17. Magnolia Steel
Chapter 17
Magnolia Steel
There’s something surreal about watching the sunrise out here, suspended between sky and sea. The colors ripple over the water, shifting from deep purple to a warm gold that stretches as far as I can see. I’ve watched plenty of sunrises, but somehow, this one feels different. This is one I’m always going to remember.
JC is next to me, his arms wrapped around my waist, holding me close as we lean against the yacht’s railing. The world is so incredibly quiet right now, just the sound of waves lapping against the yacht and the occasional call of a seabird somewhere out in the mist.
I sip my coffee, savoring the warmth as the cool morning wraps around us.
“Not a bad way to start the day.” His voice carries the lingering rasp of early morning.
His profile is softened by the first rays of sunlight. “Not bad at all. I could get used to this.”
He hums in agreement, and we stand there in silence, watching as the sun climbs higher, casting light across the water until everything glows. Sharing this moment with him feels special, a quiet kind of magic.
“What’s the plan for today?”
“We’ll stay on the yacht most of the day. Swimming, music…” He leans in a little closer, his words lowering to a softer, more intimate pitch. “ Privacy .”
I grip the railing, the new day’s sun warming my skin as the breeze toys with my hair. “Ah , privacy .” I parrot his words, mirroring his playfulness.
“Lunch and dinner are already sorted, thanks to Chloe. And tonight, we’ll head into Newcastle for a surprise.”
“You really do love keeping me in suspense, don’t you?”
His eyes glint in the morning light. “Gotta keep you interested somehow.”
I lean closer, a playful smile on my lips. “No need to worry—you keep me more than interested.”
There’s something in the way he looks at me that sends a flutter straight to my chest.
By midmorning, the sun is high, its warmth spilling across the deck as I head below to change into my swimsuit. I pull on the red bikini I packed, adjusting the straps and smoothing the fabric before catching a quick glance at myself in the mirror.
I take in my reflection for a moment, noting the soft curves that attest to my love of good food and living life fully. I’m not the kind of girl who picks at salads or starves herself to fit some impossible standard. I eat, I enjoy, and it shows. These are things I’ve come to appreciate about myself. And JC seems to appreciate it too, judging by the way his hands linger when he touches me, like he can’t get enough.
He’s a big guy, broad and solid, and I can’t imagine him being with someone stick-thin or delicate. He’s never said it, but the way his gaze follows me, the way his grip tightens slightly when he pulls me close, tells me everything I need to know. He likes me the way I am. And that thought brings a smile to my lips.
When I step back onto the deck, his eyes meet mine, holding steady for a beat before drifting over me. His lips curve into a slow, appreciative grin.
“Bloody hell, you are a knockout. But, lovie, you better put on some sunscreen before you fry in that sun.”
Lovie ?
I roll my eyes, grabbing the sunscreen from the nearby bench. Before I can start, he holds out his hand with a teasing glint in his eye. “Come here, small pale one.”
“Small? Nah, I don’t think so.” I arch a brow, stepping closer, bottle in hand. “And I’m not pale.”
He looks me up and down, entirely unbothered by my protests. “From where I’m standing, you’re very much both of those things.”
I hand him the bottle with a resigned smile, turning around to let him get to work. His hands are warm as he spreads the sunscreen across my shoulders, gliding over my back in firm strokes. His fingers press just enough to make my breath catch, and as he moves lower, his hands sneak under the edge of my swimsuit bottoms, massaging my butt cheeks. Then he toys with them, making them jiggle.
“What the hell are you doing back there?” I smirk, glancing over my shoulder at him. “Pretty sure that’s covered by the swimsuit. No chance of a sunburn in that area.”
He grins, utterly unrepentant. “I’m looking out for your safety.”
“Uh-huh.” I let out a small laugh, amused by his playfulness with my butt.
He finishes, and I turn to face him, one eyebrow raised. “Are you going to lay out with me?”
He chuckles, crossing his arms as he looks down at me. “My tan was well-established years ago. And I didn’t have to cook in the sun to get it.”
“You have those good genes.” I shake my head, smiling. “All you had to do was incubate in your mother’s womb.”
“Something like that,” he says, watching me settle onto the sun pad.
