Physis (Phoebe Reede: The Untold Story #4)

by Michelle Irwin

  “I just want ya to be happy.”

  I spun in his arms. “That phoenix will make me happy.” I paused before adding, “But not as happy as you do.”

  When I called for him, the tattoo artist came out. I spoke to him about what I wanted and where. While Beau was trying to be discreet and give us space, I asked for one small change to the design—to incorporate a B and an M somewhere into the bold lines. The fact that Beau didn’t want his name on my body was exactly the reason I wanted to include his initials. Our love was something we’d had to fight for—through situations barely imaginable—and it was real. Even if that came crashing down in the years to come, I’d always want to remember that he’d rescued me from the prison my life had become.

  Flutters of nerves rushed over my stomach at the thought of having something cover up the external part of me that was tainted by what had happened. The scars inside would never fully heal, but at least I could face the outside world looking the part.

  The tattooist asked to see where I wanted it to determine the size and best placement and angles. I froze. It meant revealing my chest to him. My breath quickened as I found the strength to move—backwards away from him. I shook my head as tears started to fall. I couldn’t do that. Couldn’t strip in front of him.

  “Dawson.” I didn’t realise Beau was back at my side until he whispered the word into my ear. His hand closed around mine. “No one is gonna think less of ya if ya turn around and walk out now.”

  I nodded. That’s what I needed to do. I needed to get out. To be free.

  Only, I wouldn’t be free. I’d still have the ugly mark on my chest from where he tried to stake his ownership.

  “No. I need to do this.” I spoke the words through my teeth, barely able to breathe through the paralysis that had taken hold. But they were the words I needed to say.

  I had no idea what Beau had said to the tattooist or if he was just used to people having freak-outs in the moments before getting ink. He gave me a small, comforting smile. “I don’t need you to get undressed. If you can, just undo a couple of buttons and take off the sleeve. You can tuck it into your bra so that you’re still covered.”

  Fighting the rising bile, I nodded. Beau squeezed my hand and I gave his fingers a replying hold before releasing them. I moved to the corner so no one could see me and with my back to the two of them, undid my shirt just enough to slip my arm out of my sleeve. Then I tucked the top of my shirt into my bra just like the tattooist suggested.

  With a deep breath, I turned back around and moved toward the two of them. My heart pounded against my ribs and my fists were clenched at my side as I covered the distance. When I was close enough, Beau offered his hand instead of just taking mine. He must have sensed how close I was to a complete breakdown. I took his hand and squeezed it tightly—until my knuckles ached from the hold.

  “Can you show me exactly where you want it?”

  My teeth were in deep in my lip and a whimper built in my throat as I nodded.

  When his fingers touched my skin, I flinched away and squeezed Beau’s hand.

  “Say the word, darlin’, and he’ll stop. You’re in complete control.”

  “I’m okay,” I whispered, feeling anything but.

  “There’s some scarring here,” the artist said. “It’s a little fresher than I’d usually prefer to work with.”

  “That’s—that’s—” Needing him to help me out, I squeezed Beau’s hand tighter, until I was positive my knuckles would pop out of their sockets.

  “That’s what the tattoo is to cover up,” Beau answered for me. “It’s a reminder of a negative recent event.”

  The artist made a few small umms and ahs while poking and prodding at my flesh. I was frozen in place and even if I’d wanted him to stop, I wouldn’t have been able to ask or back away.

  “You know, I think I can work with it. The ink might not take completely, but it looks healed enough and we can always go over the lines again if we need to. Give me a minute.” He disappeared into another room.

  I struggled not to burst into tears as soon as he left. The atmosphere was overwhelming as the positive and negative emotions swirled through me.

  “Are you okay?”

  “I want to do this.” I closed my eyes as tight as I could. “I just don’t know if I can. But I’m going to try.”

  “I’m here, darlin’, right with ya all the way. Just remember if ya wanna stop, at any time, just say the words.”

  I found myself laughing in spite of the situation.

