Phase (Phoebe Reede: The Untold Story #1)

by Michelle Irwin

  He stirred. “Dawson.”

  The name slipped from him as if it was only natural, but just like every other time he’d issued it over the weekend, it was like a punch to the gut. He’d only just learned the name Phoebe Reede. He only really knew Dawson.

  And Dawson had to disappear at the end of the trip.

  Knowing I didn’t have the strength to face him, to break his heart while I looked in his eyes, I gathered my things as quietly as I could. It was the coward’s way, but the only way I’d be able to leave without tearing us both apart when we said goodbye. I carried my bag out to my bike and strapped it down.

  When I came back into the bedroom, Beau’s mouth had turned down into a frown, and his brow dipped and furrowed as he dreamed.

  I found a piece of paper and wrote him a note.

  Beau,

  I love you. Those words seem ridiculous given the time we’ve known each other, but they’re true.

  As much as there’s a part of me that wants to stay, I can’t be happy here. I can’t be whole. I’m sorry I left this way, but I have to, or I don’t think I’ll be able to leave at all. Every minute I spend with you, I fall further under your spell, and I’m not strong enough to walk away from you while you’re awake. I can’t have you take me to New York or I might never get on that plane. And it would seem like the best thing, but in the end, it would destroy everything you love about me.

  Know that I will always hold the memory of you and our time together close to my heart. You shone a light on the best parts of me, and now it’s up to me to keep them bright on my own.

  I ask that if you love me, even a little, you’ll let me go. It will hurt far too much to talk to you again. Keep these days as a memory of a perfect love, one that time and distance can’t tarnish.

  Love always,

  Dawson.

  I WAS tempted to sign the note with my real name, but I couldn’t. It would be my permission for him to contact me. He needed to remember her, Dawson, the girl he knew first. It was better for us both to end it before it got worse. To cling to our shared experience and leave as unscathed as we could with only our memories remaining.

  After folding the note in half, I crossed the room and placed it on his bedside table together with the phone he’d given me.

  With that task done, I caressed his cheek. He smiled as he leaned against my hand. My stomach clenched tighter than a fist as I leaned forward to press my lips against his one last time. The gentle scrape of his stubble against my cheek was almost enough to make me want to give up my plan and tumble back into bed with him.

  A sleepy moan issued from his throat as he kissed me back, and for a moment, I thought I might have taken it too far and woken him. When I pulled away though, he was still asleep, and his smile was firmly set.

  It was the last thing I wanted to do, but I pushed myself up from the bed and turned away from him. My eyes stung and my lungs burned from the pressure of keeping my sobs contained deep inside my chest. Without letting myself doubt my course, I raced to my bike and started it. The instant the engine kicked into life, I throttled it and took off up his drive.

  Using one hand to steady myself, I lifted my visor on my helmet and wiped one hand over my eyes to clear away the tears.

  I risked one last glance back at the house, which would be printed forever in my memory, and gasped when I saw Beau standing out front, one hand clutching the sheet he’d dragged outside with him, no doubt at the sound of my bike’s engine kicking over.

  At the sight of the utter devastation on his face, my tears started anew and an uncontrollable sob left me. As much as I wanted my memories to be of all the happy times, I knew deep down that every time I thought of him, it would be that look—one of horror and betrayal—that I would see.

  It was only when I turned from his driveway onto the road that I understood something with perfect clarity. It was something that had only been a fear for me until then. I was exactly who I’d always worried I would be. I was just like my daddy. Just like my grandfather.

  I was poison, and I hurt those who fell in love with me.

  Despite needing to stop to give myself a chance to cry out the knots in my chest, I gunned it and retraced the route we’d taken to the highway. Eventually, I’d have to stop for directions, but for the moment, I figured if I headed north and east, I’d eventually get somewhere close to where I needed to be. It was at least half a day direct to New York, maybe more if I fucked around not knowing where to go, so I had a tough choice. Either hit it straight and end up in town far too early or try to find somewhere to hole up for the night. Both options had their drawbacks, but knowing Beau and his damned tenacity, he was probably already in his truck trying to cover the distance between us.

