32. Magnolia Steel
Chapter 32
Magnolia Steel
Hospitals were never part of my story—only backdrops to someone else’s battle. The only real time I spent inside one was when Violet’s mom was fighting cancer. She survived. She’s thriving. Stronger than ever.
Alex will be stronger than ever, too.
He’s not here because he’s broken beyond repair. Still, it doesn’t make this easier.
I’m sitting beside a hospital bed, holding the hand of the person I love while someone prepares to cut into him. I’m smiling like my chest isn’t caving in, trying to be brave for both of us. I don’t know if I’ve ever been this terrified in my life. And I swear, it’s like I’ve forgotten how to breathe.
Alex sits upright in the bed wearing a brave face, but I sense the tension beneath his skin. It’s in the way his thumb keeps tracing circles against my wrist. The way he hasn’t looked away from the far wall since they took his vitals.
I shift in my seat beside him, reaching for the scratchy hospital blanket and tugging it higher across his legs. “You doing okay?”
“Fine,” he says, his voice steady. But his eyes flick to mine—and that’s where the truth lies.
Not fine. Not really.
“You don’t have to pretend with me.”
His mouth twitches, a smile ghosting across his lips. “I’m not pretending. Call it compartmentalizing.”
I raise a brow. “Sounds like a fancy word for scared.”
This time, his smile sticks. “Maybe a little.”
He shifts on the bed, glancing down, and grimacing at the IV taped to his arm.
“God, I’m starving.”
“You had a massive dinner last night. Your steak was huge. You were still licking your fingers when we got back to the penthouse.”
His lips twitch. “That wasn’t because of dinner, favorite. It was because my fingers had been inside your sweet pineapple pussy.”
“Alex, shh––” I laugh, glancing toward the door. “We’re in a hospital surrounded by lots of ears. Behave.”
He chuckles, unbothered. “I will never look at a pineapple again and not think of your pussy.”
“Omigod, stop it.”
His stomach lets out a loud growl, making both of us pause.
“See?” He places a hand over his gut. “I’m dying. That is the sound of suffering.”
I lean in, brush a kiss to his cheek. “You’re always suffering when you’re not being fed. I swear your stomach has a louder personality than you do.”
There’s a knock, and the door swings open. Alex’s doctor steps in, glasses low on the bridge of his nose, looking calm, collected, confident.
“Morning, gang. You ready to get that busted ankle of yours back in fighting shape?”
“That’s what I’m hoping for.”
The doctor glances at me, a light teasing smile tugging at his mouth. “And who’s this? Your post-op nurse?”
Alex smirks. “Best kind—unpaid but highly motivated.”
I roll my eyes. “Motivated to smother you with a pillow if you don’t behave.”
The doctor chuckles. “Looks like you’ll be in excellent hands.”
He moves to the side of the bed and uncaps a black marker, crouching down beside Alex’s leg like it’s just another day and not the start of something huge.
“Left ankle, correct?” he asks.
“That’s the bloody troublemaker,” Alex says.
With a quick swipe of his marker, the doctor draws on Alex’s left ankle—black ink against golden brown skin. It’s official now in a way it wasn’t a moment ago.
“X marks the spot,” he says with a wink, capping the marker like it’s no big thing.
But to me, it is.
“You’ve got about thirty minutes before we roll you back and give you the best sleep of your life.”
Alex looks at me, smirking. “I could use some sleep.”
Me too. We sure didn’t get any last night.
The doctor leaves with a nod, the door closing behind him. My fingers reach for Alex’s, lacing tight. “You good, big guy?”
He nods once. “Yeah… no. Not really.”
My chest clenches.
“I thought I’d be fine, but my anxiety is through the roof. About the surgery, yeah, but more about what comes after. We just found our way back to each other, and already we’re staring down another stretch of distance before we’ve even had the chance to find our rhythm.”
I squeeze his hand. “It’s temporary, Alex. We’ve been through worse than distance.”
“Yeah, but you’re building your life there—your business, your future—in a place that doesn’t include me.”
His words sink deep into my ribs. Because the truth is that I’ve been thinking the same thing.
Why am I pouring myself into building a life in Charleston when the person I love will be nine thousand miles away?
I stroke my thumb across the back of his hand. “That’s something we’re going to talk about. Not today, but soon.”
He nods. “Yeah. Soon.”
He shifts, reaching for his phone on the tray beside him. “I should call Tinā and Dad before they take me back.”
“You better if you know what’s good for you.”
