Phase (Phoebe Reede: The Untold Story #1)

by Michelle Irwin

  I slung my backpack over one shoulder and headed through the house. Morgan was at the breakfast bar in the open kitchen, staring at me in shock as I walked past, almost as if he hadn’t expected me to be there. Maybe he didn’t. Maybe Eden hadn’t told him yet.

  Even though it made me feel worse than ever, I didn’t acknowledge him. If I did, it would invite a conversation, and I wasn’t ready for that. Not yet.

  Instead, I averted my gaze and stalked down the hallway to my temporary room.

  As soon as I’d closed the door behind me, I dropped my bag to the floor, pulled out my earbud headphones and put them in before plugging the other end into my phone. I scrolled through my playlists to find the angriest, most angst-filled shit I could and turned the volume up.

  “What’s she doing here?” Morgan’s question, full of confusion but not malice, was the last thing I heard before the music blasted into my skull. I rolled onto my side and closed my eyes, letting myself get lost in the tunes as the sobs took over.

  IT WAS DARK when I opened my eyes again. At some point, I must have fallen asleep because the earbuds had fallen out and the music was echoing from them in a series of tinny beats.

  I ran a brush through my hair and pulled it up into a ponytail before checking out the damage in the mirror. My eyes were bloodshot and red, my cheeks puffy and blotchy. Feeling the burn of embarrassment build from my feet up as I thought about the way I’d fallen to pieces when I’d arrived, I drew in a breath and tried to force it back down. Morgan and Eden were like family. In fact, we were closer than some families I knew. For a moment, I debated pulling out my make-up and fixing the canvas as best as I could before trying to find some dinner.

  Fuck it.

  My physical appearance wasn’t going to be anyone’s greatest concern. After smoothing down my ponytail once more, I headed out toward the kitchen. As soon as I pulled the door open, I could smell the intoxicating aroma of bacon cooking. I followed the scent and the crackle of the fat sizzling in the frying pan to the kitchen.

  “Told you, Edie, food always gets them to come running,” Morgan joked, turning to wink at me.

  The sound of footsteps behind me drew my attention, and I turned to see Max coming up behind me. Eden’s words in the car came back to me, and I tried to avoid looking down—just in case he was as excited to see me as most other teenage boys were.

  “Hey, Pheebs,” he said, his voice bright and cheery, even if significantly deeper than it had been the last time I’d seen him.

  “Hey, Maxie.”

  He bristled at the nickname.

  “It’s just Max now,” Morgan said. It was clear from the slightly sarcastic edge to his voice that Max had reamed him out at least once for continuing to use the nickname. The fun of teenage boys.

  “Sorry, Max.” I grinned at him. The fact was, despite his apparent newfound urges, Max and I had always been as thick as thieves. He’d been another brother in a lot of ways. We’d never been quite as close as he and my brother Brock, but only because their birthdays were only a few weeks apart.

  I wrinkled my nose at the thought that maybe my baby bro was having the same urges. At least Brock wouldn’t be looking at my calendar to get himself off. The thought sent another shudder racing down my spine.

  “So, how long are you in town for, Pheebs?” Morgan asked.

  “For as long as she wants,” Eden answered for me.

  “Of course.” Morgan smirked at her as she snatched a piece of bacon out of the pan. “You know you’re always welcome, little missy.” He pointed the spatula at me.

  Choosing to ignore the little missy part of his comment, I asked, “What’s on the menu?”

  “Bacon and eggs.”

  I nodded. “Breakfast for dinner. I can dig it.” It was the sort of thing we’d do at home, especially lately. In the last month, Mum and Dad ended up caught at the hospital or at a specialist appointment with Nikki more days than not. Whenever that happened, I’d been responsible for feeding three fussy kids. With all their disagreements, there were a few certain winners: eggs, spaghetti, or baked beans on toast.

  I found a seat at the table, and Max took his usual position opposite me. A moment later, Morgan slid a plate of bacon, eggs, and toast in front of me.

