Page 52 of Beneath the Hood

Shit.

She turns on her heel and practically sprints through the door and I wait to see if he’s going to follow. To explain that his words were from his worry, not from a place of hate. As an outsider, it’s easy to see the difference.

He watches the space where she was for a moment before turning back to me. “As I was saying, she’s achildin all the ways that count. So, please continue what it is I’ve been having you do, and just… keep an eye on her.”

My heart leaps to my throat, torn between telling him I can’t and wanting to race after Blakely and give her someone to fall into.

I don’t do either.

I simply nod, a sick feeling plunging through my stomach and clinging to my bones.

27

Blakely

“Blake.”

Jackson’s voice rings out, echoing off the metal stalls in the restroom and I shrink back, my knees practically to my chin as I push further against the tile wall. My trembling fingers press against my mouth, the flesh indenting against my teeth from the pressure. My breathing is sharp. Stuttered, making it almost impossible to stay quiet through the tears.

But I try because I don’t want him to see me like this. Don’t want it to be yet another time he has to pick me up from where I’m breaking into pieces on the floor.

It was a fruitless mission to seek out my dad, and I knew it from the moment Karen told me he was here. But there was a part of me that jumped at the chance anyway, wanting to see if things had shifted. If maybe him thinking I was gone would make him cherish the moments with me here.

But those are just visions of a lonely girl who wants her reality to change because she’s been shown there’s something more.

“Blake.”

Jackson’s voice is closer now, his shadow swallowing up the flittering light through the bottom of the stall door. A clunking sound rings out, the frame shaking slightly, and even though I can’t see to the other side, I justknowhis forehead is resting against the metal.

“Blake,” he whispers. “Let me in.”

My mouth pinches harder, salty tears dripping between my knuckles as I keep back the noise.

Leasing her body like it’s property.

Is that really what he thinks of me?

Is that whateveryonethinks of me?

The thought spears my chest and my vision blurs.

One. Two. Three.

My fingers tighten around my mouth, the urge to drop my hands and clench them overwhelming, but I stop myself, afraid my hurt will bleed out with the sobs if I don’t hold them in.

Jackson sighs and his shadow morphs, his legs coming into view as he slips to a sitting position on the other side of the door.

He doesn’t speak for long moments, my breathing comes rapidly and the tension in my chest is a physical ache, like a rubber band about to snap.

His hand appears under the stall.

My gaze zones in to where his palm is resting on the subway tile, the pressure easing now that I have something to focus on. My chest jumps with jerky inhales as my eyes trace the veins on his forearms, pausing at the hairband that’s always wrapped around his wrist, an odd sense of jealousy dripping through me when I wonder what it would be like to be a staple in Jackson’s life.

Slowly, I move my hand, placing it in his, my manicured nails sliding against his thick, calloused fingers.

He twines them together, and a warmth sweeps through me, brushing under my skin.

I’m sure we look ridiculous. Two people sitting on a dirty bathroom floor, holding hands under a stall. But I don’t care. I allow myself to sink into this moment and accept the comfort he provides.

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