Page 30 of Beneath the Hood

She shakes her head. “No, I want to. I just—sometimes they happen for no reason… if I let my thoughts run away from me. I normally have it under control, but I’m also usually…”

“In a routine?” I guess.

She nods. “Yeah, exactly.”

“I get it.”

“Do you?” Her brows rise, disbelief painting her features.

I stare at her, debating on how much I want to tell. I’m no stranger to being open with people, but my father is something I’ve always held close to my chest. I don’t talk about him, not to anyone.

Besides, no one’s ever really cared to know. Even my friends back home were too busy with their lives to spend much time asking about mine.

“My dad was a Marine. He spent a lot of time overseas, and at first, he would come home with these amazing stories.” I pause, smiling. “I missed him so bad my stomach hurt, but I remember feelinggiddyat the thought of all the stories he’d have when he got back. Adventures he went on, the cultures, the people he met…” My throat tightens. “All the ways he would remind me that he was my hero.”

“He sounds like an incredible man,” Blakely says.

“He was.” I nod. “But after his third deployment, the stories never came.”

My hand reaches up, fingers tangling around the metal chain that rests around my neck. “He only brought home nightmares that time. Ones he tried to hide but couldn’t. He’d lash out at me. At my mom, and she…” I blow out a breath. “It broke her heart every time she had to say goodbye, but I think it killed her soul when he came back and she wasn’t what he needed. When she didn’t know how to help.”

I gaze down at Blakely, tears glossing over the amber color of her eyes. One falls down her cheek and my thumb reaches over to wipe it away.

“Mom convinced him to go to therapy, but it wasmewho ended up bringing him back whenever he’d get lost. When the panic would overwhelm him, and he’d be stuck, his brain like quicksand, pulling him into the memories of where he’d been.”

“That’s so sad.” Blakely lays her head on my chest. “What’s he do now that you’re not home? Is he… is he better?”

My hand comes up and smooths over her hair, the motion calming the wave of sadness that’s crashing through my insides, threatening to pull me under. “He passed away on my sixteenth birthday.” My eyes close, the words exploding through my throat and singeing the back of my nose.

I brace myself for the empty apology—the one that always follows when someone finds out about his death. But it never comes, and I’ve never been so grateful for someone’s silence.

The torn muscle in my chest rattles against my ribs, reminding me that some pieces of a heart don’t ever heal. They just exist, broken and bleeding, reminding you to appreciate what you have when you have it. Because you never know when it will disappear.

We don’t make it to the racetrack. I never show her how to drive.

But sitting here, in the middle of an empty hallway, as I spill a story I’ve never told a soul about the greatest man I’ve ever known, the frayed stitching that holds my broken heart together starts to mend.

And it’s the realest thing I’ve ever done.

15

Blakely

It isn’t until we’re back in Jackson’s car that I pull out my phone and realize I never texted Sierra. Honestly, I didn’t think of her once, and even though there’s dozens of missed calls and texts, I’m glad for my lack of communication.

It would have felt wrong to take advantage of Jackson after how raw I still feel from his realness. From his unwavering support in the face of my vulnerabilities.

I freaked out.Again. It’s been a long time since I’ve had two panic attacks so close together. Years of figuring out routines—of making sure every second is planned—have allowed me at least a modicum of control. It’s not because I enjoy being busy. It’s because when I’m still, the thoughts creep in, weaving into my nerves, creating a spiral of panic that never lets me go once it’s taken root.

But there’s something about Jackson that inspires me to slow down. For the first time, Iwantto enjoy the quiet moments. If only my brain would let me. Still, even though today started as a disaster, I’m happy I’m here.

Who knew my vulnerability would inspire the same in him?

I’ve never been a secret keeper. No one has ever shared the most intimate parts of their soul. I like the way it feels to hold something so valuable in the palm of my hand.

And Ilovethe way it feels when Jackson holds me in his.

I don’t think about the age difference. Or the fact he’s technically only with me because my father asked him to be. That I annoy him on my best day and make him hate me on my worst.

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