Page 99 of Beg, Borrow, or Steal

Monique:YES! I couldn’t believe it.

Tiffany:Wait—I haven’t heard. What happened?

Monique:Jack’s dad went live on Instagram just now, revealing that Jack Bennett is actually AJ Ranger!! He said Jack’s been keeping it a secret all this time because he’s camera shy so he wanted his dad to be the one to reveal it since he has been such a big help with his books.

Tiffany:WHAT! Also who is AJ Ranger?

Morgan:Are you kidding me, Tiffany? It’s that mystery writer of the series I lent you over the summer. The one you loved so much.

Tiffany:Omg! WHAT! I’m even more in love with him now. Now that he’s single again maybe I’ve got a shot.

The hell you do, Tiffany.

I stop reading even though the texts go on and on and on. But Ican’t breathe. After everything Jack went through to make sure my writing wasn’t revealed before I was ready, and then turns around and has his entire career outed without his consent. And to have his scumbag dad phrase it in a way that completely steals Jack’s thunder and hard work while also trying to take credit?

It’s lucky for Fredrick I don’t know where he lives. Lucky for me too, because I’d end up in prison if I gave in to my current rage.

Instead, I drive home as fast as my truck will allow.

Chapter Thirty-Five

Jack

It’s out.

My…identity is out on the Internet without my consent.

Because I apparently love pain, I watch the video another time. My dad’s face—misleadingly soft and approachable—fills the little box. Hearts flood the right corner of the screen as he proudly announces that his son, Jack Bennett, wanted him to be the one to finally reveal his identity. I flinch when a picture of my face comes on the screen, followed by all the books I’ve written. My dad smiles like he’s proud. Like he’s been in on the ruse the whole time. A king admiring his little prince. He insinuates all through the gruesome video that he’s flattered to have been able to mold my creativity and help me get where I am.

In one ninety-second video, Fredrick Bennett kicks the legs out from under my seat.

And it’s my fault. I’m the one who told my dad in some righteous act of heroics. I feel sick. I should have known better. He can’t tolerate being bested, so I should have considered that hewould try to undermine me in some way that leaves him controlling the narrative around my success. Fredrick Bennett would never fight a bloody war; he only fights with pinpoint accuracy. Poison down the throat.

I’m lying on my terrible mattress staring at my ceiling as construction sounds outside my bedroom door, and my phone relentlessly vibrates beside me on the bed. Questions being lobbed at me from all corners of my life. Personal and professional.Is this true??? How have you kept this a secret?! Can you sign my books when we go back to school???And then there are the constant phone calls from my agent that I keep leaving unanswered because I feel too heavy to acknowledge them.

What I have always considered to be my safe place in life to escape to is now sitting on full display for everyone to gawk at. Even worse, it’s sitting in my dad’s display case, being used as one of his trophies.

Maybe if I lie here long enough it’ll all go away. One big bad dream.

The power tools stop outside my room and low voices take their place. And then my bedroom door opens and for one absurd second I worry it’s my dad with a live camera about to force me to admit he gave me all my ideas. It’s not my dad. It’s Emily.

“I heard the news” is all she says before she looks around my small, sparsely furnished room and frowns. I peel myself up into a seated position as she approaches because I can’t let her see me this miserable on day one of our relationship.

“How are you?” she asks, coming to sit by me.

“I’m okay.”

But Emily just looks in my eyes, tilts her head, and asks again, “Jack…how are you?”

I shut my eyes. “I’m not okay.”

She lays her head against my shoulder and slides her hand into mine. “You deserved to be the one to tell the world. Not him.”

Outside the door, the sounds of construction resume. Emily stands up from the bed, tugging my hand so I’ll get up with her. “Emily…”

“Come with me.”

“I’m not feeling very entertaining right now.”

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