36. Magnolia Steel
Chapter 36
Magnolia Steel
I wake, blinking against the soft light spilling through the curtains. For a moment, there’s nothing but warmth—the heavy weight of Alex’s arm slung across my waist, the press of his chest against my back, the deep, steady cadence of his breathing.
I stay still, because I know the second I move—the second I let the real world in—it’ll all come rushing back.
And it does. The anxiety settles in my gut like a stone, heavy and cold.
My business.
My clients. Client .
The life I’ve worked so hard to build in Charleston now seems a million miles and a lifetime away. All because of him.
Tyson-fucking-McRae.
A man who wouldn’t take no for an answer. A man who made me afraid in my own city, who pushed me to a point where the only place I feel safe now is tucked beneath the arm of this man lying next to me.
I hate the loss of control, the way fear has rooted itself in my bones like it has any right to be there. And most of all, I hate that Alex has to bear the weight of this too. No matter how many times he tells me I’m not a burden, some dark, bitter part of me still wonders if I am.
I shift, not wanting to wake him. But the second I move, his hold tightens. His hand slides from my waist to my belly, pulling me back against him like he can sense me slipping away even in sleep.
I close my eyes and let myself sink into the moment for just a second longer—into the safety of him. Because today, I have to figure out how to take back the pieces of my life without falling apart.
A low, sleepy rumble vibrates against my back.
“Morning, favorite.” His voice is gravel-rough, still thick with sleep. His arm curls tighter around me, pressing me closer to the hard wall of his chest.
I bite back a laugh, the sound escaping anyway. “Don’t squeeze me too hard. I gotta pee.”
He lets out a reluctant groan but loosens his grip. His hand lingers for a second longer than necessary, brushing along my ribs before he releases me.
I slip out of bed, the cool air whispering over my skin. Padding toward the bathroom, I sense his eyes on me—his gaze almost as tangible as his touch.
When I emerge a few minutes later, the room’s energy is different. Empty. Because I don’t find Alex waiting for me.
I find Alex in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, one crutch tucked under his arm, the hotel phone pressed to his ear. He’s shirtless, wearing only a pair of black athletic shorts that hang low on his hips, the sharp cut of his abs catching my attention.
His black hair is a little wild, like he’s been running his hand through it, unruly and beautiful without even trying. There’s something about the sight of him, casual and rumpled and real, that sends a soft ache through my chest.
Home.
That’s what he looks like to me now.
He catches sight of me—barefoot, hair twisted into a messy bun on top of my head, drowning in one of his T-shirts—and his entire face softens.
He covers the receiver with his hand and tips his chin toward me. “What do you want for breakfast?”
My stomach knots. Food sounds like the last thing I could handle. “Just coffee.”
His eyes narrow a little. Not angry—more like disapproving. Protective in that quiet, stubborn way that’s become second nature between us.
“You need food. No negotiation.”
I roll my eyes, but it’s useless. Alex Sebring doesn’t bluff. Not in taking care of me.
And not when it comes to breakfast.
“Fine,” I say, padding toward him. “An omelet.”
“Everything but tomatoes?”
He knows me so well. “That sounds good.”
He smirks, victorious, and speaks into the phone again, rattling off the order––the very long order––and I shake my head, smiling.
God, this man can eat.
Breakfast ordered, he pops my favorite coffee pod into the maker. He doesn’t even have to ask anyone how I take it. He knows.
“Thank you.”
“Welcome, babe.”
I wrap my hands around the cup, letting the heat sink into my skin. Reminding me that no matter how messy things are, no matter how much fear tries to root itself inside me, I’m not alone. Not anymore. Not since I met Alexander Bjorn “The Iron Wall” Sebring III.
I slide onto a stool, tucking my bare feet on the rung beneath it, sipping my coffee. All the while trying to quiet the voice in my head that won’t stop whispering about everything in Charleston.
Breakfast arrives and the scent of bacon and fresh bread fills the space. I lift the lids, surveying the spread, and I can’t help but smile.
Someone went overboard.
“How hungry are you?” I ask over my shoulder, grabbing two plates.
Alex leans on his crutch, watching me with an expression that’s half amused, half fond. “Are you kidding me?”
I laugh, a real one this time, not the kind dragged out by nerves. “Right. Silly question.”
I busy myself plating the food, sliding very generous portions onto his plate. It’s easier to focus on the tangible small tasks—setting forks beside napkins, pouring coffee—than the messier bigger thoughts crowding my mind.
