Chapter Four

MAGNOLIA

The rest of the drive from the hospital to Simon’s is silent, and I’m thankful for it. The pounding in my head is noise enough. I sure hope the bed in his guest room is comfy, because even though I practically just woke up, I’m still so beyond tired I can hardly keep my eyelids from drooping.

“Do y’all need any help getting inside?” Seraphine asks, directing her question more at Simon than at me.

“No, ma’am.” Simon unbuckles. “Thank you for the ride though.” I follow suit as he climbs out from the back seat and stretches something fierce before coming up to my door and opening it for me. He extends his hand to help me stand, and just like every time I touch him, little bolts of electricity pass from his skin to mine, making the small hairs on my arm stand on end.

“’Kay then. Y’all…have fun,” Seraphine says before driving off, leaving us standing at the base of the steps leading up to Simon’s front porch.

Wordlessly, Simon takes my hand and guides me up the stairs, pausing only to punch in his code before whisking us through the door. I’ve been to his house countless times with our friends for group activities, but never alone, never just the two of us. I don’t think I’ve even been anywhere in his house other than the living room, kitchen, bathroom, and back deck. It’s different, and the silence is unsettling.

Simon must agree because he flicks on the television for background noise before addressing me. “Follow me, and I’ll show you around.” Nodding his head toward the kitchen, he says, “You already know your way around in there, and you’re welcome to anything in the fridge or pantry.” He sets off down the hall and opens the first door on the left. “This is the guest room.”

I know he’s still talking, but my eyes bug out, taking in my surroundings. This room is breathtaking, with its misty-blue walls and thick wood molding, not to mention the white comforter on the massive bed that looks as fluffy as a cloud. This sure beats my secondhand, flatter-than-a-pancake mattress, that’s for certain.

I don’t come out of my reverie until Simon nods to the first of two doors inside the room. “This is the closet.” He moves around me to open the other door. “And this is the bathroom. Only has a standup shower, but if you want…” He trails off, letting his unspoken offer hang between us.

“Th-this is great—perfect, really,” I assure him, not wanting to be a burden, even though a bath sounds delightful.

“Great. Uh…” Simon pauses. Self-consciously, I tug at the waistband of the sweats he bought me. They’re so tight. Unfortunately, he notices my fidgeting. “Do you…do you want something else to wear? I mean, I know you don’t have anything else, but I’ll run to your place tomorrow, and until then you can wear something of mine. Be right back!” Before I can say a word, he darts out the door. I can hear him rifling through his dresser, opening and closing drawers, and the thought worries me—sounds from one room really carry to the other. The last thing I need is Simon McAllister hearing me cry myself to sleep.

I listen as he pads back down the hall toward me then steps into the room clutching a pair of sweats and a long-sleeved T-shirt. “Probably gonna be too big, but it’ll do for tonight.”

“Thank you so much, Simon.” As awkward as this may be, I truly am thankful. Out of our group, he’s the only one without any major responsibilities outside of himself, though it doesn’t escape me that the circumstances that led me to be here are my fault.

“Don’t worry about it. Get showered and changed, and I’ll see about getting us something to eat.” I nod, but he has more to say. “This is gonna sound weird, but I’d like you to leave the door open.” Simon must see the discomfort written across my face because he quickly continues. “I won’t even step one foot into the hallway, I just want to be able to hear you in case you get dizzy or need help. Scout’s honor.” He holds up three fingers.

“Okay, I believe you.” I watch as he turns to leave the room, only heading into the bathroom when I hear him start banging around in the kitchen.

It’s not that I don’t trust him per se, it’s that I don’t trust anyone easily. I’m not the naive girl I once was; Grant made sure of that. He marked me in a way that I’m not sure I’ll ever recover from, but here, in Dogwood, I can at least try.

I turn the knob for the shower, and as the water heats, I do my best to shake off the darkness of those memories. Stepping under the spray, I will the water to wash them away, along with the airbag dust and hospital smell. God, I hate that smell.

Freshly showered, I make my way back into the bedroom and quickly dress in the clothes Simon provided me. The pants are way too long, even on my five-foot-seven frame, and although I’ve rolled the waistband a few times over, they still drag on the ground. I pull the shirt over my head and savor the smell of Simon on it—a heady mixture of leather and spice—before pulling it all the way on. It fits a little better thanks to Simon’s lean physique.

I finger-comb my hair as best I can before letting it fall down my back in a wet heap. The feeling of the moisture seeping through the cotton has me arching my back away from the damp material as I enter the kitchen in search of Simon.

“You okay?” Simon asks, taking note of my odd stance.

“Mmm, fine—just hate the feelin’ of my wet hair on my back.”

“Want a hair band thing?” he asks, beginning to rummage through one of the drawers in his island.

“Uh, if you have one.”

He digs around for a few more seconds before holding up a hot-pink hair elastic in victory. “Myla used to always leave these things here.”

He passes me the hair tie, and I quickly pile my hair into a messy bun at the base of my neck. “So much better. Thank you.”

“Not a problem, Goldilocks. Now, about some food. I can reheat some of the Super Bowl snacks, or we can”—he checks his watch—“order a pizza. Figured I’d see what you felt like.”

I can’t help but smile at his thoughtfulness, such a stark difference from anything I’ve ever known—it’s a wonder he’s single. “We can reheat, that’s fine.”

Simon sets to pulling Tupperware bowls from the fridge, and in no time flat we’re both seated at his table eating cocktail weenies, chips with spinach artichoke dip, and some loaded potato skins.

Once we’re both full, Simon rinses our plates, and even though I offer to help, he sends me out to the couch and tells me to rest. So weird.