by LK Farlow
§
It’s been three weeks since Grant was served. For the first two weeks, Magnolia was on pins and needles, checking the mailbox every day, expecting to find a letter stating that he’d requested a hearing.
But, it never happened, and with each passing day, she seems to breathe a bit easier.
Today’s my last day of classes before spring break, and just like we talked about, we rented a house down in Orange Beach. Myla Rose was hesitant about shutting the salon down for an entire week, but Azalea convinced her and that was that.
The only member of our crew who won’t be joining us is Seraphine. Her dad’s nurse needed the week off since her son is out of school, so she will be hanging out with her dad, making sure he eats right and takes his meds.
I wait patiently as my first class of the day files in and takes their seats. They’re loud and unruly—none of them want to be here today.
“All right, world historians, let’s settle down.”
Right on cue, Desi back-talks me. “Why don’t you just let us have a free day, Mr. M?”
“Because free days don’t enrich your mind.”
Desi’s eyes are all fire. “Actually”—she holds up her pointer finger—“the internet says your brain is one of the hardest-working muscles in your body, and if you don’t rest it from time to time, you’re actively putting yourself at risk for long-term side effects, such as blurred memories, which won’t help anyone ace those pop quizzes you love to dish out. Also, it can cause brain shrinkage.”
I raise my brows at Desi, all the while biting the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling. Mateo sure has his hands full with her.
“Sí, you heard me right, Mr. M. They say the volume of your frontal and parietal lobe can shrink. That’s no bueno. Last but not least, you’re putting yourself at risk for emotional instability, which also puts your body at risk! You don’t want to put us at risk, do you, Mr. McAllister?”
“Well, Desi, you make a good argument. I guess we can watch a movie today.” I walk to my classroom closet and roll out the television cart. Judging from the smile plastered across her face, Desi’s counting this as a win. Little does she know, we were gonna watch a movie today anyway. I finished my grading last night and have no desire to do anything school-related over my break.
The rest of the day flies by, and before I know it, I’m pulling up to the house. Magnolia meets me at the door. “Did you have a good day?” she asks, rising up onto her tippy-toes to kiss me.
“Better now,” I reply, skimming my nose along her jaw.
“Oh God, save that shit until after I leave,” Seraphine blurts out from just inside the doorway.
Waggling my brows, I smile at her over Magnolia’s shoulder. “Don’t let the door hit you on the way out.”
Magnolia and Seraphine both laugh, knowing full well I’m joking. “Yeah, yeah, lover boy. Y’all have fun at the beach.” Seraphine’s tone turns wistful, and I can see in Magnolia’s eyes she feels bad her cousin isn’t joining us.
“I wish you were coming,” Magnolia says, embracing her.
“Me too, honey.”
The girls say their goodbyes then I lead Magnolia inside, backing her against the wall. I grip the backs of her thighs and lift her, wrapping her legs around my waist.
“You’re so damn beautiful,” I growl into her ear, loving the way she comes alive at my touch.
I rock my hips into hers, and she groans at the contact. “Oh God, Simon.”
Devouring her mouth, I blindly move us to the bedroom. I deposit Magnolia down on the bed and she grips the front of my shirt, pulling me down on top of her.
Lightning fast, we remove one another’s clothes, reveling in each other’s body. Unable to wait a second longer, I slide into her. “So fucking good, Goldilocks. You fit me just right.”
Magnolia answers me with a swivel of her hips, meeting me thrust for thrust. A light sheen of sweat covers us both, and I think she’s close based on the sounds she’s making.
I pick up the pace, and before I know it, we’re both falling apart. “I love you,” Magnolia whispers as she comes down from her orgasm.
“Not as much as I love you,” I reply, pulling out, immediately missing her warmth. “C’mon, pretty girl, let’s get cleaned up and pack so we can head to the beach. I’m dying to see that swimsuit you told me about.”
§
With our bags packed and loaded in Magnolia’s trunk, we make the forty-minute drive to Orange Beach. The GPS tells me my destination is ahead on the right, and I slow, not wanting to miss it.
