Page 11 of Claiming Bennett (Montgomery Dreams #3)

MAGGIE

Waking up late feels fucking amazing .

It’s been ages since I’ve had time to laze around in bed on a weekday morning—well, it’s closer to afternoon at this point, but who cares?

My manager, probably, considering the slew of texts I have from her asking where I am, but not me.

It’s already late enough that going in to work seems stupid, so I might as well just take the day to relax.

It’s not like the front desk is that hard to keep up with. We get maybe ten calls a day. I’m sure Brooke can handle it. I’ll bring her coffee or something tomorrow.

I go through my morning routine slowly, relishing the feeling of a good night’s sleep and not having to rush through anything.

It feels good to pad down the stairs, still in my pajamas and slippers, no one else around to hound me about something or another.

Mom is out in the clinic, Bo and Dad out on the ranch.

It’s a good day.

My thoughts stray to Bennett as I brew another pot of coffee. I scowl while glancing out the kitchen window toward the sprawling fields. It’s been almost a week since that night in the barn, and he’s been careful to avoid me since then.

I still can’t believe he just walked away from me like that. Asshole.

Doesn’t matter though, it’s given me plenty of time to stew on what to do next. I’m going to chip away at his carefully constructed barriers piece by piece until he’s begging for me. I’d like to see him try to walk away and leave me wanting again.

“Maggie?” Dad asks, his tone colored with surprise. “Shouldn’t you be at work?”

I jump at the sound of his voice, so wrapped up in my thoughts that I didn’t hear him come in. My hair slips free of its lazy bun when I whirl to face him, and I busy myself with tying it back up instead of meeting his eyes.

“I took the day off,” I say carelessly, belying the way my heart pounds in my chest.

I hate how much I worry about getting in trouble, even when I egg my dad on. My body fills so quickly with anxiety that the only thing I can think to do is lash out most times.

“Why?” he asks, brows furrowing. “Are you sick?”

I don’t answer him, turning back to the coffee pot as it beeps to signal it’s done brewing. He waits impatiently for an answer behind me, his stare damn near boring through the back of my skull as I pull down a coffee mug.

“Just needed some extra sleep.” I shrug before spooning sugar into my mug, hoping my movements don’t show how tense I feel. “Mental health day, or whatever.”

Dad snorts disbelievingly behind me, his scorn obvious in the sound. The muscles in my shoulders tense up, but I keep my face carefully blank as I turn back to face him.

“What, am I not allowed to take care of myself?” I ask with a scornfully raised brow.

He laughs, but the sound is cold and brittle. “You call this taking care of yourself? The way I see it, you’re still being taken care of. I vouched for you to get this job, handed you everything, made it easy for you, and you still refuse to apply yourself!”

My lips twist up in a sneer, and I set my coffee mug down with a sharp snap out the counter.

How dare he? He has no idea how much effort I’ve put in just to go along with his stupid fucking game.

I’m at the clinic every day at bumfuck in the morning just to appease him, and I stay a full eight hours like I’m supposed to hanging around sick, gross people.

The least he can do is acknowledge how hard I’ve been working. I earned a day off.

“Why is it such a big deal to take a mental health day?” I bite back. “People do it all the time.”

Sure, Bo works on the ranch come hell or high water, but Oakley took an entire semester off of school when Jamie got hurt and no one said a word about that! Why is it only me that gets shit on when everyone does the same thing?

“A mental health day?” Dad asks with an arched brow as he crosses his arms over his chest. “Funny, Brooke didn’t say anything about that when she called me. In fact, she said you just didn’t show, didn’t even bother to text her. Was worried you were sick.”

Fuck . I should have known someone would call him.

It’s probably a bad idea to antagonize him further, but anger simmers in my chest. I raise a hand to my mouth and let out the fakest cough I can muster, not dropping eye contact.

“Super sick,” I say blandly. “Got a fever too.”

“You’re being lazy, Magnolia, just like you have been your entire life!” Dad shouts, his temper flaring. “I stuck my neck out for you, and you don’t even care that your actions are reflecting poorly on me!”

“Your reputation,” I say with a scoff and a roll of my eyes. “Of course that’s what this is about. How could I taint your precious fucking reputation ? Do you even care whether I’m happy, or do you only think about yourself?”

