8. Alex Sebring
Chapter 8
Alex Sebring
The only thing worse than driving to a job I hate is driving to a job I hate without the love of my life in the passenger seat beside me.
“Love” by Kyle McKearney hums low through the speakers. It’s one of those songs that carries her in every note. Not because she played it. Not because it’s her favorite. She doesn’t even listen to this kind of music. But every time I hear this song, I see her. Feel her. Like the lyrics were written by a man who knows exactly what it’s like to love someone the way I love Magnolia.
I pull into the Sebring Hotels corporate lot with the energy of a bloke stepping onto the rugby field with no heart left for the game. No adrenaline. No grit. Just going through the motions, when the only thing I want is to be on a different field entirely—one where she’s waiting on the sidelines, cheering me on.
The sleek glass facade of the building reflects the morning sun like it’s doing something impressive, but all it does is remind me how cold everything is without her sweet Southern twang in my ear.
I tried calling her when I got up and again on my way to work. No answer. It’s afternoon for her, so she’s probably tied up with work. That’s what I tell myself when my call goes to voicemail.
She’s probably elbow-deep in pillows, fabric swatches, and furniture layouts. Solving on-set chaos like it’s nothing––that’s Magnolia. Focused. Brilliant. Turning blank spaces into something beautiful.
Her voice has become my favorite part of the morning. She says my voice does the same for her—even when it’s already afternoon where she is. So when my call didn’t go through, I left her a voice message.
Wish I could start every day hearing your voice. Fuck, I miss you. Love you, favorite.
Maybe she’ll listen to it on her break, and it’ll make her smile.
I enter the building, nodding to the lobby receptionist before heading upstairs. In my office, I drop my bag by the desk and shrug out of my jacket. The space is modern—polished hardwood, steel accents, and the faint scent of espresso drifting from the break room down the hall. I used to feel like an impostor in this world. Some days, I still do. But lately, the weight of it hasn’t felt quite so suffocating.
Because love has a way of softening sharp edges.
A soft knock breaks through my thoughts. Courtney steps in, polished as always, a folder in hand. “Morning. Here’s your rundown for the day—meeting with Wyndham-Hawthorne Strategy Group at eleven, an investor call at two, and your mother called twice. She said it wasn’t urgent, which means it probably is.”
She doesn’t hand me a written agenda, just a verbal rundown like she’s done since I took the reins my father held for so long.
Perhaps she thinks I’m not cut out for this job. If so, she’s right. I’ll never fill my father’s shoes. His are too polished. Too tight. And to be frank, too small for my size fourteen feet.
“Thanks.”
I pull out my phone again, thumb hovering over the screen. Still nothing from Magnolia. I place it on my desk and open my email.
Instant regret.
The inbox is a disaster. My jaw tics as I scroll through subject lines. Why do so many damn people feel the need to email me? Half of this shit could’ve been handled without looping me in.
Leilani’s been out sick the past couple of days. I hate to say it, but I miss her loud mouth and relentless sarcasm. Without her, I’m drowning in this inbox, and it’s clear how much I need her help to stay afloat.
I’m knee-deep in emails, scrolling through corporate jargon designed to confuse me. The unread count at the top of the screen climbs every time I blink, like it’s mocking me. I flag one for later, delete another, but it’s like bailing water from a sinking ship with a thimble. I’m falling behind. Like always.
I lean back in my chair with a groan, ready to give up for the third time this morning—when a soft baby coo drifts in from the hallway, followed by the lilt of a familiar voice and a quiet laugh.
My fingers freeze on the trackpad. I push away from the desk, curiosity piqued, and step into the hall.
Hallie—our sharpest marketing exec who is currently on maternity leave—stands by Courtney’s desk with a baby carrier slung on one hip and a smirk on her face that says she’s enjoying the chaos she’s brought into the office.
“Well, look at you, Sebring. You’ve got that buried-under-spreadsheets-and-bad-coffee-look down to an art.”
“That’s because I am buried. If one more email starts with per my last email, I might combust.”
She laughs, looking down as the baby lets out a soft gurgle. “Thought I’d bring Ruby in for a visit. She’s been dying to see where the magic happens.”
I raise a brow at the pink bundle nestled in the carrier. “Is this the little boss?”
“The one and only,” she says, all pride. “Figured it was time she met the people who’ll be funding her future tuition and expensive daycare.”
I chuckle, stepping closer. “You sure she’s ready for corporate life?”
“She’s already better at delegation than half the team.”
I nod toward the baby with a smirk. “How’s Dean adjusting to dad-life?”
