Page 42 of Beneath the Hood

I’m nervous.

My stomach is tied up in knots for a thousand different reasons, one of them staring me in the face as I try to explain to Kayla why I can’t go out tonight.

Anxiety pulses through me when I see it’s six-thirty, which means there’s only an hour and a half until Jackson picks me up. I need to start getting ready, but when Kayla called on my way home from Donahue Motors, I let it slip that I was getting in an evening workout and she sped over, wanting to “try and emulate my dedication.”

“Girl, come on, you’re practically a stranger these days,” she groans, upping the speed on her elliptical.

I laugh. “I saw you yesterday for lunch.”

“Yeah, but that was a paid gig. It doesn’t count.” Her nose scrunches.

My brow rises, confusion settling in the pit of my gut. “Why doesn’t it count?”

She huffs, her breaths coming in short pants as her legs swing back and forth on the machine. “It does, I guess, it’s just a little annoying is all. Everything is aboutyouwhen we’re out for something like that. The cameras, the attention...”

She trails off and I roll my eyes, ignoring the way my chest pinches from her statement. I should be used to it by now. This isn’t anything new coming from her. She’s full of passive-aggressive comments that make me feel like shit for being good at what I do.

I love Kayla, but sometimes I have to dim my own success to make sure she shines, and it puts me in an awkward position. On one hand, she’s my best friend and I want her to have the world. On the other hand, it’s not my fault she doesn’t put in the work—that she thinks her family name is enough to get by. She wants the fame, wants the recognition of being knownjustfor being known, without realizing there is no such thing. There’s only the perception.

She believes the lie instead of being the one who tells it, and you can’t master the game if you’re a pawn on the board. Instead, she chooses to ride on my coattails, letting my celebrity prop her up to bask in the spotlight. The one that hidesmyblood, sweat, and tears in its shadow.

And because she’s my only friend, I let her.

Sighing, I up the incline on the treadmill, relishing in the burn that eats through my leg muscles like acid. “Look, I can’t tonight. I’m just... tired. Working at Dad’s company really steals any free time and this is my only night tochill.”

“Maybe you should tell your dad you’re not willing to be his bitch anymore,” she snaps.

Sadness weaves its way through the holes in my heart at the thought of not being at Donahue Motors anymore.

At not seeing Jackson.

She’s not wrong though, allowing my dad to feel like he has control over my life puts a damper on my productivity, making it a thousand times harder to grow in my career.

The one he doesn’t believe exists.

I could easily move out, I’m a self-made millionaire from branded posts alone, but the thought of being on my own sends a shot of fear rippling down my spine.

My dad and I are ships passing in the night, but at least if I’m home, he’ll acknowledge that I’m there. That I’m his.

At least if I’m home, he won’t forget I exist altogether.

“Hello? Earth to Blakely.”

Jerking out of my daze, I realize that Kayla is off her elliptical, standing in front of my treadmill and snapping her fingers in my face.

How long was I lost in my head?

Glancing at the calorie counter on my watch, I slow my speed. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to zone out.”

She laughs, shaking her head, her eyes wide with disbelief. “I wish I could zone out like that, maybe then I wouldn’t despise every second I spend on that dreadful thing.” She glares at the elliptical. “Is that your secret?” She looks back to me, putting a hand on her hip.

“What secret?”

“You know... how you work out so much. I don’t remember the last day you took off.” She pauses, her eyes scanning me from top to bottom. “Even bodybuilders take a rest day.”

“Oh.” I bite my lip, my stomach rolling as I slow to a stop and hop off the treadmill. “I don’t know.” I shrug. “I just like being healthy, it’s important to me.”

Kayla’s usually the one person who defends my habits whenever we’re around people who like to nitpick—who like to pretend they know what’s best for my body, instead of minding their business. But right now, I feel her judgment seeping into my pores and it makes my soul curdle, wondering what nasty things she must be thinking.

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