5. Alex Sebring
Chapter 5
Alex Sebring
The sun hangs high over the golf course, casting a golden sheen across the fairways. The air is crisp, carrying the faint scent of just-cut grass and the distant hum of cicadas. It’s a picture-perfect day—one that should be relaxing, easy.
But I’m not relaxed. Not even a little.
Magnolia has been gone for two weeks. Fourteen days of waking up alone, of reaching for her in the middle of the night only to find cool sheets. Of pretending like everything is fine when it sure as hell isn’t.
I grip the wheel of the golf cart, steering us toward the next hole. Alexander Sebring—my father and the man who taught me golf, rugby, yachting, and just about everything else worth knowing in life—sits beside me.
“Overthinking the next hole?” Amusement threads his voice. “Might need to eagle this one if you plan on catching up.”
I roll my shoulders, exhaling. “I’m still warming up, old man.”
He chuckles under his breath. “That’s what you said two holes ago.”
I don’t bother responding because he’s right. I’m off my game today, and we both understand the reason.
Before I can reach for my club, a voice—sweet, flirtatious—cuts through the quiet.
“Drink for you, Mr. Sebring?”
I glance up to find a cart girl standing beside us, a bright smile plastered across her face. She’s young, pretty, blond—the type I used to go for without a second thought. Another cart girl lingers beside her, two sets of eyes watching me like I’m the most interesting thing on the course.
She shifts her weight, batting her lashes. “Would you prefer I pick a beverage for you? Perhaps a cold beer?”
I offer a polite smile, already reaching into my pocket. “Don’t need anything right now, thanks.”
I pull out a bill and hand it to her, nodding toward their cart. “For your trouble.”
The blonde’s smile falters a fraction before she covers it with another sugary grin and takes the money. Her friend tries to salvage the moment, tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear. “We’ll be around if you change your mind.”
I offer a polite smile. “No need but appreciate it.”
They linger for a beat, like they’re waiting for me to change my mind. When I don’t, the blonde gives a small nod. The two of them leave, their conversation hushed as they saunter back to their cart.
My father smirks, leaning against his club. “The ladies have always loved you and your brothers.”
I smirk, tossing my glove into the cart. “What can I say? We take after our dad.”
He lets out a low chuckle. “Flattery won’t help you win this round, boy.”
I shake my head, grabbing a bottle of water from the cooler. “I’m not interested in chasing women anymore. Or in being chased.”
“You’re not the man you were before you met her—and that’s not a bad thing.”
“Magnolia’s the only woman who has my interest.”
“Funny how fast life shifts when the right woman shows up.”
He’s right—this is a change for me. There was a time when I would’ve taken the bait from the cart girls, let them giggle and flirt, perhaps even walked away with a number scribbled on a napkin. But now? My mind is on one woman… a woman who’s not within my reach.
I take a long drink, letting the cold water settle the restless energy running through me.
“Your turn,” Dad says, gesturing to the tee box.
I breathe in, rolling my shoulders back, but even as I step up to take my swing, my thoughts drift somewhere else thousands of miles away.
The driver connects with a sharp crack, but the ball slices hard to the right, vanishing into the rough.
Fuck.
It’s hard to restrain a groan as I shove my club back into the bag.
My father smirks, amusement flickering in his eyes. “Solid technique… if you were aiming for the trees.”
I bite back a response as we climb into the cart. This isn’t like me; I play better than this.
I steer the cart toward the next hole, rolling to a stop near the tee box. My father climbs out first, taking his time selecting his club, stretching his shoulders before stepping up to the ball. He’s methodical, patient—a golfer who plays smart rather than flashy. And today, he’s playing well.
He lines up his shot, his posture relaxed. With one smooth swing, he sends the ball soaring down the fairway, landing on the short grass.
“Nice one.”
He smirks, setting his club back in the bag. “Try to keep up, son.”
I grab my driver, planting my feet on the tee. I should be able to crush this. Golf has never been my best sport, but I’m an athlete with precision, control, focus. Those are my strengths.
I exhale, drawing the club back in one smooth motion, and swing. The sound of contact is solid, but the second I look up, I can see it’s wrong. The ball slices hard to the right, veering off into the rough, where it disappears into the trees.
Fuck. Me.
My father chuckles, shaking his head. “What’s this? My son, the legendary athlete, getting outplayed by his old man?”
I grip my driver tighter, forcing a smirk. “You wish.”
He laughs as we climb back into the cart, and I can sense his eyes on me, assessing.
“You’re off today. Your mind’s somewhere else.”
I steer the cart one-handed, the wheel loose under my palm as the tires crunch over the path. He’s not wrong. My mind’s not on the next hole or my scorecard. It’s nine thousand miles away, curled up in a bed in Charleston, wearing my hoodie.
“How’s Magnolia?” Somehow it feels like he’s not just asking about her. He’s asking about me too.