By the time we sit down at the dining table, the mood has shifted. Some of the tightness in Alex’s shoulders has eased, replaced by the slow, familiar rhythm of him eating with single-minded focus.
Food always puts him in a better mood.
“I talked to my family last night while you were sleeping.”
I blink, surprised.
“You did?” I wipe my mouth with the napkin. “I didn’t hear you get up.”
“You were out cold. Your body needed the rest.”
“Is everything all right?”
“Nothing has happened. I spoke with Elias and asked if he could come to the States for a little while.”
I sit up straighter, confused, the words taking a second to sink in. “To be with you while you’re recovering?”
“No, to be with you in Charleston.”
Alex shrugs, like it’s no big deal. Like he didn’t just drop a bomb on me about my life over breakfast.
“Elias said yes. He’s always looking for an excuse to visit. Loves the U.S., and he’s never spent time on the East Coast. He’s excited about it.”
Guilt rises fast and hot, clawing its way up my throat.
“I’m so sorry, Alex. I hate that your brother will have to rearrange his life because of me.”
Alex leans back and pins me with a look that’s equal parts gentle and fierce. “You’re not causing a thing, Magnolia.”
I open my mouth to argue, but he cuts me off. “Elias offered. You’re one of us now, and that’s how we roll in the Sebring family. When someone needs backup, we show up. No questions. No guilt trips. Only love.”
The words hit me harder than they should.
I swallow against the lump rising in my throat, trying to process the simple, staggering truth of what he’s saying. I’ve never known loyalty like that. Never known what it is to be someone’s priority without having to earn it or beg for it.
Robin and Charlene can’t be bothered to return a text or call, much less book a plane ticket.
The raw, aching difference between duty and devotion settles in my chest, stealing my breath for a moment. I don’t argue. I don’t downplay it or brush it off.
Instead, I meet his gaze and say the only thing big enough for the moment. “Thank you for looking out for me.”
He studies me for a beat, something dark and tender flickering in his eyes. “I wish it could be me with you. If I were in Charleston and Tyson showed up at your apartment while I was there––”
He trails off, but I see it in his eyes. The promise. The violence he would unleash without hesitation.
“It’s better you’re not there.” I couldn’t stand it if he injured himself fighting Tyson and ruined the reconstruction on his ankle.
His mouth curves into a slow, almost dangerous smile.
“You’re probably right.” There’s no mistaking the fierce protectiveness in his voice—the raw, unflinching need to shield me, to fight for me.
The fear in my chest loosens its grip just a little because I know, no matter what’s coming, I won’t be facing it alone.
We finish breakfast and I push away from the table. Alex follows my lead, rising, balancing his weight on his good leg as he grabs his crutch.
I hover like a mother bird, and he shakes his head, not wanting me to fuss over him. So I trail him to the sofa instead.
“I have to get back to Charleston. The client walk-through is tomorrow afternoon.” I know that isn’t what he wants to hear.
Alex nods, slow and measured. “You know I don’t want to see you go, but I get it. Elias’s flight lands tonight. He’ll go straight to your place and stay with you for however long you need him.”
I nod, trying to process it all—relieved because I won’t be alone, that someone will be there, ready, if Tyson tries anything.
“I’ll have Violet meet him at my apartment. She has a spare key. She can let him in, show him around. Make sure he’s comfortable until I get there.”
We sip the last of our coffee, the day stretching out ahead of us, neither of us moving to fill it.
Not yet.
Alex shifts beside me, setting his mug on the coffee table with a soft thud. “Come on. Let’s get some fresh air.”
The balcony door slides open, letting in a breeze laced with the warmth of the morning sun. We step outside together, the city stretching wide and endless in front of us, bathed in the soft burn of sunrise.
I move to the railing, wrapping my fingers around the cool metal, letting the first of the day’s heat soak into my skin.
A moment later, his arms come around my waist, strong and sure, pulling me back against the solidness of his body.
He rests his chin on my shoulder, his breath warm against my skin.
I lean into him, closing my eyes for a moment, memorizing the way this feels. Like being found. Like being home. And maybe… I am. Because this instinct to protect, to show up, to be each other’s safe place is what a real partnership looks like.
Not polished, not perfect. Messy. Inconvenient. Raw and real in the ways that matter.
But I’m not running from it now. I’m running toward it.
Toward him.