“He’s learning how to do nappies without gagging, so that’s a win.” Her eyes crinkle with affection. “He’s smitten. He carries her around like she’s made of glass and won’t put her down unless I make him.”
I chuckle, glancing down at the baby, who’s blinking up at the ceiling lights. “And you? Are you surviving the newborn chaos?”
“Barely. But I put on real clothes today, so that’s a victory.” She lifts Ruby out of the carrier and holds her out to me. “Want to hold her? She’s in a good mood. No blowouts this morning.”
My phone buzzes in my hand, and instinct kicks in—I check it, heart stuttering for a second, hoping it’s Magnolia. But it’s not. Just a calendar reminder. Disappointment prickles under my skin as I set the phone on the corner of Courtney’s desk.
“Oh why not? I could use a win today.”
Hallie places Ruby into my arms, and everything stills. Her tiny body curls against me, warm and weightless, and something tugs deep inside—a sharp, quiet ache. I won’t let myself think about what it would be like to hold a baby with Magnolia’s hazel eyes.
Hallie watches me for a beat, grinning. “Damn, Alex. You look good holding a baby.”
I huff a quiet laugh. “Don’t let my mother hear you say that. She’ll start knitting booties and planning a christening.”
“Malie may know something you don’t,” she says, winking.
I shake my head, still looking at the baby. She’s so tiny and perfect, yet she possesses the power to make me melt inside.
Ruby makes a soft, sleepy sound as I cradle her, and a ridiculous warmth blooms in my chest.
I tell myself not to go there—not to let my brain fill in the blanks. But the second Ruby shifts in my arms, soft and weightless, my thoughts drift anyway––Magnolia with a baby balanced on her hip, smiling at me like she’s in love with the life we’ve created together.
I want nothing more than a life with that woman.
Hallie eases Ruby from my arms with practiced care, her smile softening as the baby nestles back against her chest. “Better take her back before she gets too cozy. Dean might get jealous if he finds out his daughter spent the morning snuggled up in another man’s arms.”
I chuckle, stepping aside as she slings the diaper bag over her shoulder. “Tell him I promise not to steal his girl.”
Hallie disappears down the hall after a cheerful goodbye. I head back into my office, closing the door behind me. I sink into my chair, glancing at the monitor like it’s my enemy.
Today’s forty-seven unread emails stare back at me like a wall that I don’t have the tools—or the patience—to climb. I scroll through a few subject lines, already feeling the beginnings of a headache pulse behind my eyes.
I hate this part of the job. Words blur together. Sentences tangle. Numbers shift out of order. It’s not new—I’ve dealt with it my whole life—but that doesn’t make it any less frustrating. The only thing worse than reading this shit is trying to understand it before I’ve had three coffees.
I click on the text-to-speech software I’ve started relying on more lately. The calm British voice kicks in, and I settle in, listening as it reads a vendor proposal aloud. The voice butchers a few words and I wince.
“…quarterly revenue margins reflect a strong anal uptick…”
I groan. “Nope. We are not doing strong anal upticks this quarter but thanks.”
If Magnolia were here, she’d be cracking up right now—snorting into her coffee, already reaching for her phone to record me muttering curses at a confused robot.
I shake it off, push the chair back, and stand, trying to relieve the tension in my neck. But it’s not simple tension. It’s the heaviness that lingers when the one person who makes this bearable is so far away.
I glance at my desk hoping for a new message or missed call, but my phone’s not there. I pat my pockets and scan my desk again.
“Courtney?” I call out, already heading for the door.
She has my phone in hand. “You left it on my desk.”
I take it, nodding. “Thanks.”
I close the door behind me and glance down at the screen, thumbing it unlocked.
Finally! Magnolia messaged me.
I have good news! Call me the minute you get this text.
A slow smile pulls at the corner of my mouth. My chest eases, the tension I’ve been carrying since this morning loosening a little. She has good news. I bet she got confirmation on returning to Sydney.
Her next text is a long paragraph. I already know I’m not in the right headspace to wrestle through reading that many words on my own, so I tap the text-to-speech option, letting the robotic voice read it out for me.
But what I hear next steals the air from my lungs.
“Alex, I’ve had time to think things over, and I realize this long-distance thing isn’t working. I’ve known for a while, but I didn’t have the guts to tell you. I’ve met someone here in Charleston, and he makes me happy. He doesn’t want commitment, and that’s what I need right now. I want to be with him. This relationship is over. I wish you the best in finding the wife you want, but it isn’t me. Don’t contact me. This is over.”
Silence falls.
My heart misses a beat. Then another.
