Weather the Storm (Southern Roots Book 3) Read online

  I finger-comb my hair as best I can before letting it fall down my back in a wet heap. The feeling of the moisture seeping through the cotton has me arching my back away from the damp material as I enter the kitchen in search of Simon.

  “You okay?” Simon asks, taking note of my odd stance.

  “Mmm, fine—just hate the feelin’ of my wet hair on my back.”

  “Want a hair band thing?” he asks, beginning to rummage through one of the drawers in his island.

  “Uh, if you have one.”

  He digs around for a few more seconds before holding up a hot-pink hair elastic in victory. “Myla used to always leave these things here.”

  He passes me the hair tie, and I quickly pile my hair into a messy bun at the base of my neck. “So much better. Thank you.”

  “Not a problem, Goldilocks. Now, about some food. I can reheat some of the Super Bowl snacks, or we can”—he checks his watch—“order a pizza. Figured I’d see what you felt like.”

  I can’t help but smile at his thoughtfulness, such a stark difference from anything I’ve ever known—it’s a wonder he’s single. “We can reheat, that’s fine.”

  Simon sets to pulling Tupperware bowls from the fridge, and in no time flat we’re both seated at his table eating cocktail weenies, chips with spinach artichoke dip, and some loaded potato skins.

  Once we’re both full, Simon rinses our plates, and even though I offer to help, he sends me out to the couch and tells me to rest. So weird.

  Chapter Five

  SIMON

  The sight of Magnolia—freshly showered, smelling like me, and in my clothes—damn near stops me dead. This girl…I’ve always known she was special, but chalked it up to her being in the Myla Rose zone—in other words, more like a sister—but seeing her now, I’m feeling anything but brotherly. When she pulled her hair up off her neck—have mercy.

  Looking at her curled up on my couch, my sweats hanging from her hips and my T-shirt hugging her curves, I’m feeling things I’ve never felt. I’m feeling possessive and needy and hungry for her, which I know is all kinds of wrong. Poor girl has had a rough go of things yesterday and today, and judging from her nervous stutter, she’s running from something. But, my God, I just want to swoop in and slay her demons, even though it’s not my place.

  “Si-Simon.” Magnolia’s voice brings me back down to earth. “Are you okay? You’re just staring…”

  “Fine, totally fine. Just thinking. We need to talk.” Magnolia flinches at my words, and I quickly attempt to put her at ease. “Nothing bad, just gotta talk.”

  “O-okay. About wh-what?”

  “For starters, we need to talk about what happened today.”

  Magnolia gives a small gasp, and her eyes flash before she drops them to her lap. I wait, giving her time to collect herself, but she doesn’t. If anything, she seems to sink deeper into her mind.

  “Hey.” I reach out and tap her wrist. “You okay?”

  She nods. “Uh, sure.”

  “You wanna tell me what happened? How you hit my truck like that?”

  “I…I-I…um,” Magnolia stutters out, her chest heaving as she gasps for air.

  On instinct, I hop from my cushion and go to her, wrapping her in my arms, murmuring in her ear for her to take deep breaths, to follow the pattern of my breathing. Once she’s calmed, she makes no effort to move away from me, and I’m okay with that. I keep gently running my hands up and down her back in a soothing motion.

  “We don’t have to go into that right now, Goldilocks. Not saying we aren’t gonna discuss it…just not now.” I don’t want to let her go, but I remove my arms from around her and settle onto the couch beside her, warming when she lays her head on my shoulder. “Let’s talk about your car instead. While I was in the waiting room, Mateo called from the auto shop, said he couldn’t be sure until the adjustor came out, but that it looked totaled to him.”

  “No, it’s fine. I-it’s so s-stupid r-really.” Blushing, she twiddles her thumbs. “I was thinkin’ a-about y-y-you and got distracted. I m-missed the brake and punched the g-gas instead.”

  “You were thinkin’ about me, huh?” I ask, secretly pleased to know I was on her mind, when suddenly she blurts out, “Oh God! This is my second accident…”

  “You know what? Let’s not worry about filing this.” My words seem to surprise her just as much as they do me. “I doubt you’d have gotten much for your hunk of metal anyway, so when you’re feeling up to it, we’ll talk about getting you a new car. But, before any of that, driving lessons—you need ’em.”

