The tears that I’d finally managed to stow just an hour earlier flowed in earnest again. Each excited thought sent a wave of guilt through me. Nikki still wasn’t entirely in the clear, after all. Mum and Dad would still have to deal with three other children as well as caring for her. My trip was just adding extra pressure. Pressure they didn’t need.
It was selfish of me to even consider going. And yet, it would be impossible to stay, ticking away inside like a time bomb that might explode at any time.
Mum wrapped her arms around me and let me cry against her shoulder. She didn’t tell me that it was okay if I didn’t want to go anymore. We’d already had that conversation the night before. She didn’t try to increase my guilt or tell me it was silly to feel that way.
Instead, she just sat with me while I worked through my own emotions.
“Oh, I think I spy something that might make the rest of the wait easier,” Mum said after a while.
I looked up to see the statuesque figure of Angelique coming through the terminal. Even in a pair of yoga pants and slouched top, she looked fan-fucking-tastic.
“Angel!” I squealed, not caring how many people turned and looked at me as I leapt to my feet and hurled across the terminal at her.
It might have only been a couple of months since we’d seen each other, and we might have talked on the phone more nights than not, but it was still exciting to see her in person again. Especially considering seeing her meant we were that much closer to the moment we’d be on the plane out of the country.
We crashed into each other in a tangle of limbs and held on tight as we twisted back and forth, squealing the whole time.
After we released each other, she pinched the pink clump of hair behind my ear between her fingers.
“Interesting dye job,” she said as she took in the bright stands. “Your roots are showing though.”
“Fuck you too, bitch.” I yanked my head away from her hand. “Better than being a bottle blonde.”
“Please,” she said with a roll of her emerald eyes, “this is totally my natural colour.”
I snorted. “Sure. Maybe when you were six.”
She laughed. “That’s beside the point, little punk.”
“God, I missed you, you cow.”
“You’re the one who’s been travelling all around the country, getting all hot and sweaty in the cabins of those cars, forced to spend so much time with all those boys in the pit . . . actually, what am I saying? Sign me up!”
I chuckled. “Slut.”
“Whore.” She kissed my cheek and slung her arm around my shoulder. I matched the pose. “It’s going to be great starting this trip with you,” she said as we walked back toward Mum.
“Shh, don’t say that too loudly.”
“I know, I know. According to your parents, we’re going to be joined at the hip the whole trip. Even if the reality is that you’re going to dump me like last night’s dinner the instant we land.”
“Well, can you blame me? Fourteen hours stuck next to you with no escape.” It was too easy to fall back into my natural sarcasm with her. She understood me like no one else did. At school, we’d traded insults like no one’s business because it lessened the sting of any other barbs hurled our way. “You’ll be lucky if I don’t throw myself from the plane halfway across the ocean.”
“If you decide to do that, let me know. Those doors can be hard to open, and I’d like to lend a hand. It’d be a shame to waste the opportunity after all.”
“What are you girls talking about?” Mum asked.
“Just plotting our itinerary, Mrs Reede,” Angel said in her sweeter-than-honey butter-wouldn’t-melt voice. I think my parents were among the few adults who saw straight through it, but that didn’t stop Angel from using it on them.
Mum smiled indulgently and gave a nod before turning to me. “Did you want me to stick around still, sweetie?”
I wanted to say yes just as desperately as I wanted to say no. I settled for a half-hearted shrug.
“I’m sure she’d love you to, Mrs Reede,” Angel said. “But if we go through customs now, we can get a decent feed before getting on the plane.”
“Okay. You girls have fun. And look out for one another, okay?”
“Of course,” Angel said.
I nodded as Mum wrapped her arms tightly around me. The stoic mask she’d worn all morning fell away as she whispered, “I’m going to miss you, so much.”
Tears filled my own eyes again as I nodded against her shoulder. “Me too.”
We must have hugged for half a minute or more before either of us let go. It was the first time we’d go more than a week or two without seeing each other. My flight home wasn’t until the first week of July, in around six weeks.
When we broke apart, she cupped her hand around my face. “You have a good birthday and a good trip. Whatever happens, come home to us.”
I touched my hand to hers. “Of course.”
After the moment passed, Mum pulled Angel into a hug too. “And you have a great time. Look after her.”
“I won’t take my eyes off her.”
I wasn’t sure whether Mum believed her, or was just willing to pretend to, but she smiled and nodded. “Thank you.”
She took a few steps away from me before turning around and blowing me a kiss.
“Your parents are awesome. You know that, right?” Angel said as she linked her arm in mine and led me to customs. I wasn’t a stranger to overseas travel, having gone to New Zealand a couple of times with Dad’s race team, but somehow it was different branching out on my own.
“Yeah, they’re not bad. I mean, as far as parents go, at least.”
After passing through customs and finding our gate, Angel and I grabbed some lunch before cruising duty-free for a while—or at least she did. I wasn’t allowed to look at the alcohol because I was still underage. Even if it was only by a few weeks. We ended up not buying anything though because we’d both be underage when we hit the States, and it wasn’t worth the questions or hassle.