  Beau tilted his head and frowned.

  “I thought that when I heard you say something like that, it would be for something entirely different to this,” I admitted in a whisper directed down at my hands before lifting my gaze to his.

  “What d’ya . . .” He stopped and his eyes widened. “Oh.”

  The flabbergasted expression on his face was priceless.

  “But ya ain’t ready for that . . .” He held my hand in both of his. “Are ya?”

  A nervous smile flittered across my lips. “I’m not saying I am.”

  He did a decent job at hiding his disappointment. He’d been so damn patient with me, more than I could have hoped for. More than I deserved. But he was a man in love, tempted by sleeping beside me more nights than not, so it didn’t take a neurosurgeon’s degree to work out he wanted more.

  “But I’m not saying I’m not. I’m just saying I’m starting to think that it’s not entirely impossible.” I could only hope that little compromise would be enough for now.

  Before we could say anything more, the tattoo artist came back out. “Are you ready?”

  It took everything I had not to shake my head and run away. “I think so.”

  “Come through and we’ll get started.”

  I didn’t give Beau a chance to back away, dragging him into the back with me.

  At first, the sights and smells overwhelmed me. The protective coverings over everything gave me flashbacks to the first day in hospital after Dad and Beau had found me. The endless questions. The stream of different doctors and nurses. Needing to repeat myself over and over, telling the story of my kidnapping, my imprisonment, and Xavier’s final attack—the one that had left me with the scar.

  A tinge of pine scent from disinfectant or floor wash lingered in the air, burning my nose and twisting my stomach.

  “You doin’ okay, Dawson?” Beau asked, clearly sensing my rising panic and using the word he knew would keep me anchored.

  I sucked down a breath tainted with the scent of disinfectant. “I’m okay.”

  “If you can pop over here,” the tattoo artist said, patting on a reclining chair.

  Following his instructions, I settled into place.

  “Can you slide this off?” he asked, touching the spot where my bra strap rested over my collarbone.

  Holding my breath and squeezing my eyes shut, I nodded.

  He hadn’t even started yet, and part of me already regretted agreeing to it. The only thing that kept me in place was Beau’s touch and the knowledge that the discomfort and pain would have a positive end result. The scar left over my heart, the one that cut a crude XAV across my chest, would be gone. That was worth almost any amount of pain.

  After the stencil was on and positioned, I had a moment where my tears started to fall. Already I could see how well the scar would be covered. It would disappear, and I could take the next step in my healing. Even if the ink in the lines didn’t take as well as it might have otherwise, the bursts of colour would still distract the eye from the scar.

  Beau sat to my right, holding my hand and offering me his silent support.

  When the needle started, I tensed. The reality hit me that I’d be stuck and unable to move for a while. Completely vulnerable as the tattooist’s gloved hands roamed my skin. A shudder raced through me and I had to bite my lip to stop myself from screaming.

  Why had I thought I could do this?

  Beau squeezed my hand. “D’ya r
eckon I should get some ink too, darlin’?”

  It was a distraction, but a welcome one. I tuned out the buzz in the room and concentrated on Beau instead.

  “I can’t see it,” I teased, forcing myself to focus on that rather than the tattoo artist’s hands and needle working my chest. “You’re too clean-cut to get ink done.”

  He raised his brow at me. “Ya think so?”

  I lifted our joined hands and brushed his hair off his forehead. “Absolutely. Far too clean-cut and wholesome for ink.”

  The tattoo artist chuckled as he worked.

  “What?” I asked, feeling like I was missing something.

  “D’ya mind?” Beau tugged at the collar of his shirt as he asked the guy the question.

  The tattooist shook his head. “It’s nothing I haven’t seen before,” he said with a chuckle as he continued to work on my ink.

  I glanced between the tattooist and Beau, moving as slow as I could so that I didn’t damage the tattoo.

