Phase (Phoebe Reede: The Untold Story #1) (2 page)

THE PHONE IN my pocket vibrated again, seconds before the not-so-dulcet tones of my favourite band blared from the speaker. I bit my lip and walked faster as I ignored the call.

Again.

Fuck. Dad was going to go mental when I finally answered. And that was nothing compared to how he would react when he found out where I was and where I was going.

In the time since I’d arrived at the airport, I’d counted no less than fifteen text messages and three phone calls already. If only he could chill and back off for a little while. It wasn’t like I was planning on avoiding him forever. Only long enough that by the time he learned of my plan, it would be too late for him to do anything to stop me.

In an attempt to shake the feeling of dread stealing through my limbs, I focused on the flight ahead. I tugged my phone out of my pocket, being extra careful not to answer it accidentally, and checked the time. Ten minutes left to check in. After that, I had another half hour before I would be able to board.

While I made my way to the check-in desk, I scrolled through the missed calls and texts on the silent-for-now phone. Dad’s tone had grown less patient with each text. I checked the one sent minutes before the call I’d ignored.

Call me now.

I rolled my eyes. Seriously, it was like he expected me to disappear in a puff of smoke if I didn’t report back every hour. I looked at the time again and weighed my options. If I gave him too much notice of my intention, he might still be able to call in some favours and cancel my flight. I had to wait until the last possible moment.

“Checking in for the Sydney flight,” I told the lady behind the check-in desk when it was my turn.

She gave me a polite smile that held no warmth. The sort that was guarded and full of judgment as her eyes roamed my face. Well, fuck her. It wasn’t my issue that she was too old and crusty to appreciate the streak of pink in my mahogany hair. Filling my gaze with challenge, I levelled my stare at her. People like her didn’t intimidate me. Little did. It was hard to be intimidated by small-minded people when you grew up like I had—surrounded by cameras and misogyny.

My phone beeped again. Ignoring the lady—it wasn’t like she was paying me any attention anyway as she went through documents with a fine-tooth comb—I checked the new message.

Call your father, please, Phoebe?

Mum. Damn. It was getting serious now. Dad was bringing out the big guns.

Now that she’d gotten involved, there was going to be twice the trouble when I finally did call back.

Fuck it.

I blew out a breath and replied to her. Or stalled her at least.
I’m in a movie. I’ll call Dad when I’m out.

The snooty cow behind the check-in desk gave me another once-over before placing my boarding pass on the desk between us and insincerely wishing me a safe flight.

“Fuck you very much,” I said with the sweetest smile I could muster before snatching my pass and yanking my carry-on up from the scales and onto my back.

My phone chimed. Dad. Again.

I know you’re not at the movies, Angelique called here for you. Where are you?

It was damn tempting to ignore the message, just like I had every other time the phone had gone off, but I couldn’t keep ignoring it much longer, or Dad would call the police. And the Coast Guard.

Fuck, knowing his overprotective arse, he’d probably call Interpol, the FBI, and the KGB despite the fact they were all in different damn countries.

The overprotective streak he’d had since turning up in my life when I was four only seemed to be growing thicker as my eighteenth birthday approached. It was possible he was experiencing some sort of advanced empty-nest syndrome or some shit.

My four younger siblings should have been enough to stave that away—Nikki, the youngest, was only eight months old after all—but apparently not. True, Nikki had been a late surprise for Mum and Dad, but looking after her should have been enough to keep him off my case.

But no. It had left him three times as clingy.

Maybe it was the fact that Nikki had been born sick, like I had been, and reminded him of the fact that he hadn’t been there to support Mum when my twin brother, Emmanuel, and I were born. Or maybe it reminded him of the statistics surrounding my life. Survival statistics that looked bad on paper but none of us dwelled on because it was more important to live and take care of myself than to worry about any potential for future issues. I didn’t know. All I knew was that I needed space. More than anything, I needed to get out of the fucking house for a while.

I was too many things to too many different people, and I was fucking sick of it.

When I found my way to the gate, I pulled out my phone and dialled a number I should have called long before this point. Would have, if I didn’t think she’d have warned Dad of my plan.

“Hey, Pheebs, what’s up?” Eden’s voice wiped away the tension that was building in me. She was great like that. Even though she lived in a different state, she’d always been the one I could turn to when I needed to talk. She’d never driven a race car, but she’d had her start around the track—almost as young as I had—working with her uncle, my dad’s former boss. She understood the track and the misogynistic pigs that I’d had to contend with ever since I’d started racing in karts. The vulgarity I heard at the track. The general boys’ club attitudes I faced every day.

“I’m coming to visit,” I said as I lifted my legs onto the plastic seat opposite me and slunk down in my own. It was far easier to give a “fuck-off and don’t talk to me” vibe that way.

“Terrific. When?”

“My plane leaves in twenty minutes.”

“What?”

For the first time, I worried that maybe she’d say it was too much of a hassle, and I shouldn’t bother. That she’d revoke her permanent invitation. “You don’t have to pick me up. I can get a cab.”

“You’re coming today?”

A nervous chuckle slipped from my lips. “C’mon, Aunt Edie, I thought you were faster than this. Yes. Today. Now.”

“When were you planning on telling me?”

