’t expect miracles, but if we could at least go back to the normal level of bickering it would be a start.

  “Thanks for the talk, Brock.” I didn’t wait for a response before I headed out of his room.

  Beau and Angel were sitting around the dining table with Mum and Dad. The room fell silent when I walked in, confirming the topic of conversation. The same thing that was always talked about in our house lately.

  Beau’s gaze sought me out and seemed to hold concern for my well-being—the question “Are you okay” burned within.

  Inclining my head just enough to let him know I was, I moved to Mum’s side. Everyone’s gazes were locked on me as I went.

  “Mum.”

  She glanced up at me and gave me a watery smile.

  “I—I think I might be ready now,” I muttered, even as I tried to ignore the insects that had apparently taken up residence just under my skin.

  Pulling herself up from the table, she asked. “Are you sure?”

  I risked a glance around at the other three pairs of eyes staring at me, and uttered a near-silent, “Yes.”

  Mum headed down the hallway—away from the table and the rest of the family.

  I followed her into her study, relieved she didn’t try to force me to face this truth in my bedroom. It was impossible to ignore the facts anymore though, and the longer we let it drag on without acknowledgement, the harder it was going to be to discuss. Dr Bradshaw had been right in that respect.

  Mum came to a stop, leaning her hips against her desk. “I’m sorry, baby, I never meant for you to be hurt by this.”

  I closed my eyes. The conversation was more than overdue, but that didn’t make it easier to face. “I know. It just—it reminds me of the things I lost. Things I might not get another chance at.”

  “I understand. That’s exactly why I haven’t pushed you, and why I asked Dr Bradshaw not to either.”

  I opened my eyes as she spoke. The pain buried in her gaze proved how difficult the situation was for her. It had never been my intention to make it harder on her, but it was just a fucked-up situation all around. Something that should’ve been such a happy occurrence—that would’ve been under almost any other circumstances—and it had torn apart a relationship between mother and daughter.

  Left us unable to relate like we used to. Left her unable to help me without hurting me more. I wanted to get back to how we were and hoped my actions would be the first step in repairing our relationship.

  “Ca-can I?” I held out my shaking hand.

  “Of course.” She reached for my hands and drew them onto her stomach.

  I held my breath as I wrapped my palms around her swollen stomach. A flicker under my palm sent my heart racing. Tears traced down my cheeks as my newest sibling responded to my touch.

  My eyes fluttered closed as I imagined what it would have been like to press my hand against my own stomach and feel the flickers and kicks from within.

  “It’s a girl,” Mum said, pressing her palms against the back of my hands. “No one else knows that yet. Just Dad and me. And now you. I didn’t want to tell anyone else until you talked to me about this.”

  This.

  The baby.

  Her baby.

  Conceived hours before Xavier made me call my parents to say goodbye. Days before Dad climbed on a plane to find me. A parting gift he hadn’t realised he was leaving behind.

  My lip quivered as the pain flooded in. It was what I’d been trying to avoid. My baby would’ve been almost exactly as far along; our stomachs would’ve been about the same size. Our due dates within days of each other.

  It was hard to acknowledge that she had the one thing I wanted. I’d never really considered motherhood as a serious option until it had been dangled in front of me and then cruelly snatched away. Drawing my hands over my stomach for comfort, I fell to my knees in front of Mum.

  “It hurts so bad,” I admitted as sobs rushed through me again. “I keep expecting the pain to get better as time goes on, but it doesn’t. It just gets worse.”

  She settled down on the floor beside me and cautiously cupped my cheek. “If there was anything I could do to take that pain away, I would do it, baby girl.”

  I curled into her, letting her comfort me properly rather than pushing her away so I didn’t have to acknowledge her stomach. “I never meant to hurt you, Mum, I didn’t. I just—I couldn’t . . . I’m sorry.”

  She held me tighter, resting her cheek against my hair. “You have nothing to apologise for. I understand.”

  Even though the words burned my tongue—no one could understand my pain—asking her how she could would’ve been unnecessarily cruel. Of anyone, she would understand. She would know: fo
r the exact reason I knew what it was like to have a piece of me missing.

  “When I was at the hospital after you and Emmie were born, I was surrounded by mothers who’d given birth to healthy babies. Who were cradling them and celebrating their births. By fathers holding their partner’s hand and looking at them like they just won Olympic gold. I had my parents, and I had Flynn, and Josh and Ruby, but it wasn’t the same. Part of me hated those women for having all the things I wanted.”