Not that I could—the house Azalea booked is avocado green and massive, standing two stories tall on stilts. “Good Lord,” Magnolia murmurs as we pull in behind Drake’s truck. “This thing’s like the Jolly Green Giant of beach houses!”
“Let’s go in and find our room. The sooner I get to see you in that swimsuit, the better.”
I grab our bags, and together we make our way up the flight of steps and through the front door. Azalea is in the kitchen, stocking the fridge with groceries. Her little pug, Boudreaux, sits at her feet, his tail wagging and his eyes tracking her movements, just hoping she drops some food for him. Meanwhile, Cash and Drake work together to set up Brody’s hexagon-shaped playpen.
“Y’all having some trouble?” I ask as they bicker over the assembly instructions.
“Yeah, we are,” Drake deadpans. “Swear this shit is written in another language.”
Magnolia moves into the kitchen to help Azalea, and I drop down beside Cash. “Lemme see that.” He hands over the pamphlet, and I study it for a moment. “Well, here’s where you messed up.” I nudge Drake out of the way. “You gotta hook your finger in this here loop and stretch the strap before you tighten the buckle.” I grunt as I pull the strap toward me and manage to secure it.
Footsteps sound from the hall, and Myla Rose steps into the room with Brody on her hip. “Oh my stars! How many men does it take to put together your playpen, B?” She asks the question in that high-pitched voice you only use with babies and animals, and we all laugh, because damn, it shouldn’t have been that difficult.
“Aw, hell!” Cash exclaims.
“What?” Myla asks as she sets Brody down on the floor, where he promptly crawls straight to Cash and holds out his arms for his daddy to pick him up.
“Just realized we gotta take the damn thing back apart to lug it down to the beach.”
At that, we all laugh again. “Nah, look,” I say. “Just press here and here.” I demonstrate, pushing down on two of the side bars, and it collapses into itself. “See? Easy as can be.”
“Fucking brag about it,” Drake mumbles under his breath as he stands and goes to Azalea, reaching down to pet Boudreaux’s head.
Smirking, I say, “Quit being a baby and let’s head down to the beach.”
We all retreat to our rooms to change, and even though I’ve seen her stark-ass naked, Magnolia opts to undress in the bathroom. All I have to do is lose my shirt, which I promptly toss onto the bed.
Five minutes pass, and then ten. I rap my knuckles on the door. “You okay, Goldilocks?”
Chapter Twenty-Four
MAGNOLIA
I loved this suit when I bought it. I felt so confident in the fitting room, but the thought of parading around in it now has me almost hyperventilating. What I thought was a subtle neckline now feels daring, and the mesh-filled cutouts now seem tacky rather than tastefully sexy. What if Simon thinks I look like a whore? What if he laughs at me, or tells me I’m too big for something so revealing?
My panic bubbles and boils, and I feel like the room is spinning.
Simon knocks on the door. “You okay, Goldilocks?”
“I-I don’t f-feel so well.”
“What’s wrong?” he asks, concern lacing his tone.
“Um…” I hesitate, and it gives me away.
“Open the door, Magnolia. Please?” Slowly, I crack the door open, just wide enough to see him. “You gonna let me
in?” he asks. I shake my head. “Why not?”
“What if you think…” My words are cut off by Simon stepping closer and pushing the door open.
“What if I think what?” he asks, his eyes flaring with heat as they rake over my body. “What if I think you’re the sexiest thing to ever walk this earth? What if I think you were made for me? What if I think seeing you in this swimsuit is one of the top five moments of my life? What if what?”
By the time he’s done, my smile is of the megawatt variety. While I hate that I let stupid doubts and old insecurities get to me, I’m so dang happy to have the love of Simon McAllister, and that outweighs it all.
“Sorry, I was bein’ silly.”
“Lemme tell you something, okay?” I nod. “You are perfect to me. There’s nothing you could do, say, or wear that would change the way I feel. Got it?”
“Yeah, Simon, I got it.”
“Good. Now, let’s go get wet.” I shoot him a dubious look. “In the gulf, Goldilocks. Get your mind outta the gutter.”