“I’m trying to make sure you succeed!” Dad’s voice is thunderous as he yells, his face going ruddy and red in the cheeks. “Why can’t you just cooperate? All I want is for you to have a good life like your siblings, but you?—”

“I don’t need your help to succeed! I don’t need your help for anything!”

The kitchen goes deathly quiet at my proclamation, Dad and I glaring at each other as my chest heaves with emotion.

Why can’t he just accept me as the person I am?

I’ve told him over and over what I want, but he just won’t listen.

Oakley and Bo aren’t the only standards of success in the fucking world.

Why isn’t anything I do ever good enough?

“You don’t need me for anything?” Dad asks, his voice so quiet I can barely hear him and threaded with both hurt and threat.

My whole body freezes at that tone—the same one he used when he threatened to take my trust fund away in the first place.

I don’t have time to backpedal before he continues.

“Fine. We can see how you feel when I freeze your card. Open your own bank account, handle your own finances. I’ll start charging you rent.

You can even buy your own goddamn groceries.

You can’t be a bratty teenager forever, and if you’re so certain you can handle everything on your own, I’ll let you. ”

My blood goes cold at his words, but I know he’d never go through with it. He’s too much of a soft touch, and it would probably be best to just turn on the waterworks, tell him I’m sorry, and beg for what I want.

Not this time, though.

I’m too angry, the frustration that’s been building over the course of the last year since I graduated getting closer and closer to a boiling point.

“Why is it so impossible for you to believe that I know what I want?” I shout at him, waving my arms around in fury.

“You’re the only thing standing in my way, the only thing stopping me!

I know how to take care of myself, but you won’t let me!

If you’d just give me my money, I’d be out of your hair and I could prove to you that I can manage my own life. ”

He’s never been anything but supportive of Oakley and her plans to take over Branson Logistics when Ricky and Kathy retire. And Bo’s got the whole ranch waiting for him when Mom and Dad want to take a step back.

I’m the only one without a fallback. Oakley and Bo got everything, and the one thing left for me, he won’t give me. I had to plan my whole life myself, and he won’t even release the chokehold he has on me to let me fucking live it.

“You can’t keep acting like twenty grand is enough to live your whole life on!

” he yells back. “That fund is supposed to help you start a life, not pay for everything you’ve ever wanted!

I don’t give a shit if you want to go to California, but I won’t let you go until I believe you can actually support yourself. ”

My temper snaps violently, and I shove my still full coffee mug into the sink, uncaring as it shatters against the metal. I storm past my dad, ignoring his shouted attempts to continue our argument and sprint up the stairs.

The door to my bedroom closes behind me with an echoing slam, and I collapse against it, falling to the floor as my body shakes with rage.

My heart pounds in my chest, anger and hurt mingling with the fear bubbling in my gut.

Am I going to be stuck here forever, trying to gain my Dad’s approval even though I know his standards are impossible to meet?

Am I going to fall short of every expectation he sets and hate myself for it more each time?

Am I going to have this argument with him a million more times, or am I just going to break?

Tears burn at the corner of my eyes, but I shove the heels of my hands against them before any can fall.

I won’t cry over this. I’m stronger than that.

Dad may not be able to see what I’m capable of, but I know damn well that I can figure things out on my own.

I’ve done it this whole time, and I’ll keep doing it.

I stay in my room for the rest of the day, refusing to join everyone for dinner and sitting against my door until the sun starts to set, casting my room in a soft orange glow.

The time to fume is good for me, and I let my mind run wild with hare-brained schemes of packing up and running off to LA without so much as a note left behind. I feel stifled and suffocated, more and more every day, and my mind lashes out everywhere it can, finding fault in everything I’ve done.

I stew on the way I used to run around the ranch gleefully, the way that changed when the popular girls started making fun of me for having mud on my shoes and rips in my shirts.

It was mostly Savannah’s little harem of assholes who no one could stand, but plenty of other people joined in when they spread rumors about me wearing my own designs to school.

I never wound up even trying anything I made on, too scared that they’d somehow find out.

The scraps of half made projects are still hidden in the back of my closet.