  Did she truly think that I hated her? Was that the impression I’d left her with? I had to reassure her. “No, Mum, no. I’ve never hated you.”

  “I know, sweetie. But I also know this hasn’t been easy on you. Coming home after everything you had to deal with and finding me like this. I’m not surprised you shut down, I would’ve. Hell, I did. If it hadn’t been for Flynn helping out with everything . . . I don’t know that I would’ve survived those first few weeks at the hospital.”

  I squished tighter into her embrace. Despite everything, it was still one of the safest places on the planet. “I am happy for you and Dad. I know you’d never complain about having more kids, and I’m glad something positive is coming out of this. I just . . . don’t know if I can be the support I’ve been before. I can’t imagine going through the delivery with you and not thinking about the things that might’ve been—the way it could have been. With Nikki, all I could think of was how damn excited I was to be having another little sister. Now . . .”

  She brushed her hand over my hair in soothing strokes; by the third one, I wasn’t flinching and actually welcomed the touch. “You wonder what it would have been like if things were different.”

  I nodded as tears trailed along my cheek. I didn’t attempt to wipe them off; I couldn’t do anything but wrap myself in Mum’s arms and cry.

  In the end, I couldn’t even face Angel and Beau again, just had Mum send them away for me while I crawled to my room, curled into the dark corners of the closet, and let the pain and sinister memories claim me.

  NEARLY A WEEK passed before I contacted Beau or Angel. So many times, my fingers had hovered over the buttons, but I chickened out each time. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to talk to either of them, more that I didn’t know what to say after the last day we’d had together.

  True to his word, Beau hadn’t contacted me. It was a reminder of his promise: my choice.

  Always my choice.

  Angel, however, didn’t subscribe to his beliefs. She hadn’t called me, but she had sent me at least a dozen texts every day. Never bitchy or demanding that I call, but just a constant stream of updates and information. It seemed she was trying to make up for every day we hadn’t spoken. Still, my day of revelations had left me empty, so I didn’t reply to any. I was a broken husk unable to be occupied with day-to-day monotonies.

  On the Wednesday morning, before my appointment with Dr Bradshaw, I sent Beau a text letting him know Mum would be taking me. After the message stared accusingly at me for the cold tone I’d used, I sent a second inviting him and Angel around for dinner when I was done.

  When I headed for a shower, I saw Dad buzzing around Mum in her study. It was such an unusual situation for him to be home during the day, I wondered what might be happening. It couldn’t have been anything to do with my breakthroughs because those had been discussed in whispers at length after Mum and Dad thought everyone was asleep.

  Trying to put it out of mind, I headed for my shower. Once I was dressed and ready to emerge from the steam-filled room, I pulled the door open to find Dad waiting for me.

  “Pheebs, can we talk?” He wrung his hands together.

  My heart leapt into my throat and I retreated a step from him. His unease put me on edge. The timing of the conversation didn’t seem coincidental either—as close as he could get to my appointment without blurting it out and shoving me through the door.

  “Please? I promise it won’t take long.”

  Unable to find my words with the panic weighing down my tongue, I shrugged and indicated he should follow me.

  I found a seat on my bed and tugged my legs into my body, making myself as small as possible.

  Dad leant against my desk and assessed me carefully. When he spoke, it was as if each word had been stopped, inspected, and approved before being released. “I need to talk to you about next year.”

  Confusion furrowed my brow. “What about it?”

  “Steve Parkins is still retiring. In light of everything, he considered staying on, but he can’t. His wife and kids need him to stay at home for a while.” He glanced toward the door. “I can understand that. Family has to come first.”

  Although I could hear whispers of the questions he hadn’t asked building in my head, I wanted to push them all aside. Maybe he wasn’t going to ask that. Maybe he knew . . .

  “I don’t want you to feel pressured by my question, but do you think you’ll be ready to get back in the car?”

  No! How can you even ask that? Don’t you understand! The voices screamed in my head, but one glance at Dad’s eyes silenced them. He did understand. That was why he was asking.

  “It’s okay to say you won’t be. I just didn’t want to assume . . .”

  “I-I don’t know.” I did know, but I was afraid of the answer. “How long do I have before you need to know for sure?”

