Page 48 of Beneath the Hood

The last time I was in trouble, I was ten and my nanny caught me eating brown sugar straight from the bag.

I’ve always been a rule follower.

The idea of someone being upset with me makes my insides clench up so tight I forget how to breathe. It’s why I’m so damn good at subtle selling, because I’ve been fine-tuned for years to recognize what other people want and have mastered the art of becoming what they need.

But right now, I feel like a kid who got their hand caught in the cookie jar.

Sitting in Lennox’s car, the silence presses down on my shoulders and dread crawls in the pit of my stomach.

“You know...” I start, desperate to lighten the mood. “If I would have known pissing you off was the way to get you to talk, I would have started doing it years ago.”

He grunts, but stays quiet, his knuckles tightening around the steering wheel.

Well, it was worth a shot.

Huffing, I sit back, trying to meld into the leather seats, hoping they’ll keep me safe from his wrath. Glancing around, I realize for the first time that he drove his personal car, and I rack my brain, trying to remember a time before now where I’ve ever been inside of it.

It’s nice. Old, but pristine. It reminds me a lot of Jackson’s, and that makes my heart skip as my eyes flicker to Lennox and I try to see other similarities I may have missed.

“This is a nice car.” I try again.

Still nothing.

Fine, then.

I stop trying to get him to open up, but the anxiety of having him unhappy with me takes over every thought, and my inability to fix it eats away at my chest. And then I remember what else he said.

Your father went mental.

Funny how it takes my disappearance for my father to remember I was there. The bitterness rolls through my gut, shocking me with its intensity.

My father’s not a bad man. He’s just busy and broken, and when you’re one of those things, you often bury yourself in the other to try and numb the pain.

I would know.

A second still is a second wasted.

My stomach growls, reminding me that even though Jackson brought food for us, we never got around to eating. Which, if I’m honest, is a relief. My gut was in knots wondering what would be buried in the wicker, whether or not I’d have to come home and adjust with exercise or take the time to explain why I couldn’t eat what he was offering. But I know that if I don’t eat soon, the urge to binge will be that much harder to control.

We drive through the security gates of my house, and when Lennox pulls into the garage, I notice my dad’s Porsche is here. Which means he’s home.

A rare occurrence.

Lennox follows my line of vision to where it’s stuck on the fire engine red sports car and he sighs. “I’m sure he’s here to talk to you.” He runs a hand through his dark hair before placing it back on the steering wheel. “Just... don’t be stupid again, okay? Don’t be so damn reckless. If you want some privacy, let me know. I don’t want to treat you like a kid, but you’ve gotta just work with me here, Blakely.”

Regret for causing him problems settles in my throat until I have to swallow around the lump. My eyes drop to my lap and I squeeze my fingers tight, focusing on the bite of my nails digging into my skin.

“I’m sorry, I won’t do it again,” I whisper.

I realize in the grand scheme of things what I did was stupid. But there’s thisthinggrowing inside of me that’s wild and untamed. Something I’ve never felt before, and the more I try to tamp it down and stunt its growth, the faster it spreads, making me sabotage things—upsetting the system thatIhelped put in place.

It’s making me realize that maybe all of the things I’ve been working toward aren’t the things that will make me happy. That will make me whole. How could they be when I’m so willing to give them up for a single moment in Jackson’s presence?

And if it makes my dad come home, well...

As I get out of the car and watch Lennox disappear around the side of the house, I tell myself that I won’t be so childish again.

Stepping inside, my stomach tenses and flips with nerves, unsure of what type of conversation I should expect to have with my father. I haven’t seen him since he stopped by Donahue Motors last week, and I doubt he’s stepped foot in this house until tonight. Or if he has, I haven’t seen him.

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