§
The past month has been nothing short of bliss. School is almost out for the year, and Simon has been saying he wants us to take a trip sometime over the summer, says he wants to go to Lookout Mountain in north Georgia. The thought of us alone together, tucked away from the rest of the world sounds magical.
That’s not to say spending time with the crew isn’t fun, but there’s something so appealing about spending time alone and uninterrupted with Simon. Hopefully I’ll be able to take the time off, though I doubt it’ll be a problem, seeing as summer is the slowest season for us at the salon.
It’s finally the end of my late day at work, and I’m scrolling through my appointment book on the computer at the front desk, killing time while a load of towels dry. I’m checking for a week I would be able to take off for our trip when Seraphine approaches me.
“Hey, Mags,” she says cautiously, like she’s worried about how I’ll react to whatever she’s about to say.
“What’s up?” I ask, glancing down at the time, shocked to see it’s almost seven o’clock.
Seraphine twiddles her thumbs. “You think you could ask Simon to pick you up tonight? Dad’s nurse just called from the hospital, said his blood pressure was really low.”
“Seraphine! Don’t even w-worry about me. Honestly, I think that protection order scared Grant off. It’s been well o-over a month with no word or creepy boxes from him. I’m fine.”
“Are you sure?”
“I swear. I’ll shoot Simon a text and ask him to come get me, and Azalea’s still here finishing up a client. By the time I clean up and fold the towels, Simon will be here.”
“Okay, if you’re sure.”
“Super sure. Hug Uncle Dave for me.”
Seraphine heads out, and I grab my phone out of my apron pocket then rattle off a text to Simon before making my way back to my station to tidy up from my last appointment. We cut over a foot of hair off and gave her an entirely new color, so there’s a lot to clean up. God bless the girl, she was here for five hours, which explains why I’m still here long after the sun has set, but it was so worth it.
Azalea finishes her client just as I finish sweeping up the mountain of hair on the floor. “Want me to hang around and wait for you?” she asks.
Even though I’m slightly nervous about being here alone, I know I can’t keep living in fear of my past.
“I’ll be fine. Just gonna fold the towels while I wait for Simon.”
Azalea’s brows climb to her hairline. “You sure?”
“Yep. Promise.”
“Well, all right. Call me if you need me,” she says, like it’s the most normal thing, like she’s not actually saying, Call me if you get scared. I appreciate that Azalea tries not to baby me.
“Will do,” I chirp, trying my best to sound brave.
I know I just finished telling Seraphine I wasn’t scared of Grant anymore, and mostly, I’m not…but still. Being anywhere all alone stirs up those old, anxious feelings inside of me.
I watch Azalea walk out the door and lock it behind her before I turn and trudge back to the dispensary to fold the towels.
I’m almost finished folding when I hear a loud bang at the front of the salon. Forgetting to be scared, I run toward where the sound came from, shocked at the sight I’m met with.
The front window is completely destroyed, and glass covers the floor of our lobby. Panicking, I dial Simon. He answers immediately. “I’m almost there, pretty girl.”
“Hurry,” I shriek into the phone, breathing fast and hard.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, his voice edgy and anxious.
“S-someone b-busted our front w-window!”
“Are you okay?” Simon demands to know. I can hear the sound of him accelerating in the background.
“I think so.”
“Just hang tight. I’m almost there.”
I’m still rooted to the spot, clutching my phone, when someone bangs on the door. I start to scream, but Simon’s calm voice through the phone stops me. “It’s just me. Let me in, baby.”
I carefully skirt around the glass shards and unlock the door then he steps into the salon and looks around. “Jesus Christ. We’re gonna need to call the girls and the cops.” Simon glances from the mess on the floor to me before hugging me close. “Go sit down behind the desk and I’ll take care of this, okay?”
In no mood to argue, I do exactly as he said. I watch as he taps away on his phone before finally bringing it to his ear. “Yes, I’d like to report a crime.” He pauses. “Yes, ma’am. Property damage.” I listen as he gives her the address and agrees to stay on the line until the police arrive.