  He considered me for a moment, his blue-green eyes filled with so many warring emotions it was hard to keep up. The answer to my question was clear on his face—in the hard press of his lips and pinched corners of his eyes. It was an answer he needed now. Today. Sooner.

  If I wasn’t able to get back in the car, he needed to arrange alternative solutions. There were two cars in the ProV8 series, and two in the production series. Four drivers down to three if I didn’t return, and neither of the production series drivers was ready to make the leap into the ProV8—especially not Anders, who took over my position. It was already July. If he wanted to court a big name, or even a semi-decent one, he’d need to get working on a replacement sooner rather than later.

  “Bentley and Coombes have both expressed interest in coming to Emmanuel, and both are in negotiations with their current teams,” he admitted. “I don’t know how long I’ll be able to stall them for. Their current teams will want the contracts locked away sooner rather than later.”

  “Then tell one of them yes.” Even as I said the words, they sliced through my heart. I loved racing. I wanted to be out on that track more than anything next year. It was what I’d been groomed for—it had been my entire focus until I’d met Beau. Even then, it was still the only thing I could imagine doing with my life. That all changed when I’d experienced the type of nightmares that haunted my days and ruined my nights. Now, a career was the last thing on my mind. Surviving each day was a bigger concern.

  Dad moved to sit beside me. “Are you sure, baby? I mean, what are you going to do next year if you’re not racing?”

  I couldn’t imagine having to face people or go anywhere. If I couldn’t even face Angel and Beau, how the hell was I supposed to face the general public? Before, everyone wanted a piece of me. Would they still? How was I supposed to deal with autograph hounds when I couldn’t even deal with my family without breaking down? “What’s wrong with what I’m doing now?”

  “You can’t hide away forever, Pheebs.”

  I crossed my arms over my chest and pouted. “I can try.”

  He chuckled. “Ever the stubborn one.”

  “Not stubborn enough,” I muttered as my mind sank back to the underground hell I’d lived for so many months.

  Dad picked up on my meaning instantly. I guessed seeing his daughter in the condition he’d found me in was probably burned into his brain as much as mine. “Stubborn enough to survive and come back to us.”

  I could have argued that I still wasn’t sure how much of me was back, but it would’ve just been beating a dead horse.

  “Why don’t you talk to Dr Bradshaw about the racing thing before I commit to an
ything with Bentley or Coombes? Work out how you really feel about it, rather than a knee-jerk reaction.”

  “I guess that wouldn’t hurt.”

  “I just don’t want to see you give up your whole life because of those arseholes.” He spun on the bed to meet my gaze. “Don’t let the bastards win.”

  I nodded, knowing Dad was right but also understanding that it wasn’t nearly as easy as he seemed to suggest it was. Bee and Xavier might’ve been dead, but they lived on in the scars on my heart and carved into my soul. But Dad was right too, I couldn’t spend every day of the rest of my life living under the shadow they had cast over me.

  IT WAS ALMOST the end of July before I realised Beau had missed a celebration because of me. I woke early in the morning with his arms wrapped around my hips with the startling revelation burning in my brain.

  “You missed the Fourth!” I spun in his hold as I blurted out the words.

  A sound issued from the back of his throat that vaguely sounded like, “Huh?”

  I rolled so I was half on top of him, pressing him against the mattress and using every inch of the extra space we shared.

  After the week of no communication had come a week of constant sleepovers when I’d realised how much calmer I was at night—how much better I slept—with him at my side. It had left Angel alone in Beau’s house, but she didn’t complain. In fact, she always seemed downright chuffed at the fact Beau was spending the night again.

  On the eighth night, Beau had declared that although he loved being close to me I needed at least a double bed if his sleepovers were going to become a permanent thing. That statement had seen him banished from the house for two nights before I realised he was right. It wasn’t fair to him to expect him to squeeze into a single bed with me every night. Especially when the proximity gave me nightmares at least as often as it soothed them.

  By the middle of July, a new queen-sized bed was a fixture in my room, and so was Beau. I was certain Mum and Dad wouldn’t have agreed to his regular sleepovers if it wasn’t for the fact that I disturbed the house less often. Then again, with Mum’s talk about me being an adult, she might have. I couldn’t see Dad being so easy to bend on the issue under different circumstances.