With a half hour remaining before the first boarding call, we settled into the uncomfortable chairs in front of the gate. As we chatted, our legs found their natural position, intertwined with one another’s as we chatted about anything and everything and waited for the minutes to tick by.
We were well aware the position made us look a little more “familiar” with each other than we actually were, but we were just touchy-feely and always had been. It had been the cause of some interesting rumours at school, especially after our hot and heavy session in the back seat of Logan’s Commodore. But we’d welcomed those because they’d ultimately helped develop our fuck-off-vibe when it came to boys we weren’t interested in.
Regardless, it tended to keep the walking hard-ons at bay. Or at least, kept them far enough away that we didn’t have to talk to them while they ogled us and fondled themselves at the sight of two attractive women together.
Angel told me about her break up with her last boyfriend. They’d been together for almost four months, but he’d left her because she wouldn’t give it up. Apparently he’d thought she was a freak for still being a virgin at eighteen and argued that she owed it to him to screw him after he’d put so many months into the relationship.
“He’s an arse. And he doesn’t deserve you,” I said when she’d finished her story.
“I know that, why do you think we’re not together anymore?” She laughed. As always, it started almost normal, but the longer we joked around and laughed with each other, the more it turned into a cackle that drew the attention of everyone around us. “So how about you? Still no boys on the radar?”
I shrugged. “Not really. The usual dozen propositions at every race meet, but how can I trust those?”
“Yeah, how many of them secretly want to screw your daddy but will take you because he doesn’t have the equipment they want.”
“Exactly. Gross, but exactly.”
“Well, you know if I didn’t think
we’d kill each other within a week of moving in together, I’d snap you up.”
I leant my head on her shoulder. “I know. But you know we would.”
“Oh, we so would. You and I, the best we’d ever have is a night or two of fireworks.”
“It’d be a good night or two though,” I added.
“Absolutely stellar. Which is why it must never happen. We’d ruin each other for everyone who came after. Forever doomed to watch each other from a distance, knowing we can’t be together, but struggling to be apart.”
“I love you, you know that, right?”
“You too, girlie,” she said. “You too. And don’t worry, you’ll find someone one day. When you least expect it.”
“Yeah. I know. I just hope when it happens that I’ll be able to figure out whether I can trust him.”
“You know what your problem is?” she asked a second later.
“What?”
“Your parents.”
I bristled at her words, and I had a hundred defences ready on my tongue. Maybe they could be overbearing and oppressive at times, but my parents were the best.
She laughed. “Don’t get your knickers in a knot. It’s just that they’re this perfect couple. They’ve set the bar far too high for you. Given you unrealistic expectations.”
Her parents were the exact opposite. Without me and my parents there through her senior years at high school, her parents’ lessons would have taught her to fight hard, fuck hard, and hope that you made it out alive. Her mum was an example of what might have become of Dad if he hadn’t given up the alcohol for Mum and me—an empty husk of a human, able to walk and talk, but not feel or love.
“Maybe,” I conceded Angel’s point, “but that doesn’t mean I want to be some pussy for hire down at the local track either.”
“My dear, I pity anyone who tries to use you as a pussy for hire.”
THE JOURNEY over the Pacific was pretty uneventful. Angel and I watched a few movies, including laughing along together at the ridiculous plot of some cheesy romance movie, and then we tried to get some sleep. She found it easier than I did because of the tablets she washed down. Between Dad’s stories, the amount of medication I’d been on over the years, and wanting to be careful with my brother’s gift, I wasn’t overly keen on using any medicinal sleeping aid. I had some in my bag just in case, but I was content to close my eyes and listen to the music on my phone instead.
When we landed in LA, it was early that same morning; four hours before we’d taken off, in fact.
“Look at us,” Angel said with a laugh as we waited by the baggage carousel. “Put us together long enough and we can achieve anything. Even time travel.”
An hour later, we’d fought our way through the terminal with our baggage and headed to find a taxi to take us to our first destination—the one place we would be together during the trip, at least until New York and the flights back home.
The first part of our trip was a gift from my parents actually—a week-long stay at Disneyland. I think it was Dad’s way of reminding me that even though I was out of the country on my own, I was still his little girl.
And always would be.
“SO GIRLIE, are you enjoying the freedom of the trip so far?”
I chuckled. “It’s been all of . . .” I glanced at the clock on the bedside table of the hotel. “Seven hours, Angel. I think I need a little more time to decide whether I enjoy my freedom.”
All we’d managed to achieve so far was a taxi ride to the hotel, a shower each, getting some food—in the form of Mickey Mouse shaped waffles from the themed restaurant downstairs—and settling into our hotel room. That included an argument over who would take which of the two queen-size beds. We managed to settle it by agreeing to share the one we both wanted—the one closest to the window.
She threw herself onto the bed, rested her hands behind her head, and crossed her legs at the ankles. “Well, I have to admit it was nice not having everyone flock around us, chasing a piece of the great Phoebe Reede.”
She winked, no doubt trying to temper her words and show me she wasn’t completely serious. Still, there was enough truth in her statement to cause my stomach to twist with excitement. There hadn’t anyone here asking about Dad, trying to get my autograph, or expect anything of me. It was refreshing.
