Weather the Storm

by LK Farlow

  Myla Rose’s eyes spark. “I know all about complicated, Mags. Complicated isn’t always bad.”

  “Plus,” Azalea says, “we would never think that.”

  Seraphine nods. “That man is way too smart to be used, and too pigheaded to do a damn thing he doesn’t want to do.”

  I laugh because Seraphine’s statement is so true. “He can be very stubborn.”

  Myla points the straw of her drink at me. “For real though, and I’m not trying to poke or prod, but you couldn’t pick a better man—you know, other than Cash.”

  “Or Drake,” Azalea chimes in, causing us all to giggle.

  “I know he’s a good man, and he’s a good k-kisser too.” The words slip out, shocking us all. Seraphine and Myla Rose both gasp, Azalea smirks, looking like she wants to launch a full-scale investigation, and I drop my head into my hands, desperately trying to hide my burning, crimson cheeks.

  Seraphine’s the first to break up the awkwardness. “I’m sorry, but say what?”

  “I don’t think I can r-repeat it,” I say with my hands still shielding my face from view.

  Gently, one of the girls peels my hands from my face. I keep my eyes clenched shut—anything to delay the metaphorical firing squad I’m about to face.

  “C’mon, open your eyes,” Myla Rose murmurs, using her mom voice.

  Not one to be left out, Azalea adds her two cents. “For real, girl—out with it!”

  I inhale a deep, cleansing breath and start from the beginning, explaining how it started as little touches here and there and somehow grew into hot and heavy make-out sessions. “But, I’m not sure where it leaves us, or if it even means anything.”

  “Magnolia.” Myla Rose speaks my name softly, her big brown eyes boring into mine. “I’ve known Simon since I was seven years old. He’s not the kind of man to do something without meaning it. He thinks before he acts, and he acts with intention.”

  Butterflies attempt to take flight in my belly at her words, but I lock their cage tight. I don’t want to get my hopes up, and if the past has taught me anything, I’m not the best decision-maker when it comes to matters of the heart.

  “Maybe, m-maybe not,” I murmur before draining the last dregs of my coffee.

  “No maybe about it,” Myla Rose insists. “Now, who’s ready to shop?”

  We stand and gather our belongings then make our way toward the door, stopping only to toss our empty cups into the trash can.

  “Where first?” Azalea asks, bouncing on the balls of her feet. The girl loves to shop.

  Seraphine is quick with a suggestion. “What about Ooh La La? I saw on Facebook they just got a new shipment of swimsuits!”

  “Ugh. The thought of a two-piece after having Brody? Mortifying,” Myla Rose laments, but all the same, we set off toward the boutique.

  The short, one-block walk passes quickly. Azalea immediately finds a ruby-red bikini with more strings and straps than I’d know what to do with.

  Seraphine walks the perimeter of the shop, stopping and inspecting a few different suits before finally grabbing two to try on. “Do you think either of these will look good on me?” she asks, holding one in each hand. They’re total opposites. One is a tribal-style white bikini with beading and fringe, and the other is a royal-blue strapless one-piece. Given her tall, lithe figure, I’m willing to bet either one would look amazing, and I tell her so.

  Azalea and Seraphine both head to the fitting rooms while Myla and I work up the courage to pull something to try on. Finally, she bursts out laughing. “Why are we being so weird? Seriously, it’s just us. No one will be in the fitting room with us. If it looks bad, who cares! No one has to know!”

  I smile, because even though we’re hung up for completely different reasons, she’s right. Who cares? Grant isn’t here to tell me I need to lose weight or that I look like I’m “asking for it.” Nope, he’s nowhere in sight, and it’s high time I stop letting the ghosts of my past control me.

  With a newfound sense of determination, I march straight over to the suit that caught my eye when we first walked in. It’s gracing the mannequin in the window, and while I’m aware it won’t look the same on me, I’m willing to try.

  Swimsuits in hand, Myla and I beeline to the dressing room, and we’re in luck, because there just happen to be two rooms open. Myla takes the one on the left and I step into the other, pulling the heavy curtain closed behind me.