  If I arrived at the airport too early, he’d likely try to find me there.

  The thought made me hunker down on the bike and go as fast as I dared.

  For hours, I rode hard and fast—taking my emotions out on the bike. It was reckless and stupid, but fuck I needed it. After a while, I couldn’t take the crushing agony that stole my breath away. I hit tipping point when I saw a sign for a fucking pair of cowboy boots, of all things. The tears I’d held at bay until then burned my eyes, and I had no choice but to find somewhere to rest. Too much grief and too little sleep were acting together to make me more erratic than a drunk.

  I found a motel off the highway with off-street parking. The clerk gave me an odd look as I checked in, but I didn’t give a shit what he thought. As soon as I was in the room, I shoved my earbuds in and cranked up my emo playlist to drown out my own thoughts.

  Only, it didn’t work.

  For the first time ever, my infallible list of “cry it out” songs just irritated me. I yanked at the cord to the earbuds before tossing the phone onto my bed. Needing something to distract me from my thoughts, I picked up the remote and flicked on the TV. I channel-surfed for a while until I hit a music video for a country song. The guy in the clip looked nothing like Beau, and yet he reminded me of him.

  The flannel shirt. The faded, dusty jeans. The buckle and boots. Everything.

  My tears flowed in earnest, and I hugged the pillow and tormented myself with the twanging accent of the country singer. It reminded me of Beau’s campfire performance.

  As the songs faded into one another, the tossing and turning from the night before finally caught up with me and my eyes drifted closed.

  THE DOOR to the motel room swung open. A stream of sunlight burst through the space, silhouetting the man who’d barged into the room uninvited. Without a word, he stepped in and slammed the door shut behind him.

  Before I could even react, he’d crossed the room, swept me off the bed, and had me pinned against the wall.

  My breath caught in my throat as I looked down at Beau’s strong features.

  “Why’d ya do it?” he asked, his voice gravelled and pained.

  “You know why,” I said.

  He silenced me with a punishing kiss that flared through my body. Every part of me responded as desire flooded through me. The instant I kissed him back, he pulled away.

  “You don’t deserve that.”

  “Beau?”

  “You’re poison. How could ya do it?”

  The heat of desire drained away, replaced instantly by a chill that sank deep into my bones.

  “We could’ve been perfect, you and me.” His tone was accusatory and made me want to back away. Only there was no escape. “But you’re a coward.”

  “No. That’s not it, I—”

  He sneered at me and grabbed my shoulders, shoving me against the wall. As he did, Beau disappeared, only to be replaced by me. It was my hands on my shoulders, pushing me against the wall. My mirror image holding me captive.

  “Coward!” she shouted as she shoved me again.

  I jolted awake with a scream. On the TV, some woman was wailing on about someone who broke her heart, or someone whose heart she’d broken. I couldn’t follow it because the pounding of
my heartbeat in my ears blocked out the sound. My tongue was three sizes too big in my parched mouth, and my eyes stung from crying myself to sleep.

  “You’re a fucking mess,” I muttered to myself as I dropped my head back down onto the pillow and tried to go back to sleep.

  Early the next morning, I gave up any attempt for more sleep and checked out of the motel, ready to get back on the road again.

  STANDING IN THE terminal at the airport, I felt like my entire world had fallen apart. I had my passport and boarding pass in hand, my bag checked and ready to go back to LA before heading on to Australia, and yet I felt like nothing more than running back to the freighting company where I’d dropped the bike off an hour earlier and demanding it back.

  If I did that, I could find the piece of me I’d left behind. By the time morning came again, I could be back with Beau.

  Just as the compulsion to rush back to him somehow was at its bursting point, I heard a familiar squeal.