I blink at the screen, my mind refusing to process what I just heard.
What?
I listen to the message again like I’ll find a different meaning the second time around. But it doesn’t change. It’s still there. Cold. Final. Brutal.
My pulse hammers in my ears.
I scroll back up and read the first text again.
I have good news! Call me the minute you get this text.
Then this. What the hell kind of good news ends in that?
My breath stutters, my lungs forgetting how to function. A cold sweat breaks along my back, beading at my temples as my fingers twitch around the phone.
No. No, this isn’t right.
Magnolia wouldn’t do this. Not like this. Not after everything. Not without a call. Not through a bloody text.
But the message is still there, staring back at me, mocking everything I thought I knew.
My stomach twists, a sharp, gutting ache I can’t ignore. My hands go numb. I sit frozen, eyes locked on the words, willing them to disappear. Willing this to be a joke. A mistake. Something.
Anything but what it looks like.
Because if it’s not… if this is real… I’ve just lost the woman I love.
And I never even saw it coming.
The last line of her message hits like a gut punch. Don’t contact me. This is over.
I’m still staring at the screen when the soft knock comes. I don’t answer, but the door opens anyway.
“Alex? Quick question about the Oakridge Group contract.”
I don’t look up at Courtney. My brain can’t process contracts or logistics or anything that doesn’t involve figuring out how the hell Magnolia just slipped through my fingers.
“Not now.” My voice comes out flat. Sharper: “Close the door on your way out.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch the briefest flicker of her gaze dropping to my phone. She backs out without another word, the door clicking shut behind her.
I scroll back to the top of the screen, staring at the thread again.
I have good news! Call me the minute you get this text.
And then, right below it, that cold, calculated exit. She sent the second text thirty minutes after the first—smiling, then stabbing. What the hell happened in between?
It doesn’t track.
Her first message must’ve come through while I was visiting with Hallie and Ruby. I didn’t see it. I didn’t respond. Then I left my damn phone sitting on Courtney’s desk like a careless idiot.
I press her name with shaking hands. The dial tone never even kicks in. Just a cold, sterile voice telling me she’s unavailable.
Straight to voicemail.
I try again. And again.
Still nothing.
She blocked me?
Magnolia—my girl, my future, my fucking heart—blocked me like I’m some stranger she’s trying to forget.
Only last night, we were on FaceTime before bed. She was curled up under her favorite throw, hair messy, eyes soft with sleep. We talked about how much we missed each other—how hard the distance was, how much we couldn’t wait to close it. Just like always. She told me to dream about her. I said I already was.
I swipe back to our thread, fingers numb, and scroll. Just this morning, I left her a voice message—my usual good morning, I love you, can’t wait to talk later. And now this?
This can’t be happening.
But it is. And it steals the air right out of my lungs.
My vision blurs. I stumble toward the private bathroom tucked inside my office, the walls closing in with every step. My hand wraps around the handle before I shove the door open and close it behind me, the soft click of the lock sounding deafening in the silence.
I lurch toward the sink, gripping the edges so tight my knuckles go white. My reflection stares back at me—haunted eyes, pale skin, chest rising and falling like I’ve run a bloody marathon. I don’t recognize myself.
I turn on the tap and splash cold water over my face, but it doesn’t help. Nothing helps. The pressure in my chest keeps building, a hot, aching weight that settles behind my ribs like a ticking bomb.
And then I crack.
I double over with a sound I didn’t even know I could make—half-growl, half-sob—as my knees hit the cold tile. I fold forward, elbows braced against my thighs, fingers tugging at my hair.
What the fuck just happened?
I’ve met someone here in Charleston, and he makes me happy. He doesn’t want commitment, and that’s what I need right now. I want to be with him.
It doesn’t add up. None of it does.
My heart slams against my chest, loud and frantic. My stomach lurches. I barely make it to the toilet before I’m sick.
I stay there, hunched and shaking, long after the nausea fades. The silence wraps around me like a straitjacket, pressing in, stealing what little breath I have left.
I am not okay.
I don’t think I’ve ever been this kind of not okay before.
When I crawl back to my feet, I rinse out my mouth and lean against the counter, water dripping from my chin.
I make it back into the office somehow, each step heavier than the last. I drop into my chair, hands trembling as I lift my phone again.
Her contact photo blinks back at me—Magnolia in that straw hat from the day we spent at Bondi, windblown and laughing, cheeks flushed with sun and happiness.
My thumb hovers over the screen, like it might bring her back. Like I can hold on to her just a little longer.
But she’s gone.
And I don’t know how to breathe without her.