Page 4 of My Girl to Use

Chapter One

Jax

“I’m not coming back.”

The words leave my mouth flat. Controlled. Final.

There’s a sharp pause on the other end of the line before my mother exhales like I’ve just said something mildly inconvenient instead of completely unacceptable. “Jaxon, stop being dramatic and listen to me for once.”

I drag my thumb along the edge of the phone case, back and forth, the way I do on a steering wheel when the lights are still red. “I’ve been listening my entire life. That’s the problem.”

“You’re throwing away everything your father built,” she snaps. “Everything that’s been handed to you.”

“I didn’t ask for it.”

“You don’t have to ask. It’s your responsibility.”

I cross to the window but don’t look out of it. A humorless laugh slips out. “Funny how that only applies when it benefits you.”

Her tone hardens instantly. “Watch your tone.”

“No,” I say, sharper now. “You watch yours. I’m not a kid you can order around anymore.”

“You’re acting like one,” she fires back. “Running off, hiding in some…place no one knows where, like this is a game.”

My grip tightens around the phone. “It’s not a game. It’s my life.”

“Your life is that company,” she says, each word clipped. “Your father is stepping down soon, and you know what that means.”

“It means nothing to me.”

Silence. Heavy and cold. I count it out. Four seconds. She’s letting it sit there, so I’ll fill it, and nearly thirty years of practice tells me not to.

“You don’t mean that.”

“I do,” I say without hesitation. “I’m not taking over. I’m not quitting racing. And I’m definitely not coming back just because you snapped your fingers.”

Her breath comes out slowly, controlled, the way it always does right before she goes for the jugular. “Car racing is a hobby, Jaxon. Not a future.”

That does it.

I stop pacing, my entire body going still. My hand goes to the back of my neck before I’ve decided to move it—grips hard, thumb digging into the muscle. So many years of this, and she can still put my hand there in under a minute. “You don’t get to call it that.”

“It’s dangerous, it’s reckless, and it’s beneath you.”

“It’s the only thing I’ve ever actually wanted.”

“And that’s exactly why you can’t have it.”

A bitter laugh leaves me. My hand drops. “There it is.”

“You have obligations—”

“I’m done with obligations.”

“You don’t get to be done,” she snaps. “Not when there’s this much at stake.”

“For you,” I correct. “Not for me.”