  “Smells divine,” I said, leaning forward and closing my eyes to appreciate it. It’d been too long since I’d eaten. Even longer since I hadn’t been the one to cook it first.

  When I opened my eyes again, Max was staring at me. Our gazes met for a moment. He gave a breathy sigh and shifted in his seat as he looked away.

  Great.

  During my self-imposed seclusion in the bedroom, I’d actually considered taking Eden up on her offer of a few months in Sydney with them.

  The idea was far less appealing if Max was going to spend the whole time as a walking hard-on around me. Knowing other boys who had that reaction, he’d probably end up dragging his friends around to ogle the beautiful freak of nature who had a pussy but could also control cars they could only touch in their wettest dreams.

  “Your dad’s going to be here in the morning,” Morgan said before Eden elbowed him in a clear warning to shut up.

  “You weren’t supposed to tell her yet,” she murmured with murderous intent.

  I crossed my arms and shot her a warning look. “When were you going to tell me then?”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” she shot back, “I was thinking of maybe giving you as much warning as you gave me.”

  My expression turned a little sheepish, and I ducked my head. “I guess that’s fair.”

  When I looked back up at her through my lashes, her brows were pinched together, her expression one of concern and not anger.

  “He’s not coming to drag you home kicking and screaming,” Morgan said, reaching out to give my hand a reassuring pat. “He just wants to talk away from everything else.”

  “Okay,” I said. Despite the fact that I understood everything they’d said, and was actually happy that Dad was coming down to Sydney to meet me, I still lost my appetite. I had no doubt Eden had informed him of our conversation, and he was probably drawing the all-too-familiar cloak of guilt around himself as I sat there, a thousand kilometres away.

  I pushed the food around on my plate for a while before giving up and retreating to my room.

  Almost as soon as they thought I was out of earshot, Morgan and Eden started taking shots at each other about who was right and wrong in the situation—whether they should have told me or waited. I hid just around the corner in the hallway and closed my eyes. Of course, I’d make them argue again when they’d only just found their way back together.

  Did everything I touched have to go to shit?

  Why was it so hard to tell Dad how I felt? It wasn’t like he was one of those arsehole tyrants who forbade me from doing anything . . . except when it came to my bike.

  “Are you okay?” Max’s voice drew my attention and forced me to open my eyes. When I did, I met his baby blues.

  I nodded, hoping he’d move on if I didn’t give him much.

  “What’s wrong?” he pressed.

  “It’s hard to explain.”

  He drew himself straighter, as though an extra half-inch of height would grant him mystical powers of perception. “Try me.”

  “Really, you wouldn’t understand.”

  He reached for my hand. It was an action he’d done hundreds of times before. Completely innocent. When the three of us were little, I’d often have his hand in one of mine, and Brock’s in the other.

  Instead of letting his fingers find mine, I tugged my hand away.

  “What is it?” he asked, stepping closer.

  I slid along the wall so that he didn’t box me in—I’d had that happen before at the track, and it was never pleasant. “It’s just . . . I need some space.”

  He narrowed his eyes at me.

  “From home, I mean,” I added to keep him calm. It wasn’t that I was scared of him—I’d done enough self-de
fence to take down most threats—rather that I didn’t want things to get more awkward than they already were. All I could picture when I looked at him was his extracurricular activities, and I didn’t want to add more crap to the pile.

  “But there’s this, I don’t know, this thing between us. It’s never been there before.”

  Yeah. Your thing. “Your mum told me . . . about the calendar.”

  He stood staring at me. A second later, his blue eyes widened. He gaped, opening and closing his mouth as if trying to figure out what to say. His mouth snapped shut, and he flushed from head to toe. Even the tips of his ears turned pink.

  “It’s okay,” I said, trying to wipe away my careless words with something to soften the blow. “I mean I get it. There are some people that—” I cut off my explanation that I’d found relief in similar ways when he grew redder than ever. Without another word, he spun and walked away.

  “Max,” I called after him. “Wait. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything.”

