Phase (Phoebe Reede: The Untold Story #1) (23 page)

“I’m not a minor.” I bristled. “Just underage for your stupid drinking laws. I’m legal in Australia.”

“Ya know how much trouble I’d be in if the press ever caught wind of this? I mean, six years! You’re six years younger than me! And barely legal. Jailbait, they’ll call ya.” He turned to me as he said the last words, but I didn’t think he was actually talking to me—ranting to the world at large instead.

I dropped my head as tears filled my eyes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think it was that big a deal.”

“Ya told me off for making your choices for ya, but isn’t that what ya did to me?”

He was right. After all, I’d known his age from that very first night. “I know. I should’ve told you. I’m sorry.”

He scrubbed his hand over his face and then turned to look at me. For a moment, his face was set in a frown, but then he released a sigh and shook his head with a nervous chuckle. “Gosh, ya really are full of surprises.”

I lifted one shoulder in a half shrug. “Well, life would be a little boring without them.”

“There ain’t nothin’ more I need to know?”

“Nothing that springs to mind. Besides, a girl has to keep some mystery, right?”

He frowned again, making the line of his brow pinch together. “Not if it risks my career. I can’t risk that over a temporary thang.”

The way he said the word temporary was an arrow into my heart. It might have been a fact, but it still hurt to hear. My bottom lip quivered. “I understand.”

“Understand what exactly?”

“You can let me out here if you like. I’ll just get my bike and go.” I fought off the shuddering sob that threatened to race through me.

“Go?” He sounded panicked.

“Yeah. I don’t want to cause you any problems, Beau; not when we’re so temporary.”

He swerved the truck over before pulling it up on the side of the road. Once we’d stopped, he turned in his seat and then grabbed my face in his hands. “The heart wants what it wants, and mine wants you. I’m just tryin’ a think thangs through.”

He opened his mouth as if he were going to say something and then closed it as he turned his head to look out the windshield. The moment he wasn’t looking at me, the words left him. “I admit, it woulda been nice to have some warnin’, somethin’ I could tell my publicist case anythin’ came out, but it’s water under the bridge now. The paparazzi can be vicious, and I don’ want ya getting’ caught up in it.”

I scoffed. “Yeah, I know a little something about that.”

He frowned in confusion.

“It’s a long story, but let’s just say my family has never been far from the public eye.”

“How’d ya mean?”

“You said yesterday that it was refreshing to not have to be the Beau Miller that everyone expects all the time. But you’ve been at this for how long?”

“’Bout four years, give ’r take.”

“Well, I’ve been
Phoebe Reede
since I was four. My entire life has been chronicled from the moment my father’s career fell into the shithole and he came back to Mum.”

When I glanced back over at him, Beau was smiling. His grin stretched wide across his mouth, and he looked more excited than ever.

I was going to demand to know what had him smiling like a loon when he spoke and answered the question before I could ask it.

“Phoebe,” he said slowly as if trying my name out for the first time.

My stomach dropped because he was. I’d willingly—if accidentally—given him the last piece of me I’d kept in reserve.

“Phoebe Reede, huh, Dawson?” He raised his brow at me.

The muscles in my chest tightened around my heart, squeezing the life out of it, and I pulled away from his hold. He wasn’t supposed to find out. I wanted us to mean something. To be more than a footnote in the Phoebe Reede story.

“Please don’t google me,” I begged in a voice that was quiet and filled with the fear that coursed through my body.

What would he think of me if he did? Would he see the poor transplant recipient who needed to be treated like glass? The slutty girl who was with a new boy every few months, even though most were nothing more than friends and I’d never slept with any of them? The ball-breaking feminist driver? Or worse, would he see the chronicles of Dad’s shame, and think I was cut from the same cloth? Would he assume I was a fuck ’em and chuck ’em kind of girl?

The last thought twisted in my stomach. That’s exactly what I had to be where Beau was concerned.

“Now that’s a promise I don’t think I can make,” he teased. “You ain’t so free with the information, so I just might hafta take it into my own hands.”

“Please?” I begged, my voice quiet and pleading.

“Ya got some deep, dark secret ya don’t want me knowin’?”

“No, it’s just, there’s so much, and not much of it is true. None of it’s me. Dawson, the girl you’ve been talking to? That’s me. That’s who I am—who I want to be.”

“Okay, Dawson. I understand that. And if ya leave me your Australian phone number, I promise not to google ya.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to keep in contact with ya.”

The words spread a warmth through my chest, but I couldn’t let myself sink into it. “It’ll never last.”

“Don’t matter.”