  I keep my back to the mirror as I quickly shed my clothes—save for my undies—and step into the one-piece suit, shimmying it up my body. I take my time, adjusting the thick straps on my shoulders, pinching and pulling the suit away from my body until finally I’m satisfied.

  Pinching my eyes closed tight, I pivot around to face the mirror. Whoa! is my first thought, followed quickly by I actually look good—really good. The design is simple, solid black with a subtle V-shaped neckline and horizontal mesh-filled cutouts on the sides. Classy and modest with a touch of sexy, it’s perfect.

  I’ve never felt sexier, to tell the truth. Here’s to moving forward—to finding me again. Who knew something as simple as a swimsuit could spark something like this within me?

  I quickly shuck off the suit, re-dress, and step back out into the main boutique area. Azalea and Seraphine are seated on a bench with shopping bags at their feet.

  “Which did you go with?” I ask Seraphine.

  She shrugs her shoulders. “Both.”

  “Guys?” Myla Rose anxiously calls from behind the curtain of her dressing room.

  “What’s up, sister-girl?” Azalea calls back.

  “I just…” She flings the curtain back. “Does this look awful?” Myla stands before us in a flattering high-waisted bikini. However, instead of your typical triangle top, she’s wearing a long-sleeved rash guard top that stops just below her bust, leaving only an inch or two of her abdomen revealed.

  Azalea stands and walks over to her best friend. “You look fan-fucking-tastic. Your hubby is gonna swallow his damn tongue when he sees you in this—hell, little Brody might even wind up a big brother after Cash catches sight of you.”

  Myla’s eyes sparkle. “Really?” We all nod back at her. “Okay then! Let me change and we can go.”

  Once Myla and I are checked out, we all step out in the evening air. “Good Lord, where did the sun go?” Seraphine asks.

  “It’s almost six o’clock!” Azalea informs us.

  “Oh. My. Stars! I told Cash’s mom I would be back by six to get Brody!” Myla Rose exclaims, a worried tone coloring her words.

  “You better hurry then,” Seraphine says, hefting her purse higher up onto her shoulder.

  “See y’all at the salon,” she calls over her shoulder while hurrying back to where she parked Bertha, her big green Land Cruiser.

  Azalea gives us a wave with her fingertips and scurries after her. “That’s my ride!”

  “Guess I better get home too,” Seraphine says as we walk back toward Dream Beans. “I’m sure Dad’s nurse is ready for a break.”

  “How’s Uncle Dave doing?”

  Seraphine lifts the left side of her upper lip. “His heart is getting worse by the day—struggling to keep up. His medication isn’t doing much to help either.” I know she hates talking about her dad, so I’m shocked by her open honesty.

  I wrap her in a tight hug. “I’m sorry, S. Let me know if I can do anything.”

  We pause when we get to her Rav-4. “I will, Mags. You know that.”

  “I know.”

  She looks around, as if searching for something. “Where’d you park? Want me to walk you to your car?”

  “I’m just down the street in the public lot, and no, I’m fine. There’s just enough sunlight left.”

  Seraphine looks like she doesn’t quite believe me, but she doesn’t argue. “All right, be safe. Love you.”

  “Love you more.” I press a kiss to her cheek and set off toward my car.

  The walk is only a few blocks, but the sun is sinki
ng below the horizon fast. The thought of being alone after dark has my belly pulling tight. Sure, Dogwood seems safe, but you never know. I power walk the last block, feeling uneasy when I notice the light for the parking lot is out. I fish my cell phone from my bag as I approach, my fingers ready to call for help if the need arises.

  You’re just being paranoid. I try to convince myself, but the closer I get, the more obvious it becomes that something is actually wrong.

  “Oh my God.” My voice breaks as I take in my new Honda. The back windshield is smashed, and the two tires I can see are slashed.

  Frantically, I call the first person I can think of.

  Simon answers on the first ring, skipping right over any kind of greeting. “Goldilocks, you wanna bring home dinner?”

  My pitiful whimper stops him short.

  “Magnolia, are you okay? Where are you?” I tell him my location. “Okay, I’m on my way. I’m gonna stay on the phone with you, so don’t hang up.”

  “’Kay,” I whisper into the phone, too terrified to speak any louder. What if the person—the monster—who did this is still here?