  “You’re right, I do. Thank you, Simon,” she says into the fabric of my shirt before bolting upright. “Your truck! Oh, nononono. Your truck!”

  “Don’t worry about my truck. Your car took the hit more than my truck did. Nothing more than a messed-up bumper.”

  “Really?” she asks, looking up at me, her eyes shining.

  “Really,” I assure her, leaving out the fact that my bumpers are custom and in addition to replacing the back one, I also need a new quarter panel and backup sensors. All that’ll come of telling Magnolia is her feeling bad—not bad, worse—about what happened.

  Our conversation lulls, and I notice her breathing is now deep and even. A glance down at her confirms what I already know: Magnolia’s dead asleep. With ease, I lift her and carry her down the hall to the room she’s staying in, even though some part deep inside of me is screaming for me to take her to my bed. The rest of our talk will have to wait until tomorrow.

  Even though she’s been alert and coherent, I still set an alarm to check on her in two hours, and another two hours after that to give her some pain meds. Better safe than sorry and all that.

  §

  After a sleepless night due to checking on Magnolia even though she didn’t need it, I wake up exhausted. But, knowing she’s safe—yeah, that’s more than worth it.

  With a groan and a grumble, I make my way into the kitchen to start the coffee, only to stop short at the sight of Magnolia standing in front of the already percolating pot.

  I take a moment to appreciate the view. While I’m fairly certain Magnolia’s a real-life angel, her body is made for sin.

  Clearing my throat, I announce my presence as to not startle her. Slowly, she spins to face me, and her eyes rake over my body like hot coals, reminding me of the fact that I’m shirtless.

  I stand stock-still, letting her look to her heart’s content. Once her brilliant blues land on mine, I grin, loving the scarlet that blossoms across her cheeks.

  “G-g-good morning,” she mumbles, dropping her eyes to her feet.

  “Good mornin’ to you too. You sleep all right?” I ask, even though I damn well know she did.

  “Mmhmm,” she mumbles, and I walk toward her, stopping when we’re toe to toe, so close that I can feel the heat from her body and see her nipples pebble beneath her shirt.

  With my thumb to her chin, I tilt her head so her gaze meets mine. “Nothin’ to be embarrassed about, pretty girl. I looked my fill too, only you had your back to me.” My words only seem to make her more flustered, so I step back and set about pouring our coffee.

  After grabbing two mugs from the top rack of the dishwasher, I turn to the fridge, pausing to ask her how she takes her coffee.

  “Cream and two Splendas.”

  “I only have plain sugar, that okay?” I ask, making a mental note to pick up some Splenda from the store.

  “Sure, that’s perfect.”

  I close the refrigerator door with my hip and doctor up our mugs just right—only cream for me—then carry them over to the table, where I pull out a chair for her. “Come, sit.”

  “Thank you.” Magnolia cradles her mug in her hands, gently blowing on the steaming beverage.

  “Not a problem at all. Got a few things we need to discuss today too—is now good?” She nods. “I need to swing by your place and get some stuff for you. Make me a list?”

  “I…okay, Simon, but h-how’re you
gonna get there?”

  “Mateo offered to set me up in a rental, but my dad’s old junk truck still runs just fine.”

  “Junk truck?” Magnolia questions, tilting her head to the left.

  “Mmhmm. It was his until he quit driving, and I drove it in high school. It’s rusted and needs work, but it has good bones and runs just fine. I never got rid of it after he passed.”

  “Ah. Well, thank y-you. I hate that I’ve caused all this tr-trouble,” she murmurs into her coffee.

  “Shit happens. It’s how we deal with it, yeah?” She nods, and I smile. “I’m gonna go shower. There’s a pen and a notepad over on the counter by the fridge. Why don’t you make me that list?”

  “Okay.”

  With one last, lingering look, I drain the rest of my coffee and retreat to my bathroom.