Chapter Twenty-Five
SIMON
Not even five minutes later, I see a police cruiser roll to a stop outside the salon, and sure enough, Byrnes and Benson are heading our way.
“So, we meet again,” I say dryly.
The two familiar officers exchange a look. “All right, who wants to tell us what happened?” Officer Benson asks, his pen and notebook ready.
Seraphine walks from behind the desk to me and starts to speak, but just then, Cash and Myla Rose burst through the door with Azalea and Drake hot on their heels. “What in God’s name happened?” Cash demands to know when he sees the damage.
“That’s what we’re trying to find out,” Byrnes informs him. “And y’all are…?”
Myla speaks up, her voice strong and unwavering. “We met the other day, as I’m sure you remember. I’m part owner of this salon, the blonde in the doorway is my business partner, Azalea Barnes, and the man beside her is her boyfriend, Drake Collins.”
“Right, then. Ms. Ellington was about to tell us what happened,” Byrnes says, gesturing for Magnolia to continue.
“I…I was in the b-back f-folding towels, waiting on S-Simon to pick me up, when I h-heard a loud n-noise. I r-rushed out here, and…” She gestures to the glass decorating the salon floor.
“Did you see anything? Or notice anything unusual?” Benson asks.
“N-no, I d-didn’t.”
“Hey, has anyone checked out that brick over there?” Drake asks, pointing at the base of the divider than separates the salon areas.
We all swivel our heads and see a brick on the ground with what looks like paper tied around it, secured with twine. What the fuck?
Byrnes and Benson walk over to it, the glass crunching under their weight. Byrnes whips out a pair of gloves from his back pocket and pulls them on while Benson snaps a few photographs of the brick where it lies.
Officer Byrnes unties the string and places it into a baggie before unfolding the note. His eyes bulge slightly when he reads what it says.
“What’s on it?” I ask, impatient and worried.
“It says…” He stops and clears his throat. “It says ‘whore.’”
Gritting my teeth, I move closer to where Officer Byrnes is standing. “It says what now?”
Looking everywhere
but at me, Officer Byrnes reiterates the message scrawled on the paper, and I swear to God, I see red. There’s not a doubt in my mind who did this, and one way or another, that motherfucker is going to pay.
Benson and Byrnes finish up their investigation, snapping a few more photographs and asking a boatload more questions before packing up and leaving. They let us know they’ll be in touch and to call them if anything else happens.
“What are we gonna do about the window?” Azalea asks.
“I’ll head out to my workshop and grab some boards,” Cash informs the group.
“I’ll come with,” Myla Rose says, taking her husband’s hand in hers.
Drake springs into action and begins sweeping up the glass shards, Azalea holding the dustpan for him.
It’s not that I don’t want to help with the cleanup, but comforting Magnolia takes priority. I guide her back to the dispensary and lower myself into the first available chair, pulling her down into my lap.
“Talk to me, pretty girl.”
“I…I d-don’t know what t-to say, Simon.”
I run my fingers through her hair, detangling it as I go, giving her time to find the words I know she wants to say. Magnolia lays her head on my shoulder, and before long, I feel moisture seeping through the material of my shirt as her body shakes with sobs. “Shh, it’s okay baby.” I try to comfort her, wishing I could take away her sorrow completely.
Finally, the dam breaks. “I thought h-he was g-g-gone,” she wails, sniffling into my shirt.
“I know, baby. God, I know.” It absolutely kills me, seeing my girl hurting like this, and I swear, I’ll find a way to bring that asshole to justice.
Chapter Twenty-Six
GRANT
I watch as the backwoods, modern-day Andy Griffith and Barney Fife fumble their way through another investigation. I watch as they snap their stupid fucking photos, their mouths moving all the while—asking questions, I assume, questions they hope will lead them to me.
Fat fucking chance. If I don’t want to be found, I won’t be. It’s as simple as that, really.
My phone vibrates in the cup holder of the rental car I’m driving. After getting pulled over and served a protection order against my own wife, I knew I had to get smarter. The buzzing noise continues for a few more seconds before blissful silence fills the void around me once again.