  “I’m walking out the door now. Is there somewhere nearby that’s still open?” he asks, his tone calm and soothing.

  “I-I see something with l-lights on. I’m n-not sure what it is.”

  “Okay, good. Go there and have them call the police.”

  With my phone pressed to my ear, I dash to the store. I barge through the doors, not bothering to check where I am or the name of the business.

  “Namaste and welcome to Elements.” The cheery blonde-dreadlocked receptionist greets me without looking up from the computer screen in front of her. “Are you here for our group class or—” Her words stop when she glances up and takes in my disheveled appearance. “Oh, shit! Are you okay?”

  “S-s-someone v-vandalized my c-car,” I stutter out. “C-can you c-call—”

  She finishes my sentence for me. “The police? On it!”

  I wrap my arms around my waist. “Are you c-c-close?” I ask Simon.

  “Less than two minutes away.”

  On shaky legs and with even shakier breaths, I all but collapse onto the small couch in the reception area of the yoga studio, the sounds of Simon driving and the receptionist talking to the 911 operator fighting for my attention.

  Overwhelmed, I pinch my eyes closed and do my best to block out everything but the sound of Simon’s voice. He’s my port in this storm, and I know I won’t feel safe until I’m with him.

  “I’m here, Goldilocks,” Simon says, breathing heavily into the phone before disconnecting the call. He rushes into the studio, drops to his knees in front of me, and wraps me in his strong arms. Finally, I feel safe.

  I don’t realize how hard I’m sobbing and shaking until Simons starts murmuring to me in hushed tones, telling me I’m okay now, and that he won’t ever let anything hurt me.

  I lean farther into him, clinging to the comfort only he can give me. My fists wrap tightly around the material of his navy-blue hoodie, holding him close. When the sounds of several car doors slamming shut filter through the air, Simon attempts to pull back, but stops when I whimper and refuse to let go.

  “I’m not leavin’ you, Magnolia,” he whispers, still rubbing my back. “But we gotta go outside and talk to the police, okay? I’ll be right beside you.”

  Reluctantly, I nod and pull back, giving him room to stand. Simon immediately takes my hand in his and leads me outside to where the officers are waiting.

  Chapter Fourteen

  SIMON

  I guide Magnolia outside and over to the cops on the scene. “Evenin’, officers,” I call out.

  “Did you make the 911 call?”

  “No, sir, that would’ve been the employee at Elements.” I nod my head back toward the yoga studio. “My girlfriend—” Whoa, I just called Magnolia my girlfriend, but now is not the time or place to get into that revelation. “My girlfriend here had her car vandalized. She was out shopping, and when she came back, she saw the damage and called me.”

  The officer turns to address Magnolia. “Ma’am, in the event of an emergency, you should always call the authorities, not your boyfriend.” His tone is scolding, and it pisses me right off.

  “With all due respect”—I pause and glance down to where his name is embroidered on his shirt—“Officer Byrnes, she was terrified and did her best. Why don’t we go take a look at her vehicle?”

  Looking slightly chagrined, the officer motions for his partner to follow him, and together we make the trek to where Magnolia’s car is parked. We walk around the vehicle, and my mouth drops open at the sight of it.

  All four tires are slashed, her back window is shattered, and in red paint across her front windshield is one single, solitary word: MINE.

  When Magnolia reads the word on her car, she starts shaking like a damn leaf, muttering to herself like a broken record. “N-no. Oh, no. No-no-no-no-no-no-no-no-no.”

  I palm her cheeks and tilt her face up to my own. “Magnolia, baby, talk to me. What’s wrong?”

  “I…I think I know who d-did this.” Her voice is brittle and hoarse from crying.

  Officer Byrnes walks over to us, leaving his partner to inspect the vehicle and to take photographs of the damage. “Did I hear you say you believe you know who the responsible party is?”

  Magnolia opens her mouth to answer, but all that comes out is a choked sob. Instead, she nods.

  “Ma’am, I’m going to need you to calm down and tell us what happened.” Thankfully, his tone has changed from stern to soothing, which I know will go a long way toward putting Magnolia at ease.

