Weather the Storm (Southern Roots Book 3)

by LK Farlow

  “Simon McAllister!” shouts a familiar voice, and I tilt my head toward the sound.

  “Officer Byrnes!” Seeing him feels almost as good as seeing Grant in handcuffs.

  “You can lower your hands,” he informs me, and I do, my arms burning from holding the position. “Benson and I were on another call when yours came through. I know you wanna be with Magnolia, but we’re gonna need you to come down to the station to answer a few questions.”

  I want to argue with him, want to demand he take me straight to her, but I acquiesce and follow him out to his cruiser.

  Down at the station, I swear a hundred different people ask me a thousand different questions. By the time they cut me loose, it’s pitch black outside, which means visiting hours at the hospital are over.

  The late hour doesn’t stop me from texting Drake and asking him to pick me up though.

  I post up on a bench outside the police station while waiting, feeling drained and drowsy. He pulls up to the curb only minutes after my call, and I hop in.

  Drake takes one look at me and hugs me over the center console. “She’s all right, brother.”

  “Is she?” I ask, no longer fighting my tears.

  “Yeah, man—well, she’s gonna be. The girls are up at the hospital, have been since Seraphine received a call, what with her being listed as next of kin.”

  It makes me feel better knowing she’s not alone, even if the girls are most likely stuck in the waiting room. Just knowing someone’s there is a burden off my chest.

  “Let’s go get your truck, maybe get you a shower and a change of clothes, and then we can head on over.”

  I inhale and hold the breath before releasing it slowly. “Yeah. Yeah, that sounds good.” More than anything, I want to see with my own two eyes that Magnolia’s okay, but I know getting cleaned up is for the best.

  After the world’s fastest shower, I’m dressed and out the door, pedal to the metal on the way to my girl. I whip my truck into a parking spot and charge into the emergency room, straight to the nurses’ desk.

  “May I help—”

  I don’t have time for this. “Magnolia Ellington. She was brought in a few hours ago via ambulance.”

  “And you are?” the nurse asks. I know she’s only doing her job, but to the beast inside me, she’s merely an obstacle between me and my Goldilocks.

  I feel a hand drop to my shoulder and whirl around, coming face-to-face with Seraphine. “Breathe, Simon. She’s gonna be okay.” I allow her to lead me to where our group is gathered.

  “Tell me what you know,” I say, addressing the group, though really I’m speaking to Seraphine since she’ll probably know the most.

  “So far, we only know the superficial injuries. The doctor estimates over forty percent of her body is covered in contusions, she has stitches in her lip, and there’s a long cut below her collarbone. They’re waiting on her X-ray results, and I think she’s getting a CT scan as we speak.”

  “Jesus Christ,” I mutter, tormented by what’s happened to my girl, but at the same time glad that her piece of shit husband is finally where he belongs—behind bars.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  MAGNOLIA

  A strange sense of déjà vu washes over me when I blink myself awake, yet again in a hospital bed, the same horrible beeping ringing in my ears, the same disgusting smell of antiseptic filling my nose, and Simon McAllister hunched over asleep in the chair next to me, his hand resting on the edge of my mattress.

  My head is already tilted his way, so I take my time studying him. His usual scruffy jaw is sporting a full beard, and even sleeping, he looks exhausted.

  “Ss-Sss…” I try to call his name, but nothing more than a hiss passes my lips. Carefully, as not to jostle my sore, aching body, I slide my hand toward his. I brush my fingers against his thumb, and he jolts at the contact.

  “Huh? What?” Simon looks around the room, his eyes finally landing on me. “Magnolia! You’re awake!” He sounds surprised, and it makes me wonder just how long I’ve been out.

  “Sss…” I try to say his name again, but it’s a wasted effort.

  “Shh, don’t move, baby. Let me get a nurse.” Just like last time we were here, Simon moves around and presses the call button. The same loud beep and static follow.