  §

  With my towel wrapped around my waist, I use my forearm to wipe the steam from the mirror. Yesterday’s five-o’clock shadow is now full-on scruff, but I think I’m kind of digging it and decide to skip shaving.

  Dressed in a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved, dry-fit shirt with the school’s logo printed on it, I make my way back out to Magnolia. I can’t help the grin that spreads across my face when I find her snuggled up in my recliner under the throw blanket I keep draped over the back, happily watching TV.

  “You look comfy.”

  She gasps in surprise. “Oh, um…sorry.”

  “Nothing to be sorry for, Goldilocks. In fact, I was thinkin’ about how that chair seems to fit you just right.” Magnolia smiles and blushes at my words, and damn if I don’t want to beat on my chest in a show of masculine pride.

  “I don’t usually watch too much television. I prefer to read, but my Kindle’s at home.”

  “Is it on your list?” I ask, mentally making a note to grab it.

  “Yeah, it is.”

  “Great. Rest up, and I’ll run by your place then grab some lunch on the way home. Any requests?”

  “Anything you want sounds good to me.”

  I smirk, because if anything were an option, I’d choose her. “See you soon. Call me if you need anything.”

  Chapter Six

  SIMON

  I plug Magnolia’s address into my GPS, hoping I’m wrong about where she lives. Sadly, with every turn, I know I’m not. There aren’t many bad parts of Dogwood, but here on the outskirts of town, it gets a bit seedier, and Magnolia seems to have found herself the most run-down, roach-infested apartment complex there is.

  My heart sinks even lower when I see the dilapidated building. It’s more than the peeling paint and overgrown greenery; it’s the drooping roof, the lack of decent locks, the fact that outside her front door, there are two guys making a drug deal.

  None of this is sitting right with me. The thought of her being here—living here, sleeping here—burns in my gut.

  “Excuse me,” I tell drug dealer number one as I move to slide Magnolia’s key in the lock.

  “You don’t live here,” he snarls, looking me up and down.

  “You’re right,” I agree. “I don’t.” I slip into her apartment and turn the measly knob lock before he can say anything else.

  Unfortunately, the situation inside’s not much better.

  The carpet is so dirty that I’m not sure what to even call the color, the dingy wallpaper is peeling, there are water spots on the ceiling, there’s mold visible in two places, and I haven’t even left the living area.

  Her bedroom is even worse—barely bigger than my pantry, with a twin-sized mattress on the floor pushed against the far wall and a hanging rack with clothes.

  My blood boils at her living conditions, and without thinking about what I’m doing, I start tossing everything I think she’ll need into the duffle bag I brought, even things that aren’t on her list, because if I have any say in it, Magnolia won’t be coming back here.

  Once I’ve crammed in everything I can fit, I stalk back toward the front door. I take one last look at the sad excuse for an apartment and step back out into the breezeway, closing the flimsy door behind me. Before I even get it locked, drug dealer number two is in my face. Guess that makes drug dealer one the dealee. “You know the hot little piece that lives here?” My fists clench. “Tell her to holler at me. Been trying to get her to gimme the time of day, but she’s an uptight little bitch. Won’t holler back.”

  Without thinking, my vision goes red, and I strike out, landing a punch straight to the douchebag’s jaw, followed by one to his kidney. “Don’t talk about her. Don’t even think about her,” I bark at him as I continue past where he’s doubled over.

  Still fuming, I jerk open the driver’s side door and throw Magnolia’s belongings into my back seat. Why would she live like this? My brain cannot reconcile her—always so put-together appearance-wise—living in a dump like this. Add in the fact that she’s so easily intimidated by social situations—hell, even just people in general—and I…shit, it just does not compute.

  On the drive back into town, I practice deep breathing to calm my temper down. Sounds lame, but it works—at least it usually does. Now, though, I can’t seem to quell the rage racing through my veins at Magnolia living in such a destitute situation.

  Food long forgotten, I race back to the house, ready to demand answers. Jamming in the unlock code, I all but throw the front door open, startling Magnolia in the process.

  “Simon!” she exclaims as I dump her meager belongings at her feet.