  She launches into giving the cops a play-by-play of her afternoon, stuttering her way through her coffee date and shopping trip with the girls. Fury races through my veins when she tells them that the light for the parking lot was out, though Officer Dickhead doesn’t seem too concerned about it.

  “And you said you know who did this?” he asks again.

  “I-I think it w-was my h-husband.” Her shoulders drop and her chin trembles. “B-but that d-doesn’t make s-sense. He’s…he’s in Ch-Charleston.”

  I stiffen a little at her use of the word husband—husband, not ex-husband—but right now isn’t about me, so I let it slide. She and I will hash that out later, when she’s not about to lose it.

  Officer Byrnes, however, caught it, and has no plans of letting it go. “Your husband?” He glances down and checks his notes. “Didn’t this feller here introduce you as his girlfriend?”

  The helpless look on Magnolia’s face claws at my heart. I’d give fucking anything to wipe away her pain.

  “W-we’re…e-estranged.” I breathe easier for hearing that, knowing she’s not completely tied to that cocksucker.

  “Gotcha. My wife and I are as well.” I’m not one to favor the end of a marriage, but right about now, I’m glad this man and Magnolia have some sort of common ground.

  “O-oh,” Magnolia gasps at his straightforwardness. “I’m s-sorry to hear that.”

  Officer Byrnes shrugs off her apology, clearly uncomfortable with the turn in the conversation. He scans his notes, looking desperate to get back on track. “You said your husband lives in South Carolina?”

  “Y-yes, sir.” Magnolia looks down and studies her feet. “I…I’m s-sure it w-wasn’t him. I-I overreacted.”

  Magnolia looks like she’s two seconds away from melting down, so I do my best to move things along. “So, what now?”

  “Now, Officer Benson will finish up his report, and we will be in touch if anything useful turns up in the photographs. Otherwise, we will file everything with her insurance company, and they’ll handle it from there.”

  “Th-that’s it?” Magnolia asks with a tremor to her voice.

  “Unfortunately, ma’am. I wish we could do more.”

  Magnolia begins to softly cry once again, and I swear to God, I can feel the fissures in my heart. Her tears are my kryptonite, and I’ll do anything t
o erase them. A woman as beautiful and kind as her shouldn’t ever know the kind of pain she does—the kind my mother did. The difference between the two of them, though, is that my girl is willing to fight, even if she doesn’t know it.

  Officer Benson walks over to us, flipping through the images on his camera screen as he does. “All right, we just need you to sign off on the paperwork, and we’ll ask the businesses across the street if they saw anything as well as checking for any security cameras in the area. I hope your night improves.”

  We thank both of them, and I tuck his business card into my back pocket. With a hand pressed to the small of Magnolia’s back, I guide her to my truck. “Hang tight just a second, okay?” I ask as I pull open the driver’s side door.

  “Sure, S-Simon.”

  Not wanting to let her out of my sight, I quickly flip up the center console so she can sit right next to me. I turn back to Magnolia to see her still trembling, silent tears snaking down her cheeks. I fucking hate seeing her like this. I remember getting mad as a kid when my dad would beat on my mom, but seeing my girl this upset rivals that in a way I can’t even begin to describe or understand.

  It’s like I feel this primal need to protect her, to take care of her.

  “C’mon, Goldilocks.” I lift her into the truck, toss her purse and shopping bag on the seat next to her, pull my phone from my pocket, and follow right behind her, securing her seat belt. Our thighs are pressed together and I can feel her shaking. “Gonna call Mateo, okay?”

  I make quick work of dialing his number, knowing he’ll answer even though it’s technically after hours.

  “Simon, mi amigo, what’s up?”

  “Shit’s hit the fan,” I say on a sigh. “Someone vandalized Magnolia’s new ride, fucked it up real good.”

  “No shit?” Mateo asks in disbelief.

  “No shit. It’s gonna need a tow.”

  “You got it. Where’s the car now?”

  “The public lot downtown—trust me, you can’t miss it.”

  “All right, let me grab Desi and we’ll roll out.” There’s rustling as he calls to his daughter in Spanish. I hear Desi yell back at him, rapid fire, but finally Mateo lays down the law and she relents. “Sorry about that, Simon.”