Page 12 of Weather the Storm
“If that’ll make you happy, okay.”
“It will, more than anything. I’ll even help you find something. As for the other thing I want to know—who hurt you?”
His question causes me to gasp and choke on my sip of coffee. “What?” I wheeze out, stunned almost speechless.
“I want to know who hurt you, and then I want to track his ass down and make him pay. No man should ever raise his voice, much less his hand, to a woman, and, Goldilocks, no offense, but someone’s done a number on you.”
I suck in a deep breath and drop my eyes to my lap as I discreetly try to wipe away the tears that are falling. “It’s in the past,” I say, trying to convince both of us that it’s true.
“Look at me,” Simon gently demands. I shake my head. “Magnolia.” He says my name like a prayer, begging me to look his way, but how can I? How can I show him my shame? “Please?” He whispers the word, his voice all gravel and grit, raw with emotion.
Slowly, I look up in his direction, but not at him. I look anywhere but him, hoping this will be good enough, but of course, it isn’t. Simon stands from his chair and walks over to me, pulls my chair back from the table, and drops to his knees at my side.
“I don’t know what you’ve been through, and I understand if you don’t want to talk about it. Consider it something else we’ll add to our list of shit to discuss at a later date. But, know this: my dad was a mean son of a bitch. He beat on my mama until she couldn’t take it anymore.” Pausing, Simon takes my hands in his. “I’ll never forget the way he used to wail on her like she was a punching bag at the gym. I used to hide in the hall closet and watch him through the crack in the door.
“One night he hurt her real bad, and I, at all of ten years old, decided I’d had enough. I stormed out of the hall closet, determined to make him pay for hurting her. He had his back to me, and I hollered his name. Just as he turned around to yell at me, I socked him right in his cheek. Didn’t hurt him near as much as it hurt me, though. I broke my damn hand, and he broke my arm when he grabbed me by it and threw me into the wall.”
The tears I’d been trying to hide from him are now trailing down my cheeks like waterfalls, dripping from my chin and onto our clasped hands. “Oh, Simon,” I start, but he releases my left hand and brings his index finger to my lips, shushing me.
“Point is, that night, after my dad went to sleep, Mama took me to the hospital, and they set my arm and put a cast on it. She told me I was her hero, the strongest boy she knew. Guess she thought I was superhuman, because after we got home, she told me she had to run a quick errand and I should go on to bed. She never came back.
“My dad took his anger out on me after that, until I was about fifteen, when I got big enough to shut that shit down. The whole reason I’m even telling you this is because I made a vow at ten years old toneverbe him, so I’ll never hurt you, Magnolia. I’d rather die than lay my hands on you.”
I can hear the sincerity in his voice; he truly means it when he says he’ll never hurt me, and for some reason, I believe him. Emboldened by the truth in his words, I do the unthinkable. I pull my right hand from his grasp and twine my arms around his neck, pulling him to me, his head to my chest, and I hold him close.
“I believe you, Simon,” I murmur into his hair. We sit like that for what feels like hours, though it’s only minutes before Simon pulls back and draws up to his full height.
“You deserve the best things in this life, Goldilocks. Don’t ever settle until things feel just right.” Simon presses a light, barely there, so-soft-maybe-I imagined-it kiss to my forehead, and all I can think is,This…this feels just right.
Chapter Eight
SIMON
With great difficulty, I pull my lips from the smooth skin of Magnolia’s forehead. The kiss was meant to be an act of comfort, but the feel of my lips touching her skin—even just barely—has me feeling anything but comfortable.
No, some parts of me—mainly those due south—are feeling some kind of uncomfortable, and I’m pretty sure that makes me an asshole of the most supreme order.
“So,” I mumble as I rise back to standing, “how’s your head and everything feeling?”
Magnolia brings a hand to her forehead—right where my lips just were, mind you—and gives me a shy smile. “I’m feelin’ good. I probably need to see about…” Her words fall off as a defeated look crosses her face.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, knowing I’ll do anything in my power to make her smile.
“Just thinkin’ of everything I have to do.” Holding up her pointer finger, she says, “I have to find a car.” Another finger. “Get insurance.” And another. “Find somewhere to live.” Now, she’s holding up four fingers, looking even more somber than she did before. “And I need to see about work.”
“Hate to tell you this, but before you can get a car, we need to teach you how to actually drive.” She cringes at my blunt words, but I soften the blow with, “But you’re in luck, because I happen to be a great teacher. As for a place to live, I mean it one hundred and ten percent that my guest room is yours. I have plenty of space, and you’re welcome to it. In fact, I insist. Stay—it’s one less thing for you to worry about.”
“Are…are you sure?”
“Absolutely sure. Now, once we get you a car, we will take care of insurance. So, there’s three things off your list. As for work, Seraphine mentioned blocking the week out for you, so you’re all set to go back on Tuesday. Myla Rose lives next door, so between the two of us, we will get you where you need to be. Okay?”
“Okay. Simon, why’re you being so nice to me?”
I shrug my shoulders. “Because you deserve it.”
§
Having Magnolia here the past week has been…strangely wonderful. Having her in my space feels as natural as breathing. Now, as Tuesday morning dawns, I can’t help but wonder if both of us returning to work will change things.