“We’ll never get to talk to each other anyway.”

He chuckled. “Don’t matter.”

“Of course it fucking matters,” I exploded. “I can’t have casual with you, Beau. I want all or nothing, and it’ll kill me talking to you on the phone knowing that I’ll never see you again.” As soon as the words were out, my cheeks burned with heat. How could I have said so much? So candidly. I was a fucking idiot.

Before anything more could be said, I shoved open the door. I needed to be free from the stifling cabin. Free from the way Beau looked at me—like what we had could last through it all.

I paced to the back of the truck. There was only one way I could be free.

My bike. The wind against my body as I pushed her as fast as she could go.

Wasn’t I just leading Beau on by staying with him any longer?

I’d barely reached the tailgate when Beau caught up with me.

“What’re ya doin’?”

Tears burned at my eyes. So much of what I’d tried to keep hidden was on the table. The slice of life I’d hoped to keep separate had just smashed into the rest of my world because of a stupid slip. The tiny pieces of myself I’d managed to keep tucked away—Emmanuel and his gift to me—were all the reasons I needed to keep myself aloof.

“I have to go.” I reach for the tailgate to be able to get my bike free, but it was locked.

Beau reached for my hand and guided me around to face him before placing my palm over his heart. “Ya have to stay.”

“Why? This can’t last. Why torture ourselves?”

“It ain’t hardly torture spendin’ time with ya.” He brought my palm to his lips. “I take back what I said. If ya don’t want to leave me a number, ya don’t hafta. But please don’t walk away now.”

He bundled me into his arms.

“The problem is, I do want to,” I whispered against his chest. “I want to give it all to you, Beau. But it’ll break my heart when it’s over.”

“Darlin’, I’ll miss your touch and your smilin’ face somethin’ fierce. I can’t guarantee that we’ll have forever, or even anythin’ more than a few months ’fore we drift apart ’cause our schedules never align, or somethin’ happens that neither of us can stop, but I do know I don’t want to let ya go in a couple of days. My heart can’t. It won’t.”

“How do you think it’s going to go over if the press finds out you’re having a phone and Internet relationship with a minor?”

“Like ya said, ya ain’t a minor,” he said with a chuckle.

“I’m not.” I turned sombre as the truth echoed within me. “But it’s something you’ll have to consider. You know it’ll be considered even more insidious than an in-public, in-person relationship. They’ll paint you out to be some sort of pervert.”

“It’s less likely to come out though too. It can be our little secret.”

“Secret, like what we have is wrong?” Another stabbing sensation filled my chest.

“Not wrong, darlin’.” He held my hands in his and stared into my eyes. “Secret ’cause neither one of us needs the press doin’ us harm.”

He had a point, not that I was worried about it. It’d be just another story for them to fuck up.

“So will ya stay?”

I nodded. “For now.”

“And then?” He was persistent, I’d give him that.

“We’ll see. For now though, we should probably get back on the road if we want to make it to your place before the fireworks you promised.”

When we were both back in our seats, he pulled the truck back onto the highway. After a few moments where it became clear neither of us had any questions or anything to say at all really, I turned the radio up and tried to drown out the thoughts in my head while Beau studied the road ahead with stern concentration.

WHEN WE DROVE through the tiny town of Lakemont, Beau turned the radio down. “This is me. This is home.”

“So, what is there to do in Lakemont?”

“Nothin’ much, and far too much to show ya in a night and a day, so let’s focus on the fireworks and then see where the night goes.” His gaze trailed my bare thigh as he said the word. Obviously, he’d had time to process his concern over my age and had decided not to be bothered by it—or at least not to let it affect
us
.

I lifted my leg a little higher, letting my dress slip right down so there was no way for him to avoid seeing my panties. “You know what I think?”

“What’s that?”

“I think that once you’ve seen one fireworks display, you’ve seen them all.” I reached for his hand and moved it to rest on my exposed thigh. “And I’ve seen a few.”

“Hmm, that is true,” he said, his eyes shifting focus back and forth between the road and my body. His hand slid up and down my thigh. After the high emotions that had been flying around earlier, it was a relief to feel his touch. His fingers slipped higher and higher with each pass, and my breathing grew shallower.

“Really, I’d rather see some typical Southern hospitality,” I added.

He traced his fingers over the top of my pussy.

“Something finger lick—” My thought trailed off to a low groan as his fingers found their way into my panties.

When I met his gaze again, it was as hungry as I felt. “Ya really don’t want fireworks?” he asked.

“I never said that,” I said, pushing forward against his fingers. “I said I didn’t need to see a fireworks show. I’m more than happy to make our own.”

