Page 21 of Beneath the Hood

That was my reality with every one of my dad’s deployments. My mom hiding her tears, thinking I couldn’t hear through our thin walls at night, and me, hiding my terror at the thought of him never coming home.

That was me suffering with every round of his chemo. Through the good days and the bad. The times he was thankful for life, and the times he begged for death.

That was me drowning from the emptiness he left behind. From not being there in his final moments. For allowing God to take him away when I still desperately needed him here.

So, I’ll stay in my spot.

And I’ll keep coming back, so she isn’t alone. The lighthouse to her darkness, guiding her through the shallow waters.

11

Blakely

Jackson stays through everything. He walks behind me as I rush up the winding staircase to my room, and is still here, staring at photos of my mother, when I come out in my sports bra and shorts.

He’s here while I head straight to our basement gym, making himself comfortableat a small round table in the corner while I spin my ass off for who knows how long.And when I’m finally feeling semi-normal—once the control has started to settle back in, clicking into place one calorie at a time—he’sstillhere.

I look at my Apple watch. One thousand and seventy-four calories.

Once I hit two thousand, I’ll stop.

The knot of anxiety in my chest loosens as I slow down to a normal speed on my bike, and for the first time since the pizza hit my taste buds, I can breathe. My muscles are past the point of burning, the lactic acid having morphed into a dull throb that sends satisfaction racing through my veins. I can feel the grease as it drips from my pores, and if I close my eyes, I can actually visualize all of the impurities purging from my system. A renewal of health through my hard work and dedication, despite my moment of weakness.

Finally, I ease to a cooldown and grab my water bottle.

“Feel better?” Jax asks.

My stomach jumps at his voice and I look over to where he’s sitting leaned back in his chair, watching me.

Why did he stay?

“Yes,” I respond slowly before taking a sip of my water.

He nods, his hand coming up to rub the scruff on his chin. “Good.”

Slowing to a stop, I take him in, shame working its way through my system and blooming under my skin when I reflect on the past few hours. On how absolutely pathetic I must have looked. “You didn’t have to stay, you know.”

His hand rubs at his chest, a tinkling of metal jostling underneath his white tee. “I wasn’t going to leave you alone.”

My heart stutters when he says it, and I can’t for the life of me figure out what his angle is here. Why he’s acting like he wasn’t witness to something that most people wouldkillto know—to hold against me.

Why is he acting like I’m not broken?

“Why did you?” I ask.

“Why did I what?”

“Stay.”

“I just told you. I wasn’t going to leave you.”

I huff. “Yeah but…why?”

He shrugs, his eyes darkening as they stare into mine, but he’s silent for long enough that I think he won’t answer. That I’ve hit a nerve without meaning to, and he’s about to close back up—become the Jackson he’s always been around me. The one who creates distance and won’t ever let me in.

Sighing, he runs a hand over his head, rustling a few strands of wavy hair from his bun. “Sometimes... you just need to know you aren’t alone.”

It’s immediate—the way my chest rips open from the strength of his words, but besides the sharp, sudden inhale of breath, I do my best to mask the feeling.

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