Page 10 of Weather the Storm
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 eventhinkabout 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 saidwas.
“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 canun-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, withhim.
“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.”