I stretch out, letting the sun seep into my skin, but I don’t have long to settle before he steps beside me, casting a playful shadow. “While you soak up some sun, I’ll be your cabana boy for the day.”
I raise an eyebrow, smirking up at him. “Is that so? All right then, cabana boy, what’s on the drink menu?”
He glances over his shoulder at the drink cart parked on the far side of the deck in the shade. “I’m not sure what’s stocked, so we’ll have to take a look. But I’ll say this—the yacht’s caretaker usually keeps it well supplied.”
Together, we stroll over to the drink cart. I lean in, scanning the array of bottles and mixers. “How about a classic mai tai?”
He pauses, brow furrowed. “Sounds good, but I have no idea how to make that.”
“JC, you’re a sad excuse for a cabana boy.”
I grin as he gives me a playful scowl, gesturing toward the bottles and ingredients in front of us. “It’s simple. Light rum, dark rum, orange curacao, fresh lime juice, and orgeat syrup. Even you could pull it off.”
A grin tugs at his lips. “I may be your cabana boy, but I’m no bartender.”
“No worries.” I wink, grabbing a few bottles and the bar tools, already feeling in my element. “Lucky for you, I happen to be a very well-trained mixologist.”
He steps back, watching with an amused glint in his eyes as I get to work. I shake, stir, and pour with practiced ease, throwing in a little flair as I spin the shaker and flip it back with a flick of my wrist. When I finish the drink with a flourish and toss him a playful wink, he lets out a low whistle.
“I’m not gonna lie. That was hot.”
He watches me as I mix the second drink.
“Where in the world did you learn to do that?”
“Robin and Charlene—both bartenders.” I pause, seeing his reaction shift. “I learned how to mix drinks at a tender age.”
He shakes his head, not looking particularly amused this time. “The more I hear about Robin and Charlene, the less I care for their parenting skills.”
His jaw tightens, a storm in his gaze. Maybe protectiveness?
“You were a kid, Charleston. And they didn’t protect you.”
There’s something about the way he says it—so firm, so sure—that makes my chest tighten. It’s not pity, and it’s not judgment. It’s genuine concern, and that does something to me. Knowing he cares, that he’s angry on my behalf, feels strangely comforting. I’m not used to someone worrying about my well-being like this, and I can’t deny how much I like it.
“True. But at least I had Leonard and Janet looking out for me. They installed a padlock on my bedroom door—from the inside—and taught me how and when to use it. I learned how to protect myself at a very early age from the creeps Robin and Charlene brought into our home.”
Thank God for Leonard and Janet and their foresight. That padlock saved me more than once. I lost count of the times I heard the jiggle of my bedroom doorknob in the middle of the night, a not-so-subtle reminder of the dangers outside my door when Robin or Charlene let some lowlife stay over.
His expression hardens, his gaze dropping to the drink he’s holding. “You shouldn’t have been exposed to that kind of danger.”
“Well, unfortunately, I was. That was my life growing up. There’s nothing to be done about it now except take the lessons I learned and do better. Because when you know better, you do better.”
He watches me, admiration softening the edge in his eyes. “You’re such a wise and forgiving person. I want to be like you when I grow up.”
It hasn’t always been this way. It’s taken years—years of heartache, of learning, of forcing myself to let go of things I couldn’t change. I’ve had to unlearn the resentment, rewrite the story I told myself about what I deserved. Forgiveness didn’t come easy, but I realized something along the way: holding on to anger only gives it more power. And I refuse to let the past define me.
“Look, I could spend the rest of my life angry about my childhood, but that would only make me a bitter, miserable person. And that’s not who I want to be.”
I look up at him, feeling strength in the words I’m about to say. “I choose to be the heroine in my story, not the victim.”
He goes quiet, his gaze fixed on me as he processes what I’ve said. And in the pause that follows, I see something shift in his eyes—something that tells me he’s taking that to heart.
He’s quiet for a long moment, his eyes drifting away. When he finally speaks again, there’s a heaviness in his words, a tension that wasn’t there before.
“Something happened to me a couple of years ago at my former job. A colleague did something—intentionally—that caused me a serious injury. That injury meant I couldn’t keep working in that profession.”
He pauses, his jaw tightening as his gaze fixes on the horizon. “Nothing ever came of it. He wasn’t reprimanded, and I never confronted him. Even now, two years later, I’m still so angry that if I did confront him, I’m afraid I’d lose control. Afraid I’d choke the bloody hell out of him.”