  A few minutes later, a nurse in lavender scrubs bounces into the room with a little roller cart. She leaves the door partially open, opting to draw the curtain in the doorway closed instead. “Well, it sure is good to see you awake!”

  I try to smile at her, but a sharp pain erupts from my cheek and tears sting my eyes.

  “Oh, hon, try not to move, okay? You’re banged up pretty bad.”

  “But she’s okay, right?” Simon asks.

  The nurse offers him a kind smile. “The doctor’s on his way down, and he’ll go over everything. We’ve been waiting on you to open your eyes.” Geeze, how long have I been asleep? “Let’s get you a sip of water.”

  The nurse grabs a large cup with a straw. As she’s removing the lid and dumping a bag of ice water into it, someone knocks on the still-cracked door.

  This time, a doctor steps into the room—a different one from my last visit. “Hello, Mrs. Ellington.” Simon visibly cringes at the use of my married name. “So glad to see you awake. You’ve been sleeping for going on forty-eight hours, which is fairly common after traumatic events.”

  The nurse fiddles with the controls on the bed and raises the upper portion of the mattress so I’m in a slightly reclined position. She brings the straw to my lips and warns me to go slow.

  The first sip of the cool liquid slides down my throat, and it feels like heaven. Greedily, I suck down another, only to choke, causing a symphony of pain to rack my body. Warm tears trail my cheeks. Simon looks as if he wants to cradle me in his arms but seems to think better of it, opting instead to grab a tissue and wipe away my tears.

  “Hurts,” I mumble, my mouth still dry.

  “I’d imagine so. You’re pretty banged up.” The doctor shuffles through the folder in his hands, flipping until he finds the page he’s looking for. “You were unconscious when you were brought in, so we ran a full gamut of tests to make sure we didn’t overlook anything. We assessed that while a large percentage of your body is covered in contusions, the CT showed no damage to your internal organs, other than a moderate concussion.

  “It did, however, show a small zygomatic arch fracture, which accounts for the pain and swelling in your eye and cheek.” The doctor turns to the next page in my chart. “We also did a full-body X-ray, which showed us two fractured ribs. Those are the major injuries, but in addition, you also have a superficial laceration beginning just below your clavicle, extending three inches downward. It’s currently being held together with surgical glue. Your lip is split in two locations, and one of them required two small sutures.

  “We’ve been giving you morphine to manage your pain, but now that you’re alert and with us, I’d like to begin dialing back and switching you to an over-the-counter pain med with an anti-inflammatory.”

  Simon looks as shell-shocked as I feel after hearing the doctor list off my injuries, but he gathers his wits before I do mine and asks, “How long will she need to stay here?”

  “We’ll keep her overnight for observation, and assuming all goes well, we’ll release her tomorrow afternoon.”

  “And her recovery?” Simon asks.

  “Will all be discussed tomorrow. For now, let’s let Mrs. Ellington rest.”

  Again, Simon blanches. “Ms. It’s Ms.”

  The doctor checks his notes and says, “Right, Ms.—my apologies,” before shuffling out of the room, the nurse hot on his heels.

  §

  I’ve been home from the hospital for going on six weeks now. The majority of my bruising has faded to a weird pale-yellow color, and while my cheek fracture didn’t require surgery—thank God—it’s still a little tender and swollen, along with my ribs.

  Which is why Simon sti
ll treats me like I’m made of fine china. He’s so tender and gentle and caring, but I’m ready for things to get back to normal, ready to do things for myself.

  “Are you sure you don’t want me to cancel the trip?” he asks for the hundredth time.

  I shift on the couch to look at him. “I’m positive, Simon. We’ve already pushed it back once. I want to get away with you, just the two of us.”

  “But are you sure?”

  I blow out an exasperated breath and crook my finger at him. He stands from his recliner and walks over to me. “I’m one hundred and ten percent sure. I…I think we need this.”

  We go back and forth a few more times before he finally relents and presses his lips to mine. Our tongues tangle together, and even though we still have a long road ahead of us, victory has never tasted sweeter.

