Page 113 of Beneath the Hood

Since I’ve been ignoring Sierra’s calls all morning, still too pissed off and emotionally drained to even think of dealing with her, my plan is to shower and then head to Donahue Motors so I can see Jackson and apologize. I don’t want him to go through the entire day with thoughts of last night running through his head.

Hopping off the treadmill, I make my way to the kitchen, unease swimming through me at the thought of eating.

I’m not sure what I expected to walk into. Maybe for the evidence of my late-night binge to be strewn across the counters, making me atone for my mistakes in real time. But everything has vanished. Disappeared like it was never there in the first place. A pang hits the center of my chest, wishing I could erase my memories just as easily.

What Idon’texpect is my father, sitting at the kitchen island, his laptop open in front of him, his jaw tense and his brows furrowed.

I had forgotten he was here.

Nerves jumble in my stomach.

“Good morning.” I peer at him from my peripheral. My heart spasms when his eyes meet mine, a darkness swirling in them that I haven’t seen in years.

It makes me feel like I’m about to get in trouble, which is absurd because I don’t know what I’ve done, other than eat ten-thousand calories and rush out of the room without answering his questions.

My stomach curdles at the thought.Stupid, Blakely.

“Feeling better this morning?” His chin raises.

I force a timid smile. “Much, thank you. I’m sorry, I just... I had a rough day.”

“Hmm.” He nods, his fingers rubbing the stubble on his jaw.

My stomach sinks.

Something’s off.

But if he isn’t going to come out and say whatever’s bothering him, I’m not going to pry it out, so I move further into the kitchen, opening the fridge and grabbing a fresh water. I glance around for Eric, wanting him to make me an egg-white omelet.

“Where’s Eric?”

Dad sips from a coffee cup, before gingerly placing it down on the counter. “I gave him the morning off.”

I wait for him to elaborate, but he doesn’t, he just sits there, staring.

“Okay.” I spin back around to grab the eggs and spinach, a tense energy crackling through the silence.

“What did you do last night?”

My hand freezes on the fridge handle, my heart stalling in my chest. Clearing my throat, I turn toward him. “What do you mean?”

“I mean before you came home and...” He gestures to the counter. “Did you do anything fun?”

“I uh...” My heartbeat slams against my ribs, a bite of foreboding snapping at my stomach. “The usual, I guess.” I shrug. “Why do you ask?”

He graces me with a closed-mouth grin, beckoning me over to his side of the counter, turning his laptop.

“You know, I had the most interesting conversation with Karen the other day. She was convinced that you and Jackson Rhoades werefriendlierthan what she felt was appropriate.”

My breath catches and as I walk toward him my steps are slow, wary of his eerie calmness, not sure what to expect when I reach his side. But out of all the scenarios that raced through my mind, this wasn’t one of them. My stomach plummets, my hands dropping the bag of spinach to the floor as I see what’s on the screen.

Pictures.Lotsof pictures, all of Jackson and me.

Embracing in his car. Holding hands. Kissing on his front porch.

“Oh my god,” I breathe.

“There’s an article, too, if you’re curious. An anonymous source and a taxi driver, botheagerto part with your secrets for what I’m sure was a hefty check.”

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