  “You didn’t—”

  Releasing my hand for a moment, Beau lifted the hem of his T-shirt. In a second, it was off, and my jaw dropped. Over his heart, in almost the exact spot where my own tattoo was going, was a semi-healed tattoo. A bike and rider facing into his chest, as though riding straight into his heart. The rider was clearly female, although he hadn’t gone with the usual fall-back of a topless pin-up. Just a set of leathers with an obvious femininity and a black helmet.

  Beau’s cheeks brightened as I stared at him, wide-eyed and open-mouthed.

  “I hope ya don’t mind, darlin’? I didn’t think ya would. Well, I hoped ya wouldn’t. I wasn’t even entirely sure ya’d get to see it.”

  “Why did you get that? When?”

  “A couple a weeks ago when ya went to”—his gaze cut to the tattooist—“your appointments, I came here. There was an image I needed to get outta my head.” He winked at me before moving closer so I could get a better look.

  The bike wasn’t just any bike. It was the same one I’d ridden during my first holiday to the States.

  “Is that—” I cut off and met his gaze.

  “It’s the moment you drove into my heart, memorialised forever.”

  I narrowed my eyes. If I’d had my arms free, I would’ve crossed them over my chest. “So let me get this straight. I can’t get your name tattooed on me, but you can get me tattooed on you?”

  He smiled another of his lazy smiles. “It ain’t the same thing.”

  “It’s not?”

  “No, ma’am.” He took my hand again.

  “How do you figure?”

  “This is a memory, something meaningful to me, but it doesn’t pretend to tell the world that I belong to ya.”

  The way he said it sent a charge of agony through me. “You do though, right?”

  “Always. ’Til ya get sick of me.” He kissed my forehead.

  “Or until you have to go home.” My mood sank at the thought. The countdown was on before he would need to leave.

  He held my hand a little tighter. “Even then.”

  “Angel told me about her plan. Maybe we should consider it?” I’d completely forgotten about the other guy in the room.

  “Darlin’, I ain’t gettin’ married just to stay in Australia. There’s only one gal I’ll marry, and I know she ain’t the marryin’ kind, so I’m happy to remain unhitched forever.”

  “So you’d rather leave me?”

  “Course not. ’Sides, I told ya not to worry ’bout it, didn’t I?”

  “Yeah, but I don’t know how you expect me to just forget that my lifeline is going to leave in a few months. You pulled me back from the brink, Beau, and I don’t want to go back there.”

  “Even if I have to leave, ya ain’t goin’ back there. You’re too strong now. The phoenix, remember?”

  Panic rose in me and I wanted to beat the tattooist away.

  “Is that why you wanted me to get this tattoo?” My voice rose with each word before falling as tears gathered when I continued, “As something to remind me to be strong when you go?”

  If that was the case, I wanted to demand that the artist stop so I could leave. A damn picture on my chest wouldn’t be enough to compensate for losing Beau. I wouldn’t be strong enough to survive without him. Maybe that made me codependent, but I couldn’t give a fuck. I needed him, and I didn’t care who knew it.

  “Darlin’, can ya trust me just a little longer?”

  “And you won’t tell me why?”

  “If ya insist, I will, but I really don’t wanna get your hopes up just to have it all blow up in our faces.”

  As much as I hated it, I could understand the sentiment. That was the reason I hadn’t told him earlier about the car Mum and Dad were trying to secure for me in the States. Keeping that secret hadn’t exactly worked out well for either of us, though.

  That thought was almost enough to compel me to force him to tell me. But this time was different. We were different. Petty jealousy wasn’t something we’d ever have to worry about again; we had far deeper issues to deal with daily, and we were the only ones who could really reach each other. Except maybe Angel—she was the only one who could possibly come between us. “Okay. I’ll trust you for a little longer. But if you don’t have a firm answer by November, you’ll have to tell me the plan regardless.”

  He kissed my knuckles. “That, I can do.”

  I stared at the ceiling before letting my eyes drift shut. “For now, why don’t you tell me a story to keep my mind off everything?”

