Page 5 of Weather the Storm

Dr. What’s-His-Name turns and breezes out of my room, not waiting for a reply. “Was that weird?” Simon asks.

“V-very,” I agree. “Simon, you don’t have to let me stay with you, okay? I can ask Sera—”

“No,” he tells me, his tone leaving no room for me to argue. I wouldn’t call it harsh, but definitely firm—the way I picture him speaking to his students at the high school. “Youwillstay with me, youwilllet me take care of you, and youwon’tcomplain about it.”

“What about your classes?”

“I’ll get a substitute. Now, hush up and rest like the good doc said. Want me to grab us some food?”

“Y-you can get something. I’m not all that hungry, to be honest. Thank you, though.”

Chapter Three

SIMON

“I’ll wait a bit,” I say as I lower myself back into my chair in the corner. Magnolia doesn’t reply though, because she’s already drifting back to sleep. Poor thing, she has to be so damn exhausted. With a quick glance at my watch, I note the time, reminding myself to wake her up in an hour to make sure she’s still alert and aware.

To pass the time, I shoot Drake a text. He’s more like a brother than a friend, has been by my side through every up and down in my life—and there have been a lot. Even when his parents divorced and he moved with his mom to fucking Arkansas, we stayed close, talking on the phone or messaging on AOL Instant Messenger daily.

Some people might think that’s weird—two dudes talking on the phone every day. Lord knows my dad did. He beat the snot out of me after that first long-distance bill came in. He wailed on me real good, not giving one shit that I was barely twelve years old. He called me every name in the book, taunted me, asked if I was talking to myboyfriend.

The day that man dropped dead, a weight like no other lifted off my shoulders. I didn’t feel an ounce of anything other than relief.Wonder what that says about me…

After that beat-down, Drake made sure he called me or we chatted online. The day he moved back home was one of the best damn days of my life—and his too, seeing as how he met his girl, Azalea, that day, though they didn’t know it then. Hell, maybe they did, but either way, Drake fought tooth and nail for her heart, and he finally fucking got it.

Not two minutes after I texted Drake to check in, my screen lights up with his incoming call, and I run my thumb across the screen to answer. “Hey.”

“How is she? Want us to come up there?” Drake asks, sounding worried.

“Banged up, a few cuts and bruises, and a concussion. They’ll be discharging her in a little while, so y’all just go on home. She’s resting, and I kinda want to be alone.”

“I hear ya. I’ll tell everyone. You send Seraphine home too?”

“I did.” Honestly, I feel slightly guilty about it. After all, she’s Magnolia’s cousin, her only family down here, aside from her uncle Dave, Seraphine’s dad. “I’ll update y’all tomorrow.”

“All right, let me know if y’all need anything before then.”

“Will do, brother, and thank you, so fucking much.” I end the call and pull up the Super Bowl stats on my phone, not really caring about the game, but needing the distraction. Good news: my team’s winning.

I watch Magnolia sleep for a little bit, not caring if I look like a total creep. Just over two hours have passed when the discharge nurse knocks on the door, waking Magnolia. Without waiting for a reply, the nurse steps into the room. “Are you ready to get out of here?”

“Yes!” Magnolia and I say together, though her voice is groggy.

“Wonderful. I just have a bit of paperwork.” The nurse turns to face me. “Hon, why don’t you run down to the gift shop and grab this lovely lady some clothes to wear home?”

I nod and set off to do just that. When I return to the room, I pass the bag of clothes to the nurse and step back out, giving Magnolia the privacy to get changed. While waiting, I shoot a text to Seraphine, letting her know we are just about ready to go.

“All good,” the nurse says, sticking her head out into the hall.

I rejoin them in the room and watch as Magnolia fills out and signs her discharge paperwork. Once her i’s are dotted and her t’s are crossed, the nurse steps out into the hall and grabs a wheelchair, which she promptly helps her into. Together, we all set off for the elevator.

I punch the down arrow, and we wait in silence for the elevator car to arrive. As we descend, the nurse goes over Magnolia’s care instructions one last time and tells us that her discharge packet contains the instructions as well, in case we need a refresher.

“Simon!” Magnolia cries out as we head for the main exit of the hospital.

“What?” I ask, searching her face for any clue as to why she’s so alarmed.

“Your truck! H-how’re we gonna get—”

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