Frustration seeps from his words. “How do you move on from something like that? How do I adopt the attitude you have?”
His words hit me squarely, their meaning impossible to ignore. I draw in a steady breath, choosing my response with care. “What Robin and Charlene did wasn’t intentional. Neglectful and dangerous? Yes. But it wasn’t meant to hurt me. They’re stuck in their own toxic cycle, doing what they were taught by someone else who was just as broken. It’s a survival mechanism they don’t even realize they’re repeating.”
He shifts slightly, his gaze turning back to me. There’s a look in his eyes, something raw and unresolved, as if he’s trying to understand.
“It takes a special kind of… I don’t know, darkness , to make the choice to hurt someone deliberately. What you went through is entirely different from what I experienced.”
He nods slowly, processing my words. “So how am I supposed to move on from it?”
I watch him, sensing the depth of his pain. “Can you tell me more about what happened? That is, if you’re comfortable sharing it with me.”
He hesitates, eyes distant, before finally speaking. “A ruptured Achilles. It happened in a split second.” He pauses, jaw tight, like he’s holding back part of the memory. “I’ve seen the footage. He came in from behind, hit low, deliberately aimed at my ankle. It felt like a snap, like something tore right through my leg.”
I watch him, hearing the tension, the frustration barely hidden beneath the words. “The tendon was shredded, and the force of the impact damaged the nerves. After surgery, months of rehab, and every physical therapy exercise they could throw at me… I still wasn’t able to get the stability back.” His hand tightens into a fist. “Some days, I don’t know if my ankle will hold steady or give out. It’s like it has a mind of its own now.”
He looks down, his expression hardening, the bitterness impossible to miss. “And the worst part? Nothing happened to him. He walked away—no apology, no consequences—while I was left figuring out how to rebuild my life.” He pauses, a shadow darkening his face. “And it wasn’t the first time he’d tried something like this. Just the first time he was successful.”
I take a breath, letting his words settle, then reach for his hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “I know you’re a good person, someone who’d never hurt anyone intentionally. But I get it, and I understand the need for closure. Anger like that can eat at you. Do you think some form of retaliation would give you the peace you need to move on?”
He falls silent, his gaze distant, fixed on something I can’t see. “Sometimes, I think it would help. Other times, I’m not so sure. But I can’t leave it as it is. It’s been festering for too long, eating at me piece by piece. This feeling that I’ve failed somehow—that I haven’t handled it as a real man should—is tearing me apart.”
My chest tightens because I hate seeing him like this—lost in a battle he shouldn’t have to fight alone. He doesn’t deserve this kind of heaviness or pain. He deserves laughter, lightness, and a reason to smile that reaches his eyes and stays there.
“If you ever need someone to take care of it, you just say the word. I can go from a classy Charleston lady to full-on Mississippi redneck in 1.3 seconds if that’s what you need.” I give him a wink.
The laughter that escapes him is genuine, lighting up his face, if only for a moment.
“I’m not entirely joking, you know. I’d gladly make this guy pay for what he did to you if I were ever in a position to do so. I mean that from the bottom of my heart.”
“You’re a whole lot of trouble wrapped in a sweet, Southern-talking little package, aren’t you?”
There’s honesty beneath the banter. “I’m just saying, if this guy ever crosses my path, he better watch out. I might decide to handle it for you.”
His amusement fades. “Would you think less of me if I lashed out at him?”
“Not even a little. I’d think you’re human—and a man still carrying the scars of what he did to you.” I squeeze his hand, my thumb brushing over his knuckles. “Everyone has a breaking point, JC, and sometimes enough really is enough.”
I take a deep breath, letting my words come carefully. “There are a lot of people in this world who would tell you to get over it. But if life’s taught me anything, it’s this: don’t let anyone who hasn’t walked in your shoes tell you how to tie your laces. Only you know what will bring you peace.”
“You’re wiser than your years, you know that?”
“I’ve been lucky to learn from a few good people along the way.”
The conversation drifts into a peaceful silence as I stretch out on the sun pad, the sun’s warmth sinking deep into my skin. He settles beside me, and together we let the day unfold unhurried, the gentle rhythm of waves against the yacht our only companion. As the heat intensifies, a sheen of sweat forms on my skin. I sit up, running a hand through my hair, welcoming the soft breeze as it plays through the strands, offering a brief, refreshing reprieve.