  Epilogue

  SIMON

  While Magnolia’s physical recovery was fairly cut and dry, her emotional and mental recoveries have been a bit of a longer journey. Thankfully, for the past year and a half, we’ve both been doing weekly therapy sessions, individually and as a couple. The progress she’s made is nothing short of amazing.

  Speaking of progress, let me tell you, I’ve never been prouder of my girl than when she stood in front of that courtroom, her ex-husband seated in front of her—that’s right, ex-husband—and read her victim impact statement at his sentencing with her shoulders back and her head held high.

  Grant was initially charged with stalking, kidnapping, attempted murder, aggravated assault, and violation of a protection order, but the prosecutor offered him a plea deal, and lucky us, he was smart enough to take it. Now, that sorry sack of shit will spend the next twenty-five years behind a concrete wall, staring through barred windows.

  Another small mercy was the judge issuing a no-contact order, meaning my girl doesn’t have to worry about Grant’s psycho ass writing her letters or trying to call her from prison.

  Shockingly, Grant didn’t fight her on the divorce. I’m not sure if it’s because he knew he didn’t have a leg to stand on or if he had some crisis of conscience, but when he was served the papers, he signed without a fight.

  Magnolia was so happy she cried, and let me tell you, the second the ink on those papers was dry, I had a ring on her finger.

  I proposed to her on a lazy spring Sunday. We’d been doing a whole lot of nothing that day, but for some reason, it just felt right. She was standing in the kitchen, waiting on a bag of popcorn to pop between Netflix binges, and I just felt this undeniable pull, knew I couldn’t wait a second longer.

  I dashed off to our room and grabbed the little velvet box out of my nightstand then ran back into the kitchen, dropping to one knee just as the microwave dinged.

  I’ll never forget the way Magnolia’s eyes welled with tears and she blurted out, “YES!” before I even got a word out then tackled me to the floor. We made love right then and there, and afterward, naked as the day we were born, we sat down and planned our wedding.

  Neither of us wanted anything elaborate, so as soon as the sixty-day waiting period for her divorce was over, we exchanged vows on my back deck in front of our friends as the sun dipped below the horizon.

  Neither of us is naive enough to think life will always be smooth sailing from here on out, but what we do know is that as long as we’re together, we can always weather the storm.

  THE END

  Extended Epilogue

  Five Years Later

  MAGNOLIA

  “Willow,” I holler, ambling through the house looking for our daughter. Today’s her fourth Gotcha Day, and the crew’s all coming over to celebrate. Simon and I decided to adopt about a year after we tied the knot, and we both agreed that we wanted to do it through CPS.

  Willow was two when she was placed with us, and it’s a day I’ll never forget. From the moment I saw her, I just knew I was meant to be her mother. She toddled over to where I was crouched, looking just as nervous as I felt.

  For a moment, we just stared at one another—her big brown eyes melting into my blue ones—then, gingerly, she reached out and laid her pudgy little hand on my cheek. That was it—game over. She was the sweetest thing either of us had ever seen, and from that moment on, Willow had our hearts in the palm of her hand.

  Now she’s a bossy, opinionated six-year-old who loves to sneak off and get into trouble with her best friend. Lord, I hope she grows out of this. “Willow Grace McAllister! Where are you hiding?” My question is met with the sound of muffled giggles.

  Pausing outside the laundry room, I press my ear to the door and listen. “Shh, Brody,” my little girl says. “My mama’s gonna find us if you don’t hush up.”

  “I’m only laughin’ ’cause you got chocolate all over your face!” Brody fires back loudly, causing them both to start giggling all over again.

  I push the door open, yelling, “Gotcha!” and they both scream. “Shame on y’all for getting into the cookies before dinner. Go wash up.”

  Brody has the decency to look ashamed. “Yes, ma’am, Mrs. Magnolia. I’m real sorry. It’s just that your chocolate chip cookies are my most favorite. They’re even better than my mama’s.” His eyes get comically wide at his admission, and he rushes to add, “But please don’t tell her I said that!”