  He spun around, his fury evident in every sharp motion. “No. It’s Mum who shouldn’t have said anything. She shouldn’t have even been in my fucking room.”

  “Please, Maxie, I don’t want things to get awkward between us.”

  “Yeah right. You just accused me of jerking off to your picture. How could it be awkward?”

  In spite of the situation, I found myself smiling. He inherited his sense of humour from Morgan, and it was wicked—even when he was just being a sarcastic arse. “You know what I mean. I love you—”

  In the next instant, he spun, reached for my arm, and tugged me against him. Before I could react, he pressed his lips against mine in a weird not-quite-chaste, but with no tongue kiss. The way a thirteen-year-old might kiss. Which was accurate I supposed.

  I grabbed his shoulders and shoved him away from me. “Maxie!”

  “What? You just said—”

  “I was going to say I love you like a little brother. You’ve just turned thirteen for God’s sake.”

  “So? It’s only five years difference. Five years is nothing.”

  “Five years is everything. I mean five years ago, I had not long started high school, and you were still wearing pull-ups at night.”

  He pinched his eyes together and glared at me. It was a low blow, using his long-term bed-wetting against him, and I knew it, but I needed to do something.

  “C’mon, Maxie. You’ve always been like a brother to me. What the fuck brought this on?”

  “All the guys at school—”

  I pinched the bridge of my nose. “You don’t have to be like all the guys at school. You’re a sweetheart, but this”—I waved my arm between us—“isn’t going to happen. It’d be as weird for me as trying something with Brock.”

  A look of utter devastation washed over his face. I could understand it. For whatever goddamned reason, I was his teenage crush. Very few people got to meet their idols, let alone had one staying at their house. Maybe he’d gone the wrong way about things, but that didn’t mean he needed to have his young heart shattered.

  “At least you can tell the guys that you got a kiss in,” I said, attempting a lame joke.

  His chest stopped heaving, and his fingers stopped clenching and unclenching. “What?”

  “Well, I’m not happy about what just happened, but there’s no reason you can’t get some street cred for it. I know what it’s like, being the youngest in class and the child of someone famous but not quite famous enough. It just gets you teased. It can make your life hell.”

  His gaze fell to his shoes and he blushed again.

  “You don’t have to pretend to like me to be cool.”

  He glanced up at me from beneath thick black lashes—the sort girls would have paid good money for—and gave me a coy smile. “It wasn’t pretend. I mean, you’re Phoebe Reede.”

  I rolled my eyes. “I swear to God, the next person who says my name like it makes me some sort of grand fucking prize is going to cop my knee in their nuts.”

  “You know what I mean, Pheebs.”

  I wished I could say I didn’t, but I did.

  It was part of the problem, and it was always the same thing. I was the Great Declan Reede, hero to little boys everywhere, but with a pussy and a pair of tits. It was something I’d dealt with ever since hitting puberty. Since I was about fourteen, I’d been propositioned around the track, with everything from catcalls of what they’d do to me if we were alone for a few minutes to genuine, sweet offers.

  Of course, it was impossible to know whether those sweet offers were people actually interested in me for who I was and wanted to be, or if my suitors were only interested because of the legacy that overshadowed me daily.

  It was systematic and ruled my life. I was a piece of eye candy and had to work three times as hard as anyone else at the track. Everyone disregarded any success I found in a car. It was the least they could expect from Declan Reede’s daughter, after all.

  And any failure was apparently my genitals’ fault, as if lacking a personal gearstick made me somehow less capable of driving well. I had no problem fighting for what I wanted, but the constant battle from every side was too much.

  I couldn’t be what everyone wanted. Not anymore.

  “You know what, Maxie, you’re right. I’m Phoebe fucking Reede. But I’m done being her, at least for a while.” Before he could respond, I headed back to my temporary bedroom.

  Shoving my earbuds in again, I opened a book on my phone and started to read through a few pages of some romantic comedy. Just as the heroine found out about the secrets the hero was keeping, I had an epiphany.

  Something had to change.

  Soon.

  I needed to figure out who I was—and who I wanted to be.