I grip the wheel tighter. “She’s good.”
It’s not a lie. Magnolia is missing me, but she’s back at work, settling into life at home again. While I’m a fucking mess without her. And my father, perceptive as ever, doesn’t miss it.
He leans back in his seat, looking out over the course. “How are you holding up since she left?”
I look straight ahead. “Not my best if I’m being honest.”
That’s a bloody understatement.
Magnolia’s absence sits on my chest like a weight that won’t shift. I check my phone more times than I can count, hoping to find her name lighting up the screen. I still wake up expecting her to be next to me, only to find the sheets cold and untouched.
But saying all of that out loud to my dad? That’s not me.
“There’s no way she could stay in Sydney?”
“She has a life in the States––a job, responsibilities, friends who love her. I never expected her to give that up for a bloke she knew for three months.”
Dad nods, adjusting his glove. “That’s fair. But where does that leave you?”
The question is tough. “It leaves me… missing her like crazy.”
He studies me for a moment and nods like he understands. And maybe he does.
Dad prepares his shot, his grip steady, his movements unhurried. He swings, sending the ball rolling onto the green before turning to me.
“She’s there, you’re here. What does this mean for the two of you?”
I grip my club a little tighter. “We’re going to keep seeing where things go. But I’d be lying if I said the distance wasn’t brutal.”
“I don’t imagine it’s easy.”
“We talk all the time. FaceTime, calls, texts.” A smirk tugs at my lips. “Some of those FaceTime calls have been eventful .”
Dad arches a brow. “Eventful, eh?”
I shake my head. “I’m going to leave it at that.”
He chuckles. “Probably best.”
We walk, the conversation stretching between us. And I throw him something I know he won’t expect. “There’s a chance she could return.”
Dad stops mid-step. “Is that so?”
I glance over at him, my grip firming around my putter. “Her employer might send her back to Sydney.”
The slow grin that spreads across his face is nothing short of victorious. “Now that’s the best thing I’ve heard all day.” His reaction is immediate—like it’s already decided, like Magnolia’s return is inevitable. And God, I hope it is.
“It’s not set in stone. Just a possibility.”
“Sounds like a damn good possibility. Your mum will be thrilled.”
One thing is certain. If she comes back to me, I sure as hell won’t let her go again.
“You love this girl.” His statement is so direct, so matter-of-fact, it almost knocks the wind out of me.
My fingers tighten around the grip of my club as the truth comes out. “Yeah, I do. A lot.”
Dad’s face doesn’t change, doesn’t show a hint of surprise. Instead, he smiles—a knowing, satisfied kind of smile. “Your mother and I saw that from the start. Magnolia loves you for you. That’s rare when you have money and fame.”
He doesn’t know the half of my love for Magnolia or the way she rewrote the map of my heart. Not the way her laughter stitched itself into my life. He’s never seen the nights I lie awake, yearning for her in the dark. Never felt the hollow ache her absence has left behind.
She was mine before I even knew how to say it. She’s still mine now, even across the distance.
Dad reaches into his bag and pulls out a putter, handing it to me. “Here. Let’s see if you can at least clean up your short game.”
He isn’t only talking about golf.
He props his weight on his club, casual as you please, but his words hit harder than a fist. “The real question is what are you going to do about the woman you love being so far away?”
The weight of this conversation just shifted.
He steps aside, watching as I line up my shot. The green stretches before me, the hole just a few feet away, but my father’s voice keeps me from focusing.
“Your mother almost slipped through my fingers.”
I glance up, surprised. I’ve never heard that story. “How?”
He crosses his arms, looking toward the horizon like he’s seeing something long past. “Before we were married, Malie returned to Samoa. She had her life there, her family. I had mine here. We both thought we were making the right choices, choosing the lives we’d built before each other. Being apart from her were the worst months of my life.”
I understand that all too well. “What did you do?”
He smiles, like the answer should be obvious. “I got on a plane and went to Samoa.”
“Just like that?”
“It wasn’t just like that. Nothing about it was easy. There were a hundred reasons to stay put. But there was one damn good reason to go. Sometimes, you have to move the pieces around—hell, flip the whole damn board if you need to, to protect what’s yours. You have to know what’s worth the fight.”
His words sink in. My dad’s not just giving me advice. This is a challenge.
He claps a hand on my shoulder. “Do what you must for love, Alex. It’s the only thing that matters.”
I study the endless stretch of green before me and settle into my stance. The weight in my chest hasn’t lessened, but something inside me has shifted. I understand what I need to do.
I draw my club back, steady and controlled. When I swing, everything clicks into place. The ball launches clean and smooth, cutting through the air in a perfect arc before landing dead center on the fairway.
Dad watches the shot and releases a low whistle. “That’s more like it.”
I exhale, gripping the club a little tighter.
It’s time to clean up my short game and work toward a future where Magnolia and I are not separated by an ocean.