Page 116 of Beneath the Hood

What the fuck is she doing with him?

An ache spreads through my ribs, my heart pummeling against the walls of my chest. Everything in me is screaming to turn away, but I ignore it, enraptured by the sight of her.

“Wow, I didn’t know they were dating,” the receptionist says.

I glance at her, my hand reaching up to tangle in my necklace. “What makes you think they are?”

She nods toward the TV. “Says it right there.”

My eyes fly back to the screen, scanning the words on the bottom that, until now, I paid no attention to.

Blakely Donahue and DJ Andelo an item? CONFIRMED.

Like a hammer to my gut, my breath whooshes out of me, my mind trying to catch up to what my heart already knows, trying to make sense out of something that just makesno fucking sense.

She wouldn’t...

Like a train veering off track, I continue to watch, the vision of them together striking against my heart.

“Blakely! Blakely! Do you have anything to say about you and DJ Andelo?”

She smiles, her hand looping through his arm, leaning in close like she’s meant to be there. Like it’shimthat she fits perfectly with, when I know that it’s really me.

“Just that we’re happy, and finally ready to go public. Tell the world.” She gazes up at him, a beaming grin on her lying face.

Douchebag smirks down at her, and I want to reach through the screen and cut off his oxygen until I feel the life leave his pathetic body. My heart thrashes under my skin, disbelief pouring through me.

Something’s not right.

“What do you have to say about the recent pictures of you and Jackson Rhoades?”

My heart stalls like a stuck clutch, my breath sticking in my throat as I wait to see what she says.They know who I am. They have pictures.

I look closely, searching for a sign, some signal that she’s struggling. That it’s a performance. That she’ll call me later with an explanation. I’m desperate to seesomethingthat explains why she’s choosing someone else over me on national television.

But there’s nothing. Not a single flinch or counted breath.

“Jackson Rhoades is a family friend,” she says.

I scoff, nausea curdling in my stomach.

“Someone doing my father a favor while he was too busy to watch out for me himself. While I enjoyed his company, there’s nothing else to tell.” She shrugs.

“What about the pictures?”another reporter yells out.

I hear a gasp to the side of me, the receptionist staring at me with wide eyes. “Isn’tyourname Jackson Rhoades?”

My jaw clenches, but I ignore her and keep my eyes locked on the screen, a hole burning through my stomach like battery acid.

Blakely giggles and my chest pulls tight. “This is embarrassing, but it’s just a case of a few too many drinks and bad decisions. A mistake on both our parts, and one that I’ve already apologized for to the people who matter.” She caresses DJ Andelo’s arm, and he grabs her hand, bringing it up to kiss.

Rage shoots through me like an arrow, ripping open my chest and flaying my skin.

“The truth is,” she continues. “He’s twenty-eight and a glorified mechanic. There’s nothing there that interests me. And now that my father’s back, you won’t be seeing any more of Jackson Rhoades.” Her eyes find the camera, staring through the lens and setting my soul on fire, disintegrating it to ash. “ThatI can promise you.”

The reporters seem to be satisfied, moving on to ask other questions, like what she just said didn’t shift the earth under my feet.

“Are you okay?” The receptionist’s hand grazes my elbow.

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