  “Magnolia,” I snarl back at her.

  “Wh-what’s wrong?” she asks, sounding genuinely confused, which just revs my anger up another notch. How could she possibly think where she was living was okay? And yeah, I said was.

  “What’s wrong?” I explode. “What’s wrong is the shithole you live in!”

  “What?”

  “Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about. You basically live in a slum. I watched a fucking drug deal happen less than a foot away from your front door.”

  “I-I…um…” she stammers.

  “You will not go back there.”

  “It’s where I l-live, Simon.”

  “Not anymore,” I bark out, causing her to cower away from me.

  “O-o-okay,” she says, exhaling as she rises from my recliner. Tentatively, I step toward her, but she quickly moves to the other side of the chair, putting it in between us.

  “Fuck,” I mutter when I notice she’s shaking like a damn leaf. “Magnolia,” I murmur as I try to move in closer to her.

  “No, please,” she cries as I wrap her in my arms.

  “Shh.” I trail my fingers across her shoulder blades, left to right and back again, trying my hardest to ease the fear I put into her.

  If I could kick my own ass right now, I would. I always swore I’d never become my father, and here I am letting my temper get the better of me, scaring a woman who’s already damn near afraid of her own shadow. Fuck.

  Slowly, I pull back from our embrace, if you can even call it that since Magnolia’s arms are down at her sides with my own enveloping them. Her eyes are bloodshot, and her cheeks are streaked with tears.

  “I’m…so…sorry.” I keep my eyes locked on hers. “I didn’t mean to scare you, Goldilocks. You know that, right?” She nods, but her eyes have a far-off look to them.

  “S-sure. I…I’m going to go lie down,” she whispers, slinking out of my arms and down the hall before I can stop her.

  Chapter Seven

  MAGNOLIA

  My mind is racing as I pace back and forth at the foot of the bed in Simon’s guest room. Though I’ve always heard from the girls that Simon has a short fuse, I’ve never seen it. Now that I have, I’m not sure I can un-see it.

  Once my feet have worn a trail in the carpet, I collapse onto the plush mattress, my mind still whirring a mile a minute. Try as I might, all the memories I’ve been working so hard to suppress come racing back. Suddenly, I’m not in Simon’s guest room. I’m back in Charleston, with him
.

  “You stupid fucking bitch,” he spits at me, gripping my ponytail tighter in his fist, so tight that the tears I’ve been fighting spill over. Grant hates when I cry, says it shows him just how weak I really am. I usually try to hold them in until he’s finished with me, but his grasp on my hair is so tight, I’m genuinely worried he’ll walk away with gobs of it in his hand.

  “I-I-I’m s-sorry,” I whimper out.

  “You’re s-s-sorry?” he spits back at me, cruelly mocking the stutter he causes. “You’re pathetic. I told you I’d be home at six. Therefore, dinner should have been on the table waiting on me, but is it?”

  Trying my hardest to keep my voice steady, I answer him. “It’s only half past five, G-Grant.”

  “Not the point,” he yells as he slams my face into the solid marble countertop. At the feeling of my head bouncing off the cold, rock-hard surface, I lose the fight, my sobs falling freely, pissing him off more. “I didn’t have to even come home, but I did. I made time for you, and this is the thanks I get? You should be able to anticipate my needs by now. I don’t know why I even married you. Useless.” He releases me, and I fall to the floor. “I’m going out. Clean up this mess.” He punctuates his words with a hard kick to my abdomen before turning and storming out of the house.

  My pulse is racing as the memory fades, my breathing erratic and choppy. It seems like every time I take one step forward, I take five back. The very fact that I was comfortable sleeping in Simon’s home was a milestone, yet now, here I am cowering, strolling down bad memory lane.

  “You’re safe. You’re safe. You’re safe.” I whisper the words aloud, letting them wash over me and sink into my skin. “Simon wouldn’t hurt you. He’s not Grant. He’s not, he’s not, he’s not.” I repeat to myself that I’m safe here and Simon would never hurt me until my eyes drift closed and I fall asleep.