  Glancing in the direction of the sound, I saw Angel’s smiling face. One glance at her joyful expression and I broke down. By the time she reached me, I was a sobbing mess.

  “Oh, girlie, what happened? Don’t tell me someone hurt you or I’ll have to hunt them down. Fuck, your daddy is going to kill me.”

  I shook my head. “No one hurt me,” I whispered, unable to find any volume. “I—” My sobs stole my voice entirely.

  Angel dropped her bag on the ground and took me in her arms, drawing my head to her breast. I treated her as a substitute for Mum and held her while I let my rage and sorrow battle for release. When I was finally able to compose myself, she brushed her hand over my head. “I’ve just got to check my bags, but then we’re getting hot chocolates and talking some more, okay?”

  I nodded.

  “Are you going to be all right until I get back?”

  I shrugged. I couldn’t lie to her and say yes. While she joined the queue to check her bags, I reached into my carry-on and grabbed my mobile. For the first time since I’d called home from Beau’s, I turned it on. There were a few messages from Mum and Dad. I sent a reply letting them know I’d hit New York safely and was getting ready to board the plane back to LA. I didn’t need to tell them the rest. When I pushed Send, I thought about the fact that I’d given Beau back the one thing I had that might have enabled me to contact him again.

  You could always google him. I tried to ignore the little voice that niggled in my mind. I’d left for a reason. If we stayed in touch, we’d fester. Everything good that we’d had would slowly turn into reasons to resent each other. The distance would be our death knell.

  Even as I had the thought, I glanced around—seeking out familiar eyes and sandy-brown hair. Part of me was convinced he’d try to follow me to the airport. That same part wanted him to. For a good fifteen minutes, I watched every person I could see, examining any potentials in depth just in case. His name was on my lips and ready to be called the instant I spotted him.

  I shrieked as someone linked arms with me, calming almost instantly when I met Angel’s concerned gaze.

  She kept her questions and comments in check until we’d made it through security and found a small coffee shop to order some hot chocolates. We grabbed a table, sitting close enough to each other that I could lean my shoulder on hers and draw comfort from her while I prepared to tell my story.

  “Who is he?” she asked.

  “What?”

  “Well, someone or something has you knotted up and I can only assume it’s a guy. A summer fling maybe? Did you take my advice?”

  At her words, I burst into tears again. “It—it was more than that,” I said. “But less all at the same time.”

  “You’ve lost me; let’s start at the beginning.”

  “His name’s Beau.”

  “Beau? You mean barfly Beau that you met in Sacramento?”

  “Yeah.” I smiled through my tears. “We kinda kept in touch a little and he begged me to spend a few days with him, and I did.”

  “You didn’t?” she asked. Her tone and wide eyes made it clear that she wasn’t asking whether I’d gone to his place or not, but rather whether I’d handed in my V-card.

  I nodded.

  “Oh, God, Pheebs, this is huge.” She hugged me. “Are congratulations in order? Or do we write out a memorial card? I don’t know the appropriate way to celebrate.”

  Her words had their no doubt desired effect of drawing a laugh out of me.

  “Seriously though, how was it?”

  My mind replayed image after image. “It was . . . perfect.”

  “Tell me all about it. Spare me no detail. I want to live vicariously through you. How did you meet again? What happened?”

  I gave her a rundown on everything that happened from the time he almost spilled my drink until our reunion at the Fun Spot.

  “I gave him a fake name.”

  “Harsh, but I can understand. After all, you’ve always had a bit of a trust issue when it comes to boys. Did you fess up in the end? You never could lie. Not for long.”

  I told her about the phone calls, about the sweet things Beau had done and said, about the trip to his hometown, and everything that happened there. I didn’t spare any details because we never had before and it felt cathartic to get it out.

  At one point in my tale, a pair of old ladies chose to sit near us, but it was clear they were within earshot when they stood up, gave me a filthy look, and then stalked away.