  “HEY, PRINCESS.”

  Before even attempting to open my eyes, I pushed my hair—now no doubt a brown and pink haystack—off my face. Then I blinked in the bright morning light and lifted my head off the pillow. “Dad?”

  “You scared me, disappearing like that yesterday. Especially taking off on that damn bike.”

  I closed my eyes and dropped my head back against my pillow. “Did you really fly a thousand k’s to lecture me?”

  Instead of getting upset with my cheek like I expected him to, he chuckled. “God, you’re so much like me when I was your age.”

  “So I’ve been told.” Repeatedly.

  He rested his hand on my arm. “Eden said you mentioned Nikki’s surgery yesterday.”

  I shrugged, feeling like an arsehole for even bringing it up. Any stress I’d felt over her hospital visits and surgery was nothing compared to what Mum and Dad had gone through. They’d kept it hidden as best as they could, of course, but both the bags under Mum’s eyes and the weariness on Dad’s shoulders had grown exponentially as the weeks passed by. Watching their baby go in for open-heart surgery hadn’t been easy on either of them. Plus, it had to be dredging up a ton of memories for Mum.

  Dad was quiet until I sat up. Then he ducked his head so that I had to meet his gaze. His eyes—the same odd turquoise as mine—filled with a swirl of emotions. He rested his hand on my knee and attempted a comforting smile. “I’m sorry if you felt like your mum and I have been putting too much pressure on you. I know it’s not right, but sometimes it’s easy for us to take you for granted because you’re always there for your brothers and sisters.”

  “That’s not the reason I left.”

  He levelled his stare at me, not trusting my words.

  “I mean, it’s not really that. I don’t mind helping out. I just . . . Seeing the stress wearing Mum down. Hearing her cry in your arms. It’s a reminder that I did that to her as well.”

  “Hey, kiddo, you didn’t do anything to her. You were born. That’s all you did, and I give thanks every day that you were. If it weren’t for you, Lys might have moved away and married someone else. Then where would I be? There aren’t too many people who would put up with me.” He winked at me.


  I wiped my eyes with my sleeves as an involuntary chuckle left me despite my tears. “That’s true. You can be a handful.”

  He indicated with his head that he wanted me to scoot over, so I did, moving closer to the wall. When I had, he moved next to me, wrapping me in his arms so I could rest against his chest. As soon as I did, I felt like a child again, being comforted over some fear that seemed insurmountable at first, but insignificant with the benefit of hindsight.

  “You’re my miracle, and I don’t want to lose you. Why do you think I hate that damn bike of yours?”

  I wrapped my arms around his waist. “You won’t lose me, Dad. I wouldn’t be on the bike if I couldn’t control it. You know that.”

  “It’s not just about the bike though. My biggest fear is to lose you to indifference or hatred. There’s a reason I’ve never hidden my past from you, Pheebs, and it’s not just so that you don’t stumble across it by accident. I refuse to make the same mistakes my father did and end up with a chasm between us that’s too big to repair.”

  “You don’t have to worry about making his mistakes. Mum would kill you if you even thought about it.”

  It had been a while since I’d heard him give such a carefree laugh. Probably almost twelve months. I hadn’t heard him laugh properly since before the doctor had given him and Mum the news about Nikki’s condition during a routine ultrasound check-up while Mum was still pregnant. “You’re not wrong there,” he said as soon as the peal of laughter died in the air. “Plus I’d have Edie and Ruby on my case in a heartbeat, and those two are damn scary.” His eyes sparkled with mischief as he spoke of his best friend and sister-in-law.

  Thinking about the shreds both of them would tear off Dad if he even thought about cheating on Mum made me laugh aloud.

  “Not that I’d ever have to worry about that. I’m still as much in love with her as I was when you two crashed back into my life.”

  “If I remember the stories correctly, it was you doing the crashing,” I teased.

  His eyes narrowed at me for a second, as if warning me to watch it, before he chuckled. “So what’s this really about then? If not Nikki’s surgery.”