“That’s it, darlin’,” he said. “Maybe it’ll ruin your experience here, missing out on Fourth of July, but I’m takin’ ya home and treatin’ ya right.”

“I won’t complain.” I relaxed into his touch as he continued to stroke my skin in gentle trails while he drove through town. I was so desperate for him to touch me everywhere that I could barely think straight. That was why it took me so long to wonder where we were staying and ask the question.

“I own a little bed and breakfast up here. I stay there whenever I come this way.”

“Are your family going to be there?” I wasn’t sure I was ready to meet the folks—or meet the foster mum and sister, as the case may be.

His mouth turned down and he pulled his hand back into his own lap. He left my question hanging in the air, unanswered. The closed-off expression that he’d worn the last time he’d talked about them was back in place.

“What’s wrong?”

He moved as far away from me as he could without stopping the truck and climbing out.

“Are you fighting with them or something? Didn’t you say you missed them?”

He sighed. “I do.”

“What is it?”

“It’s a long story, and it ain’t a pretty one.”

“If you want to talk about it, I’m here.” I rested my hand over his to lend him my support. When he pulled away, I let it fall back onto my lap.

He turned to assess me for a while. Then he looked away, and I thought the conversation was over until I heard the low rumble of his voice over the music. “When I was nineteen, we went down to Atlanta. By the time we were fixin’ to head home, it was late. Still, I insisted on drivin’ back rather than spendin’ the night in a motel.”

The way he’d started the story, a slow recount as if every word were seared in his memory, told me this was more important than I could image. Despite being uncertain how exactly it was an answer to my question, I let him keep talking rather than interrupt with more questions.

“I was tired and me and Abby were arguin’ about her latest boy. He thought it was okay to slap her around, and when I told her it wasn’t, she defended him. I was so mad—so distracted—I didn’t see the other car ’til it was too late.”

His gaze remained fixed out the window on his side of the car as if he couldn’t stand to look at me while telling his story.

“All I saw were headlights, and then I heard the noise that I won’t ever forget. When I woke up, I was in the hospital. Alone.”

“What happened?” I asked, hoping he’d understand that I meant why and how, not what. It was clear enough that there’d been some type of accident.

“The other driver had been drinkin’,” he muttered.

My heart ached for him, and I understood his reluctance to get behind the wheel the previous evening. It was a smart decision at the best of times, but one that was impossibly easier when living a life touched by the tragedy of a drunk driver.

“Not long after I woke up, the sheriff came by to tell me that Mabel had passed instantly at the scene and that Abby was in the hospital with me.”

“My God, Beau,” I said, resting my hand on his arm again to provide him comfort.

At first, he flinched away, as if he’d forgotten I was there. Then he relaxed, but the weight of the story was still heavy on his brow.

“I’m so sorry,” I added.

He shrugged off my concern. “It was almost enough to swear me off drivin’ fer life. It was impossible to even imagine gettin' behind the wheel again, let alone go racin’.”

“What happened?”

“Mabel’s will. She’d set up life insurance that was to be split between Abby and me. When the money came in, ’nough to ensure I could live my dream, I saw it was her way of tellin’ me not to give up on it. Or myself. It’s why I’ve been so careful not to break my promises to her. How could I ask for forgiveness when she ain’t here to give it no more?”

My heart ached. I knew all about promises to the dead. Wasn’t that exactly the reason I’d always taken such good care of my body? Okay, I hadn’t been old enough to actually promise Emmanuel anything before he died, but part of me always felt like I owed him that much at least.

Yet, I’d been the reason Beau had broken his promise. Would he hate me for it when we parted? I swallowed my guilt. It wasn’t the time or place for it. Beau certainly didn’t need it. There would be time for conversation around that later. For the moment, I had another burning question. Something he hadn’t said, and despite the fact that I wasn’t sure I wanted to ask, I heard myself say, “So what happened to Abby?”

He rubbed his eyes with his hands. I wondered whether it was because he felt the sting of tears, or whether it was a frustrated gesture. Should I shut up and stop pushing him on it all?

“She ain’t never been the same since. She’s awake, but she ain’t aware. Her share of the money went into a trust, and now it pays for the best care I can get her.”

“I’m so sorry,” I said again, and I really was. Not only for what he’d gone through but for the way I’d acted and all the things I’d said. I’d been yapping on about my family, and my problems, when he had this tragedy in his past. I wanted nothing more than to wrap him in my arms and never let him go.

He cleared his throat. “Yeah. Me too. Ya woulda loved ’em both,” he said, finally looking at me. “And they woulda loved you. Ya woulda definitely earned Mabel’s stamp of approval.”

