12. Alex Sebring
Chapter 12
Alex Sebring
The house is dark. Still. The kind of calm that suffocates, a quiet that makes you question if you’re the only broken person in a world that stopped spinning.
I tried going to sleep earlier, but Magnolia’s side of the bed still smells like her––cherry blossoms and vanilla.
I love it.
But I also fucking hate it.
I couldn’t stand being in the bedroom anymore so I’m here on the couch, feet propped on the coffee table, head leaned back against the cushions. The TV and lights are off. Hours have passed since I moved.
My phone rests on my stomach, the screen black. I tap it once, thumb hesitating, but I open the music app.
She used to play music in my house all the time. Said it helped clear her head because silence made her overthink—and she was already too good at that without help.
I could never recall the song titles, but I remember the sound… and the way her bare feet padded across my floors. The way her voice hummed along under her breath when she wasn’t singing off-key.
I remember how I felt when she was here, how the music softened the edges of the world. And softened my edges as well.
My phone is still logged into her account. I never signed out because I couldn’t bring myself to. It made us too… over . Like closing the last door between us.
I scroll, finding her favorite playlist. The one I listened to countless times because she played the thing nonstop.
I’m about to tap it, needing to hear something familiar, when another playlist jumps out at me. My heart stumbles.
Missing Big Guy. Created one week ago––a full fortnight after she told me she met someone else, was moving on, and I should do the same.
I stare at the list, blinking hard, as though I could be imagining things. But there it is in her account––a whole list of songs dedicated to the playlist Missing Big Guy .
I hit play. The first few notes of song one drift through the room, soft and slow. It’s too much… and still not enough.
I close my eyes, let it wrap around me. Her playlist. Her pain. Because if this is about me, she’s not okay either.
I’m not sure what this means. But it isn’t random.
And there’s one person who might help me make sense of it.
She’s always had a sixth sense about people—especially Magnolia. She recognized the shift between us before we understood what was happening. If anyone can hear past the noise and help me find the truth buried in this music, it’s Laurelyn.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I grab my keys. I don’t bother changing clothes or fixing my hair. I just drive, the weight of the music still sitting in my chest like an anchor.
By the time I reach the McLachlan house, the sun is dipping low behind the trees, casting the vineyard in a rich amber glow. I spot Jack stepping off the ATV, his boots thick with dirt, khaki work pants creased and stained from a long day tending his grapes. His button-down hangs loose, sleeves rolled to his elbows, dust smudging the fabric. He yanks off his wide-brimmed hat, revealing hair flattened and crimped from sweat.
He wipes a hand down his shirt before clocking me. “This is an unexpected surprise. Everything all right?”
I nod even though it’s a lie. “Yeah. I’ve come to see Laurelyn. I have questions for her.”
His laid-back tone shifts into something quieter. “You okay, mate?”
“Nothing’s wrong. I just I need her take on something. Woman stuff, I guess you’d say.”
“You mean Magnolia stuff .” There’s no judgment. Just understanding.
“Am I that easy to read?”
He jerks his head toward the side of the house. “You’ve come to the right place. L’s working in the studio.”
I follow him around back, gravel crunching beneath our feet.
The McLachlan studio glows in the soft afternoon light—floor-to-ceiling windows spilling sunshine across a baby grand, instruments lining the walls like sacred artifacts. Laurelyn sits at the piano, her fingers dancing through something delicate and slow. She looks up at the sound of the door and smiles. “Hey you. I’m glad to see you crawled out of your hermit hole.”
I lift a hand in a half-hearted wave. “Only because I need a favor. You’re going to laugh at me about this, both of you, probably Jack more than you.”
Her brow quirks, amused but curious. “Color me intrigued.”
Jack goes to the fridge of the kitchenette and grabs two beers. He cracks one open and holds out the second.
“Thanks.”
He nods and drops onto the leather sectional, one arm slung over the back, taking a big chug of beer.
I cross the room and hand Laurelyn my phone. “I’m pretty sure this qualifies me as a lovesick teenage girl.”
Laurelyn studies my phone. “What am I looking at?”
“Magnolia’s music collection. I’m still logged into her account.”
Her eyes skim the lists. “ Missing Big Guy? ”
“She created it a week ago. Two weeks after the breakup text.”
“I assume you’re big guy?”
“Yeah, that’s what she always called me.”
A pair of creases forms between Laurelyn’s eyes. “This isn’t the playlist of a woman who’s moved on.”
My stomach knots. “You’re sure?”
She glances up at me like I’ve asked if the sky was blue. “This is heartbreak in the form of music. She’s grieving and missing someone she didn’t want to lose.”
Jack shifts forward on the sectional, setting his beer on the coffee table with a quiet thunk. “But you said she blocked you, right?”
“Yeah. She sent me a message saying she’d met someone new, and we were done. Didn’t want commitment. Told me not to contact her again.”
Jack whistles low. “That’s a hell of a shift—from what you had to what she texted.”
“None of it makes sense.”
Laurelyn shakes her head as she continues looking at my phone. “I’m not sure what happened. All I know is that Magnolia is in love with you. I’m certain. I saw it, and so did Jack Henry. You can’t fake that kind of emotion or the look on her face when she was with you.”
“She must’ve changed her mind. It happens.”
“Not when it’s real,” Laurelyn says.
“If we’d known this was going to end with so much pain, Laurelyn and I wouldn’t have encouraged you. We hoped that you’d find love the way we did.”
“You had no way of knowing that our relationship would go sideways.” And even if I had known, I still would’ve chosen to spend those three months with her.
Laurelyn reaches for her phone on the piano. “She may have blocked you, but she hasn’t blocked me. I could call her for you.”
It would be so easy to say yes.
One call.
One conversation.
One chance at clarity.
But I shake my head. “No. Don’t.”
“Alex—”
“She told me to not contact her because we were over. There’s no point in calling her.”
Laurelyn’s thumb hovers over Magnolia’s number. “This isn’t how someone acts when they’re done.”
She stares at the phone cradled in her hand, and her eyes flick up at me. “You’re still logged in, right? Can you make playlists?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. I guess”
“You should make one about her on her account. Give it a name she’ll notice.”
Jack grins. “Babe, that’s kind of brilliant.”
Laurelyn nods. “Hopefully, she’ll see it and know it’s from you. Maybe she’ll understand.”
“Seems kind of pathetic. Do you think it’ll work?”
“Only one way to find out,” Laurelyn says. “And you might communicate with her through music.”
This isn’t really my kind of thing. “What would I name it?”
“Something from your heart.” Laurelyn hands me my phone. “Just give it some thought. It’ll come to you.”
I nod. “I appreciate everything the two of you have done for me.”
Laurelyn smiles. “We’re still pulling for you two. We haven’t given up hope.”
Hope is foolish. That’s what I keep telling myself. It’s just another kind of heartbreak waiting to happen. A softer edge to the same blade. You think it’ll save you, carry you, pull you from the wreckage—but most of the time, it just delays the fall.
And yet… it’s still there in my heart.
Quiet. Stubborn. Curling around the edges of my chest.
What if she’s hurting too?
I don’t have proof. Don’t have a plan. But I’m not ready to let go. Not yet.
I play Magnolia’s playlist again on the drive home, the one titled Missing Big Guy . I turn the volume up and let it fill the quiet spaces. Every song feels like a letter I never got. Like she’s speaking to me through the lyrics she chose.
I don’t know what she’s saying with these songs, but I want to understand it.
Before I go to bed, I open her account again.
I don’t have a name for the playlist yet. But I’ll come up with one. Because if this is the only way I can talk to her… I’m going to say everything I need to say.