  By the time I finished the story of the way things just worked between Beau and me, Angel was grinning.

  “It sounds bloody perfect,” she said. “And doesn’t explain the tears.”

  “I left him yesterday without saying goodbye.”

  “You didn’t!”

  “I couldn’t face him, Angel. He’s got these eyes . . . and this smile.” My lips curled upward as I said the word. “And when I’m in his arms, I just feel . . . well, I feel like I’ve found my home in the world.”

  “Oh my God! You don’t just have it bad, you love him.”

  My smile fell and tears pricked my eyes again. “Is it that obvious?”

  “Honey, I know you. I’ve seen you crushing on boys, I’ve seen you frustrated as hell with their attitudes, but I’ve never seen you so knotted up from the inside.” She wrapped both her arms around me and I rested my head on her collarbone. “Why aren’t there more guys like that at home?”

  A bark of laughter left me. “Why aren’t there more guys like that, period?”

  “Truth. So is our night of fireworks a possibility again now?”

  “Give me a few weeks to get over this first, and I’ll be all over it.”

  “You and I both know you’re not going to be over this in a week. You’re too much like—”

  “My dad, yeah, I know.”

  “I’ll bring you all the ice cream you want. I’ll have to take it easy on it though.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “’Cause I’ve got a job!” she squealed.

  “Oh, fuck, Angel, you should have said. Here I am rabbiting on about my heartbreak, and you’ve got good news. Tell me all about it.”

  We spent the rest of the time before we had to board going over the role she’d been offered as a spokesperson for a swimwear line back home in Australia.

  “It’s crazy isn’t it? I have to go all the way to the States to get a job back home,” she said as we moved to the gate when the airline called our boarding group.

  Our flight from New York to Los Angeles was fairly cruisy, even if I did have to force myself to think about anything but Beau. Trying to find something else to concentrate on ended with me telling Angel all about my adventures while criss-crossing the US and her teasing me about being an adrenaline junky in return.

  The wait in LAX for our flight home, and then the flight home, were a little more unbearable, especially after Angel slipped into sleep mode, putting in her earbuds and slipping on a mask. The time alone left me with too much time to think.
To turn every memory, every moment, over in my head.

  By the time she woke from her nap, I was in tears again.

  “God, I’m pathetic,” I said.

  She held me tighter as she promised me I wasn’t.

  It was only when the announcements came that we were almost ready to prepare for landing in Brisbane that it hit me that I was almost home. I sat up a little straighter as the excitement of that thought ran through me.

  “You’re looking a little more chipper,” Angel said, watching me from the corner of her eyes.

  “I get to see everyone soon. I mean, Mum, Dad, Nikki, all of them! I’m just really excited for that.”

  She nodded, offered me a smile, and turned back to her movie.

  Once the plane had landed and we’d fought our way through baggage collections and customs, we were finally free. Home.

  Angel nudged my shoulder. “You know it’ll work itself out, don’t you? The whole Beau thing, I mean.”

  “What’s to work out? We’re done. Over.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Angel, this isn’t some romantic comedy movie where he’ll make some grand gesture to prove that we can overcome anything. He lives thousands of kilometres away. Our schedules will conflict more than they’d align. It’s just not practical.”

  “Okay.” She didn’t sound convinced.

  “It’s not.” I wasn’t sure whether I was more concerned with convincing her, or myself. “Even if he does google me and manages to track me down, what then? A few hours on the phone when we can? It just wouldn’t be enough.”

  “All or nothing. I get it.”

  “It’s not like I can just put everything on hold and move over there to find out whether there’s a chance we could make it without the bullshit of distance.”

  “No, definitely not.” She fixed me with an icy stare, her emerald green irises sparkling. “It’s not like you have a transferable skill that can be done pretty much anywhere in the world. Or that there’s an entire sport in his country dedicated to your exact skill. Oh, wait, there is,” she said with a raised brow.