“Really?”

He shook off a little of the sorrow and gave me a watery smile. “Oh yeah, she always had a soft spot for the troublemakers.”

“Hey, I’m not a troublemaker . . . okay, so maybe I am, but only a little.”

“Ya know, it’s funny,” he started before trailing off as he turned down a long driveway.

“What is?” I prompted. I watched the side of his head rather than our surroundings. How was it possible that I’d only known the man for a few short weeks, had spent less than forty hours with him in total? It seemed impossible.

“I ain’t told too many people that story,” he continued. “It’s too personal to talk ’bout with just anyone. Especially when so many tabloids would love to know the details.”

I could understand. Tragedy and the media never mixed too well. Every few years, some journalist or another dug up the details about my history, or Dad, and rolled them out for public comment again. Was it the same for him?

“But I’m, uh, actually glad I told ya.” He reached for my hand, tracing his thumb across my knuckles. His eyes met mine, and I was struck dumb by what I saw. The emotions burning in his chocolate and amber irises made me ready to give everything up for an hour or two more with him. He cleared his throat. “Well, this is us.”

I’d been so enthralled with him that I’d barely acknowledged we’d stopped. Even now that we had, I couldn’t willingly turn away from him. My heart pounded in my chest and my breaths were shallow, not from need or desire, but from the completely overwhelming sensation that had built within me as I watched his pain echo across his face. I wanted to help ease it for him but didn’t know the right words.

I didn’t know how to do any of this.

Breaking our eye contact, I was finally able to draw in a deep breath, but it shuddered through me. Nothing else mattered but him, and yet to give him the space he needed, I turned to look at the “bed and breakfast,” which was more a multi-star resort with multiple accommodation options and a stand-alone restaurant. I wasn’t sure what I’d expected, but I was gobsmacked by what I saw. There was a series of buildings and cabins dotted over the property, all close together but still far enough apart to offer each one some privacy.

One was clearly the original house, a quaint little building hidden slightly from the others by a screen of tall oak trees, white picket fence, and shrubbery. It was a miniature version of the sort of plantation houses I’d seen in movies and on TV.

Stretching from there were three standalone cabins, each one with the same rustic charm. Finally, at the end was a more modern building with a wall made almost entirely of glass. I turned to see what view could possibly warrant so much glass.

At first, I was unable to see it properly because of the thick forest, but then I saw a concrete footpath that weaved between the trees, leaving an uninterrupted glimpse at what would be visible from those windows. I gasped at the sight of the small, old, wooden boathouse and smooth concrete jetty set on the crystal-clear lake. On the other side of the lake, the treeline quickly yielded to a mountain view.

Halfway to the lake was a huge open campfire area, which looked like it had regular use.

“Wow. This place is just . . .”

“Wow?” Beau teased, his lips pulling up into a smile.

“It’s so beautiful.” I had my bag slung on my back so that I didn’t have to worry about doing another trip later.

He shrugged. “It’s home. At least, when the occasion calls for it.”

“Does anyone else live here?”

“Joe and Mitch are the caretakers; they live in the big glass monstrosity.” It looked like he was going to say more, but then his hand closed around mine. “Come. I’ll show ya ’round the inside.”

He led me into the semi-screened, private house.

After showing me where to leave my bag, he took me on a tour of the modest three-bedroom home. It was surprisingly barren of photos and mementos. At home, our walls overflowed with photos of all of us kids, pictures of all our various placings and successes—including mementos of Dad’s many wins, and between the custom helmets we’d worn over the years and trophies we’d all won in various sports and events, every shelf in the house was just about bursting at the seams.

When I casually let slip that I thought there’d be more photos, Beau gave me a sad smile. “I only bought this place a few years ago, and I’m only here when my schedule allows, which isn’t as often as I’d like. So the boys add it to the roster of available rooms when I ain’t usin’ it. Plus, after Mabel passed, when Abby was sick in the hospital, I had to pack everything we owned away. Since then, it’s been too painful to try to bring ’em back out. Most of it’s up in the attic. Some’s with Abby.”

Unsure what to say, I rested my hand on his forearm.

“I’m gonna let Joe and Mitch know I’m here an’ rustle up some food from the kitchen in the restaurant. D’ya think ya can keep yourself entertained for a while?”

“After eight hours in the car, I’m sure I can think of something.”

He smiled before lifting his hand to the back of my head and drawing me in for a kiss. Almost the second his lips touched mine, the kiss reignited the fires that had been slowly ebbing within me since climbing from the truck.