I climbed onto the bed and curled in beside Angel, tucking my head against her shoulder. “You know what, my Angel. You’re right. And I think I’m going to have the time of my life while we’re here.”
AFTER THE week at Disneyland, where Angel and I ate far too much crap, rode on far too many rides, and just generally enjoyed our time together, I left her to her own devices while I flew to Sacramento to pick up the bike Flynn had arranged for me.
I was going to be collecting and paying for it and then shipping it home at the end of the trip so Flynn could fix it up and sell it off for a decent markup. It was one good thing about the business Flynn and his brother, Cain, owned together—a smash repairer that was always well recommended—they had car and bike enthusiast contacts all over the world. They’d both done it plenty of times before, always with a profit. It was my first time being involved, and I was just giving his latest find a slight detour on the way home.
When I arrived at Flynn’s friend’s house, and he led me around to the shed, a tragic sight greeted me: a 1979 Honda CB750K that someone had left to rot. Probably in the back of a shed somewhere, or worse—out in the open in a paddock.
What a goddamned waste.
As I took my time to examine her, running my hands over the neglected contours of her body, I could see why Flynn was interested. Underneath the dust and surface rust was an absolute beauty.
“Does she run?” I asked Flynn’s contact, Henry.
“We had it going earlier. It definitely needs a bit of TLC though.”
He tossed me the key, and I stuck it in the ignition, ready to start the bike. After a couple of spluttering attempts, she kicked into life. “So long as it can get me where I need to go, that’s all that matters I guess.”
“Where are you headed?”
“I’m not really sure yet,” I said with a laugh. “But I’m due to meet a friend in New York in a little over a month and have a few things I want to check out on the way there.”
We talked a little while about some of the better roads for riding before I handed over the money and grabbed the receipt. It meant half of my physical cash spending money was gone because I could only bring so much into the country, but I had my debit card to top up my funds if I needed to. And worst-case scenario, if I tore through the money in that account, I’d just have to call Mum and Dad in a few weeks and tell them I was having too good a time. I’d get a lecture about being more responsible with money but then they’d help me out. They always did.
Once the transaction was finished, I redistributed what I could among the storage on the bike and strapped my half-empty bag to the sissy bar. Then I started her up and took off.
Completely free and unaccounted for, for the first time in my life.
“YOU’VE GOT TO be kidding me!” I dropped the kickstand and climbed off the bike.
I’d made it all of twenty miles before the bike had spluttered, choked, and died.
At the side of the road, I tried some basic diagnostics, but through the dirt and caked-on grease, it was too hard to tell exactly what was causing the engine to stall. I should have known better than to try taking the bike out for a good run without cleaning it up first.
I tried the engine again; it burbled to life, and my hope soared, only to fall again less than a minute later when it spluttered once, coughed twice, and died again.
Fuck.
I had very few choices. I could either return to Henry’s and beg the use of his garage for a few days to get the parts, or try to find alternate transportation across the country. Either one would take time and money. I’d have to have a word with Flynn about checking out the ride-ability of bikes before sending pe
ople off to collect them for him.
Grabbing my phone, I dug out the number I had for Henry. As I pressed the buttons, I could only presume I was dialling it right. I’d set my mobile to international roaming at Dad’s insistence. Seeing as though he was footing the bill, I didn’t mind. I just couldn’t remember whether I needed to use the country code or not. After I pushed in the number I’d been given, I hoped for the best.
When he answered, I explained what had happened. He apologised, telling me he’d only got the bike a few weeks ago and hadn’t worked on it. That he was just flipping it because he didn’t have the money or time to do it properly. It was probably exactly the reason had Flynn grabbed it, but it meant I was stuck with a bike that was utterly fucking useless.
There wasn’t much I could do but wait until Henry came to tow me and the bike back to his shop—and then hope that it wasn’t anything too serious.
When he turned up, he was still genuinely apologetic. Not that it was his fault really, he was just doing what a hundred other dealers did when they found a semi-decent barn find. It was a risk I’d known could eventuate, even if I’d been hoping for the best.
“I’ve got other bikes,” he said on the second day. “You can take one of them if you like? Bring it back after you finish your trip.”
“Nah, Uncle Flynn has this beast booked on a ship in New York the day after I fly out, so I really need to get it fixed.”
“Okay, let me know what I can do to help.”
I nodded, secretly hoping the fix would be something small. The last thing I needed was to waste most of my trip on repairs. Especially when I had a few things booked for later.
I’D HAD my bike for almost two weeks but still hadn’t done any cross-country travelling yet. The damned thing had needed more work than any of us had known, so I’d spent the better part of the last ten days working on it at Henry’s garage. Every time I’d diagnosed and fixed one problem, another would crop up.
At least Henry was a good sort. He let me camp up in the corner and use whatever tools I needed. He’d even gone so far as to order the parts in for me at cost and let me sleep in the sleep-out upstairs.
Phase (Phoebe Reede: The Untold Story #1) Page 6