  Shaking my head, I can’t help but smile. Brody’s almost eight months older than Willow, but she leads that boy around like he’s a puppy. It’s quite amusing.

  “Okay, Brody, I won’t tell your mama if you and Willow fill all them holes y’all dug in my garden tomorrow.”

  He huffs out a dejected breath. “Yes, Mrs. Magnolia.”

  I smile and ruffle both of their heads before continuing out to the back deck. I head straight for Simon and settle down onto the arm of his chair. He presses his lips to my neck and murmurs against my skin, “Ten bucks says Myla Rose is gonna tell us she’s pregnant again.”

  I drop my eyes to his. “N-no way, you think?” I keep my voice low so our conversation stays between us.

  Simon nods. “Yup. Look at how she keeps cradling her stomach.”

  Discreetly, I take in the picture Myla Rose and Cash paint. Much in the same position Simon and I are in, he’s whispering in her ear while they both palm her flat belly. Huh, maybe she is.

  Apparently, I’m not as discreet as I thought, because Myla Rose rolls her eyes, stands from Cash’s lap, and announces, “Yes, I’m pregnant. Surprise!” She throws her hands up in the air, and we all cheer.

  “Do you know how far along you are?” Azalea asks, moving over to Myla so she too can rub the nonexistent bump.

  This time it’s Cash who speaks up. “Ten weeks. We just had our first doctor’s appointment a couple of weeks ago.”

  Azalea wraps her arms around Myla and bounces her around. “Sister-girl, this is so exciting! Does Brody know?”

  “No,” Cash says. “We’re waiting until after the first trimester to tell him.” The back door opens and both kiddos step out.

  Simon laughs. “Talk about good timing.”

  Once the excitement dies down, Drake walks over to Myles and Cash to congratulate them before wrapping his arms around his wife.

  He and Azalea finally tied the knot last year in a beautiful, over-the-top beach wedding. Azalea looked like a goddess in a strapless white tulle dress. They have no plans for children any time soon—they’re far too busy enjoying life as newlyweds—but they sure do love watching our little ones from time to time.

  Sitting here, surrounded by our friends, I can’t help but reflect on where we all are now versus where we started. So much has changed, and yet so much is still the same. While there’s not much in this life I’m sure of, one thing I know without a shadow of a doubt is this: no matter what comes our way, I’m blessed to be able to call Dogwood—and these people—my home.

  In fact, I’d be hard-pressed to think of a single better place to plant my roots.

  THE END…AGAIN

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  Acknowledgements

  Holy smokes, y’all! Book 3 is in the bag! That is insane to me!!! It feels like with every book, my list of people to thank grows tenfold, but hey, that’s just fine by me!

  Jodie, without you Simon and Magnolia’s story would be a hot mess of epic proportions and not the good kind. Thank you so much for letting me pester you day in and day out. Your friendship means the world to me and you’re officially stuck with me forever and ever, amen.

  Kathleen, your feedback and keen eye truly helped shape this story. Thank you so much for taking the time to work with me on this project.

  #FutureKaffy, thank you so much for being you and for being there for me. You’re an irreplaceable part of my team and I’m so blessed to know you.

  Dani B, if you ever leave me, I’ll hunt you down. You are my girl and I adore you from the bottom om heart.

  Karin, I’m so incredibly thankful for our friendship. Thank you for all that you do and for all of your help bringing Simon and Mags to life. <3 You’re more appreciated than you know and I love you even more than I love Raman noodles, which we both know is a lot.

  Melissa P, PA extraordinaire. You are EVERYTHING. Thank you so much for everything you do. <3

  Shawn, as always, your feedback has been key. Thank you for helping bring Simon and Mags to life and for always taking the time to help my needy self. I’m so proud to call you my friend.

  Joy, oh Laaawd, where do I even begin? You make me smile every damn day. You are one of the sweetest people I know. Thank you for always checking my graphics and for your beta reading skills and for just being YOU!