He unlocks the screen, taps FaceTime, and props the phone up as the call connects. Malie’s face appears first, eyes going glassy when she sees him in a hospital gown. “Oh, Aleki––”
Alexander appears over her shoulder, already frowning. “Took you long enough to call.”
Alex huffs a small laugh. “What? Miss me already, old man?”
His dad snorts. “Nah, but I miss kicking your ass on the golf course.”
Alex scoffs. “Once. You kicked my ass once. And only because I was distracted by this one.”
I feign offense. “Hey, don’t blame me for your bad golfing skills.”
“I have skills.”
Alexander shrugs. “Distraction or not, a win’s a win.”
Malie swats at him. “Oh, stop it, you two.”
The laughter continues, and softens into something quieter, warmer. Malie’s eyes find mine, and her expression shifts—gentle, full of gratitude.
“Magnolia… thank you for loving my son. And for being the one beside him right now.”
My throat tightens. “Loving him is easy. As for taking care of him…” I glance at Alex with a teasing smile. “We’ll see how good of a patient he turns out to be.”
Alexander laughs. “I’m afraid you’ve got your hands full with that one. He hasn’t been still for more than a minute since the day he was born. Came out ready to fight and hasn’t stopped moving since.”
Malie lifts a brow, teasing. “I can’t wait to hear how the bedpan duty goes. You’ll earn your stripes with that one.”
I groan. “I’m billing him for every accident.”
Alex rolls his eyes, grinning. “I regret this call already.”
The laughter lingers long enough to settle everyone’s nerves before Malie’s smile softens.
“Magnolia, when the doctor comes out and gives a report, please call us right away. Doesn’t matter what time it is, all right?”
I nod. “I will. Promise.”
Her eyes flick back to Alex, and her smile wobbles. “And remember, if he gives you any trouble, you have my permission to smack him.”
I press a hand to my chest. “Noted.”
Alexander clears his throat, standing a little taller behind her. “You’ll do fine, son. Just wake up with both legs and don’t give the nurses a hard time. They’re the ones in charge of handing out pain meds.”
Alex huffs a soft laugh. “No promises.”
His mother blows him a kiss. “I love you, Aleki.”
“Love you too, Tinā.”
Alexander nods, firm but warm. “Love you, son.”
“Love you too, Dad.”
Malie’s gaze returns to mine one more time. “We love you too, Magnolia.”
For a moment, I freeze. The words catch me off guard—not because they’re untrue, but because I’m not used to hearing them. Not from anyone’s parents. Not even my own. The warmth spreads anyway. Quiet and steady. Like belonging.
“I love you both,” I say. And I mean it.
The call ends as the nurse pushes through the door, a smile in place. “It’s that time, Mr. Sebring.”
She unlocks the bed and adjusts the rails, then glances at me with a wink. “Next time you see this guy, he’ll be a little less busted up.”
Alex’s hand finds mine again, his palm sweaty. I lean in and press a kiss to his forehead, lips lingering just a second longer than they should.
“I’ll be here when you wake up.”
His eyes meet mine. “I love you, favorite.”
My heart clenches. “I love you too, big guy.”
He nods, silent now, but something flickers in his eyes—something that says everything he isn’t ready to put into words.
And then they wheel him away—his fingers slipping from mine like a tether loosening.
The door shuts behind him, and in a snap, it’s quiet.
The waiting room smells of disinfectant and tension. I pick a chair by the window—not for the view, but away from others. Maybe I can get some work done.
Design software loads, blank templates blinking at me. But the only thing I can think about is the man who is lying unconscious on an operating table somewhere in this building.
I check the time. He’s only been gone fifty-two minutes. Seems like hours.
I tuck my phone facedown beside me and try to focus again, but the lines on the screen blur. My stomach knots with every passing second. I chew on my thumbnail, something I haven’t done in years.
Then my email notification dings.
Tyson McRae—bold, unread—sitting there like it belongs in my life.
I don’t open it right away. I just stare. Because I’ve been more than clear about my feelings. About my boundaries. About the fact that I want nothing more to do with him.
So what does he want now?
I open it. Not because I want to. But because I don’t trust him not to try something shady—legal threats, emotional manipulation, a guilt trip disguised as sincerity. I’ve figured out how he works. He’s shown me who he is.
Our contract is airtight, something I made damn sure of it before I ever signed my name beside his. I had to protect myself—my business, my future—in the event of a fallout. I may have been na?ve about him and his motive, but I was never na?ve when it came to protecting myself and my business.