  He chuckled and leant closer until his breath was against my ear. “Once upon a time, a hapless stock car racer went to a bar to celebrate a friend’s birthday. Little did he know, his whole life was about to change.”

  I turned to him. “Before you go any further, I have to know, does this story have a happy ending?”

  He pressed his lips against my temple. “The happiest.”

  Nodding to show I’d heard, I closed my eyes again and fought back the tears as he continued his side of the story of how we met.

  I SLAMMED BOTH feet on the brake, screeching to a halt before running into the kitty litter.

  Get your head in the game, Reede!

  “Are you all right, Pheebs?” Dad’s voice came through the comms.

  No. I’m not fucking okay. I’m never going to be fucking okay. “Just trying to find a rhythm.” I wasn’t so deep in the sand trap that I couldn’t get out myself. I limped out in reverse, hoping to shake most of the debris off the car before I got back on the track.

  As soon as I was clear, I put it in gear and shot off again. Just like when I was trying to settle into the car in the US, I kept making so many little stupid mistakes. Things I knew how to do better. I swore under my breath.

  There was a little commotion on the other end of the comms, and then they crackled to life again.

  “Darlin’, how’re ya doin’?”

  “Beau? What’re you doing on the comms?”

  “It worked last time.”

  A smile crossed my lips. It was one of the standout moments from the time I thought he’d hated me. The gentle guidance of his voice as he’d worked to get my head in the right place on the track had helped immensely then. Maybe it would again. “I guess you’re right. You do know Dad will be pissed if you get a better performance from me than he can though, don’t you?”

  “Maybe I should hand ya back to him then?”

  “Don’t you dare.”

  “What’s goin’ on in that pretty li’l head of yours?”

  His words were a reminder of our first night. “Now? The night we met.”

  “Why?”

  “’Cause you said something similar then. Don’t you remember? You told me you knew I was more than just a pretty face.”

  “And ya proved me right not too long after that.”

  I took the corner at full speed, drifting through it the way that I would have before. “How?”

  “The way ya floated your bike thro
ugh the corners was like nothin’ I’d ever seen. I shoulda guessed then what ya did for a livin’.”

  I laughed as I rammed the car down a couple of gears to give her some extra speed down the straight.

  “I gotta say, I’m a li’l jealous at the moment.”

  “I don’t blame you; it’s been a while since you got to go fast.”

  “I didn’t say I was jealous of you. I’m jealous o’ the car, getting all your attention like it is.”

  “I’m paying you at least as much attention,” I said. “At least with my mouth.”

  Beau coughed into the mic. The sound was familiar—one he’d issued many times during my first trip to the States. It confused me at first, at least until I ran the words over in my head again.

  When realisation struck me, it came with a flood of memories. Only this time, they weren’t memories of Xavier and Bee. They were of Beau and me. Loving. Caring. My mouth went dry as a tingle raced through me.

  “Darlin’, don’t do that!” Beau muttered. “Your daddy is right here and the comms are open.”

  I laughed through my embarrassment. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

  “I know, darlin’. How’s the car feelin’?”

  “Good. Better. How are my times?”

  “They’re respectable, Pheebs.” Dad’s voice came down the line—perhaps to confirm Beau’s statement that he was still there and listening. “If it was true race conditions, I’d say you’d be in the pack.”

  “But not at the front?”

  “Not with these times, no.” It wasn’t good enough. If I was in the car, I needed to be in the car. To feel it, and let it become an extension of me.

  “Keep Beau on the comms and give me another five laps. Beau, I need you to keep me focused. Your voice, and the words you know will keep me here. Keep my head in the car. I’m going hard.”

  I dropped a gear, slammed my foot on the accelerator, and pushed an extra twenty kilometres an hour out of the car.

  “You know you were never on the track because you’re special. You’re just a stupid little girl with an arsehole father.”

  My fingers tightened around the steering wheel to stop my arms from shaking. The air in my lungs thickened until it was easy to believe I was breathing treacle.