Southern Heat (Southern 6)

“You didn’t have to do this.” She smells the flowers.

I get up, walking over to the brown bag. “I got dinner.”

"You could have eaten at home," she says, “with your family."

I ignore the whole thing, knowing she asks me this every day. “Aren’t you going to ask me what I have today?"

"Fine,” she says, slipping her legs under the covers and closing her eyes.

“Do you want to nap?” I ask her, and she opens her eyes sleepily.

"No, no,” she says, opening her eyes again. “I’m fine." She closes her eyes again, and this time, I don’t say anything. I just watch her for a couple of minutes and then sit in the chair, taking in her smooth face.

Her eyes don’t open again for an hour, and when she does, she moves her head side to side. “How long was I sleeping for?" she asks, trying to wake herself up.

"An hour,” I say, smiling, and she nods at me. “What did you bring in the bag?”

I laugh at her and get up. “Well, Grams decided that you needed some more meat."

"She doesn’t even know me,” she says the same thing she told me yesterday, and I laugh at her.

"We have chicken fried steak with some roasted veggies." I take the container out and open it. "It’s still warm,” I say, putting it on the tray and bringing it to her. Her arm is still in a sling, so she has only one hand available.

“I don’t think I’ve ever had chicken fried steak,” she says, looking down at the food and then up again.

"Well, before you eat it, I’m going to tell you it’s not chicken." I take the second container out and open it.

"What do you mean it’s not chicken?" she asks, looking down into the container.

"I mean that it’s steak,” I say, sitting back in the chair beside her.

“So why don’t they call it fried steak?” I look at her and laugh.

"It’s because it’s breaded and fried like a chicken cutlet," I answer her. “that is what my grandmother told me when I asked her."

She doesn’t say anything else. She looks at me and then down at her container and then up again. “Do you need me to cut it?"

"I can probably do it myself. Or,” she says, stabbing her fork in the meat and then picking it up, “I can eat it like this." She bites off a piece and chews it.

"Where there is a will, there is a way,” I say, and she just shakes her head.

"Or when you’re starving, you will eat it any way you can get it,” she says, taking another bite of the steak. The burning in my stomach starts again when I think of her story. "Quinn," she says, and I look back at her. “Don’t you have somewhere else you need to be?"

I look at her and almost snort. “Are you getting sick of me?”

“Yes,” she answers. “But seriously.” She puts down her fork. “Why are you still here?” She shakes her head when I’m about to say something. “I got it before when you were here to make sure I was safe. But I’m safe. I’m healing. I’m fine.” She grabs the cup from beside her container. Apple juice that I poured her before I left because I knew she wouldn’t ask Shirley to get it for her. Apple juice, I know is her favorite even when she doesn’t want to admit it. Apple juice that makes her smile just a fucking touch when she takes that first sip. “You don’t have to stay here anymore.”

“Are you done?” I ask, and she just stares at me. “Good, so maybe you should listen and listen good.” I put my container down beside hers on the tray. “I’m here because I want to be here.” My voice stays soft instead of rising like I want to. “I’m here because you are here, and I’m going to be here until you aren’t here.” I lean forward. “So you can stop asking me where I need to be or if there isn’t someplace else I need to be, Willow. Because it’s going to be the same answer every single time.”

“But,” she says softly, “I don’t.”

“You don’t what, Willow?” I put my hands on the bed beside her leg, my hands in fists. “You don’t want me here. You don’t need me here.” I look into her green eyes, and I’m sucked in, just like a whirlpool in the middle of the ocean. “It’s about time you had someone here to make sure you’re okay. Someone in your corner. Someone by your side.”

“And you think that should be you?” She taps her finger on the bed, and I know she’s nervous.

“I don’t think it should be me,” I say and then inch very close to her. “I know it should be. Eat your steak so you can have some blueberry crumble pie,” I say. I see her eyes light up for just a second, and then she guards them again. “One of these days, Willow, that wall is going to come crashing down."