I chewed on my lip for a moment. “About now.”

“What if I wasn’t here?”

“It was a risk I had to take. I had to get out of the house.”

“And do your parents know you’re coming here?” She had her take-no-shit tone on. I had to win her around, or I was going to have as shitty a time at her house as I was having at my own.

“They will.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Honest, Aunt Edie, I’m calling them as soon as I get off the phone to you. Cross my heart.”

She sighed. “Your dad is going to kill me. You know that, right? He’s not going to believe that I wasn’t part of the conspiracy.”

“You worry too much. Dad is a pussycat really. He just needs to learn when to back off.”

“Did you two fight again?”

I sighed and flicked my head forward, playing with the chunky pink strip in my hair. “He just doesn’t get it.”

“You might be surprised what he would get if you’d talk to him about it.”

“He hid the keys to my bike.” It was what had finally pushed me over the edge. Three days earlier, he’d taken them from my bedroom and cut me off from my one escape. It was a fucking betrayal—especially after all I’d done for him and Mum lately.

“What?”

Unable to contain the frustration anymore, I stood and started to pace the length of the row of seats. “Said it was a fucking death trap. I mean, the guy’s made a living out of racing cars, but heaven forbid I jump on a Ducati.”

She chuckled. “He’s just worried about you. He doesn’t know bikes.”

“It’s not like Flynn and Luke would’ve given it to me if I didn’t know how to handle it.” Flynn had been a surrogate father to me for the first four years of my life and Luke was his partner, an actor who had been a rising star when they’d met and was gaining bigger and better roles under Mum’s management.

Although Dad had stepped readily into the role of fatherhood when he came back into Mum’s life, Flynn had never really backed off completely either. Of everyone, he was the one most likely to keep my secrets and let me get away with stuff. He was the only one who knew about the way I’d circumvented the rules to get my bike licence.

“I know, baby girl, but that won’t stop your dad from worrying. He knows the safety of a ProV8 car first-hand. It’s not like your bike has a roll cage.”

I didn’t need her trying to convince me of the many reasons why I shouldn’t ride my bike as well. She was just like Dad when it came to cars versus bikes. They just didn’t get it. “I thought you’d understand.”

“I do, but I also think you need to consider your dad’s point of view.”

“Are you going to be home or not?” On my next pacing lap I met the gaze of a teenage boy watching me walk. He nudged his friend as his eyes trailed the length of my leather pants before lifting to cop another eyeful of my boobs. The cotton T-shirt I wore did nothing to accentuate my C-cup, but it did nothing to hide it either. Great. Either they recognised me or were regular run-of-the-mill teen perverts. I needed to figure out which one if I was going to deal with them properly.

Eden sighed again. “What time does your flight get in?”

I gave her the details before hanging up, relieved that she’d come around in the end. Not that I’d doubted it. She’d always been there for me.

Once I’d hung up, I kept my phone in my hand and prepared myself for the next phone call. The one I was dreading the most. Anything I said—any explanation I gave—would disappoint Dad, and I hated that thought. I despised doing things that made him anything other than proud, but I needed to get away from his shadow for a while.

From the whole situation at home.

My finger was on the Call button when I heard a voice behind me.

“Excuse me?”

I turned and met the eye of teen creep one. “Yeah?”

“Are you . . .” He trailed off and looked at his shoes.

When he lifted his gaze to meet my eyes again, he gave a shy smile. There was no doubt the colour of my irises had confirmed his question long before my words ever could. After all, comments about my unique turquoise eyes that were “just like my dad’s” were probably the second most common thing I’d heard.

“Are you Phoebe Reede?”

And there’s the first.

For a long time, it had been, “Are you Declan Reede’s daughter?”

But over the years, as I’d started to make my way through the classes in karts and production cars, I became a little more known in my own right. Especially among boys my own age. After all, I was a walking wet dream for them. It didn’t matter what I looked like, what I wanted in life, or what my passions were. All that mattered to them was I had boobs and the ability to drive.

And without wanting to sound like a braggart, put me near an engine and I could make it sing. It didn’t matter what. Two wheels to eighteen, I was always in perfect control.

Of course, the tabloid sensationalist stories about my apparent stream of boyfriends didn’t help either. So many guys thought I would be an easy score, which only added to the interest.

Arseholes.

Unfortunately for the raging hard-on posing as a normal kid in front of me, I had no patience for those attitudes after everything I’d been through. I drew myself up to my full height and clenched my fists. “What’s it to you?”

“Whoa, sorry I asked.” He raised his hands in surrender and walked away.

Yeah, keep walking, buddy.

I might have been good with cars, bikes, and trucks, but wasn’t nearly as good with people. I didn’t need to be. They didn’t keep me company during the hours at the race track. Only the motors did that. People tended to be a source of disappointment in the long run.

Knowing I’d sufficiently kept the oglers at bay, I pushed the Call button on my phone. It didn’t even ring twice before Dad’s voice came down the line.

“Where the hell are you, young lady?”

“Hi to you too, Daddy.”

“Don’t ‘Daddy’ me. You had your mother worried sick; where are you?”

I scoffed. As if it were Mum who’d been worried. He just couldn’t admit that he’d been panicking. “I went for a ride.”