Protecting myself––that’s one thing I’m very good at.
The email is long. Too long. Desperate in the way only guilt can be.
Subject: Please Read This
Magnolia,
I know I’m the last person you want to hear from right now. And I don’t deserve your time—not even a second of it—but I’m asking anyway. Please.
I miss you so much. More than I thought was even possible.
I’ve spent every day since you left trying to figure out how I let this happen. How I lost you. And how I ruined it. I know I did. I took your trust and smashed it to pieces. And now I’m the guy waking up every morning filled with nothing but regret.
I don’t sleep. I don’t eat. I don’t even know who I am anymore.
Please don’t throw us away. Please don’t let this be the end.
I’ll do whatever it takes. Just tell me there’s still a chance.
You’re the best thing that ever happened to me.
—Ty
I close the email and stare at the screen, jaw tight, breath shallow.
Tyson McRae is a lot of things. A liar, manipulator, master of twisting truth. But one thing he is not––a man who gets a second chance. Not with me.
He shattered my trust. He is the source of me being wrecked from the inside out. Destroyed for months.
And now he wants a chance to do it all over again? Hell no.
I don’t hesitate. My fingers move fast, fueled by disgust, as I block his email address without blinking.
He doesn’t get to speak to me again. Not now. Not ever.
I close the laptop, set it beside me, and stare straight ahead. The waiting room is too cold, too quiet, and I can’t sit still.
I glance at the time again. Only ninety minutes have passed. It feels like five hours.
I shift in the chair. Cross and uncross my legs. Run my hand down my jeans and then across the armrest, like movement might keep the fear from settling.
Panic is whispering to me.
What if something went wrong?
What if they opened him up, and it was worse than they thought?
What if he doesn’t wake up?
I close my eyes, press my fingers to the center of my chest. There’s no reason to spiral. No logical reason to fall apart. But love doesn’t care about logic. And fear doesn’t need facts to make itself at home.
Time stretches, and I pace the hallway, my sneakers whispering over polished tile. I try sitting again, but the seat’s too stiff, the silence too loud. I grab a coffee from the vending machine in the corner just to have something to do with my hands. It tastes like burnt water, but I drink it anyway.
Because anything is better than feeling this helpless.
And then—finally?—
“Mrs. Sebring?”
I turn on instinct. Hearing myself called that… God, it does something to me. Lodges something soft and warm right beneath my ribs.
The nurse smiles and gestures for me to follow her. “This way.”
She leads me down a short corridor and into a small consultation room. Neutral walls. Soft lighting. A table with tissues in the center, just in case.
The door opens again a minute later, and in walks the doctor––still in scrubs, surgical cap on his head. He offers me a warm smile as he sinks into the chair across from mine.
“Alex is out of surgery. He’s in recovery now.”
I’m able to breathe again.
“He did great. The damage was a little more extensive than what we saw on the scans, which is why it took longer than expected. But I was able to repair the ligaments and reinforce the joint.”
“That’s great.”
“He’ll have some pain, of course. The next few weeks won’t be easy—but with the right rehab protocol, he should make a full recovery.”
I close my eyes for a second, press my palms together like a silent prayer answered. Relief floods me, leaving warmth in its wake. “Thank you so much.”
He stands to leave, reaching out to shake my hand. “He’s tough. You’ll see. He’ll be back on the rugby field next season, better than ever.”
The words land like a stone in my stomach.
I blink. But by the time I look up, the doctor’s already gone, door closing behind him.
And I’m left sitting there. Stunned. Silent.
Back on the rugby field?
I don’t go back to the waiting room. Instead, I wander the hallway on autopilot until I find an alcove—just a narrow bench beneath a window that faces a blank brick wall. I sit––slowly––like my body weighs twice as much now.
He didn’t tell me.
My eyes burn, but I don’t cry. Not yet. I’m still too caught by surprise.
He’s going back to rugby?
Was this always the plan? The surgery, the rehab, the clean return to the sport that almost destroyed him?
My heart beats faster, the panic catching up to my lungs.
Despite all the opportunities, he didn’t say a word. And that’s what hurts the most.
Did he not trust me with the truth? Or was he trying to protect me from it? I don’t know which answer feels worse.
I would walk through anything with him. Even watching the man I love push his body to the edge for a game that’s already taken so much from him.
Did he not think he could tell me?
I came here to help him heal. But now I don’t know what that healing means.
Not for him. Not for me. And definitely not for us.