“It’s so hot out here even my sweat is sweating. I think I can actually feel my soul evaporating.”
He glances over, a playful glint lighting his eyes. “Want to cool off in the water?”
“Sure.”
Why not? What’s the worst that could happen?
I eye the endless expanse of ocean around us, and my imagination, unhelpfully vivid, starts spinning scenarios. Jellyfish could swarm out of nowhere. A sneaky current might tug me under. Sharks—oh, yes, let’s not forget the possibility of becoming an impromptu seafood platter.
But what are the odds of all that happening? Slim, right? I hope so.
I glance back at JC, whose teasing smirk says he’s ready to dive in. He’s here to save me…hopefully.
We walk to the back of the yacht, and he counts down before we leap in together. The cool water is a sharp, invigorating contrast against my sun-heated skin, making me gasp as I surface. I glance around the endless expanse of blue, my mind conjuring flashes of sharp fins and unseen shadows lurking below.
“What do we do if a shark shows up?” I try to sound playful, but I’m unable to fully mask my unease.
He laughs, the sound light and carefree as it echoes over the water. “I’ll sacrifice myself to save you.”
The way he says it, so easy and offhand, makes me smile. But deep down, I know he actually means it. He’d do it without hesitation, no second thoughts, if it meant keeping me safe. That’s who he is—the kind of man who’d protect the people he cares about even at his own expense. That thought sends a warmth spreading through my chest, one I’m not quite ready to analyze.
“You’re actually worried about sharks, aren’t you?”
Caught, I look down, a little sheepish. “Maybe a little. I mean, we are playing in their backyard.”
He nods, his teasing replaced by something softer. “We can hang out on the floating pad if that’ll help you feel more comfortable.”
Relieved, I smile and nod as we climb onto the floating pad. It wobbles beneath us, a little flimsy, so it feels more like we’re sitting directly in the water than on a solid floating surface. Water pools around us, keeping our skin cool despite the heat of the sun. Every movement sends a gentle ripple through the pad, rocking us softly, the water lapping at our sides and legs.
The sound of the ocean fills the comfortable silence until he glances over at me, his expression curious. “I’ve noticed you’re not one of those people who is glued to her phone. Do you have social media?”
I shrug. “I have accounts on a few platforms, but I rarely post. Broadcasting my life for validation from people I probably didn’t like much to begin with is not my thing. The whole thing is bizarre to me—how people who judged or ignored you in school suddenly want to connect on social media to keep tabs and keep judging. It’s all so fake, not even remotely close to real life. Social media means nothing to me.”
A brief silence follows, sparking my curiosity. “I’ve noticed you’re not glued to your phone either.”
“Social media has zero appeal for me. I have accounts, sure, but someone else manages them.”
I sit up, laughing and giving him a skeptical look. “You have someone who manages your social media? Seriously?”
He grins, his eyes glinting with a trace of mystery. “Perks of the job.”
“Omigod.” I shake my head, amused. “ Who are you? ”
He leans back, his smile widening with a teasing glint in his eyes. “Wouldn’t you love to know.”
I laugh, but a thought crosses my mind, and I study him more intently. “We’re avoiding Newcastle in daylight because there’s a good chance someone might see you and recognize you, aren’t we?”
He shrugs, his expression flat, giving nothing away—but his silence says it all.
I let out an exaggerated sigh, leaning back. “I’m going to feel so ridiculous if the truth ever comes out and I realize I’ve been hanging out with a superstar this whole time.”
He chuckles, clearly amused, but still offers no confirmation.
And yet he doesn’t deny it.
Great. Now I have to mentally prepare for the possibility that his ex is a supermodel.
The sun sinks lower in the sky, and he docks the yacht at the harbor, stepping over to help me disembark. His hand is warm and steady as I step onto the dock, my lightweight white dress fluttering in the evening breeze. I kept it simple per his request—sandals and a loose braid to pull it all together—but polished enough for wherever the night might take us.
He’s dressed casually in Bermuda shorts, a light sweater, and his usual confident ease.
Such swagger.
We stroll along the harbor, the lively hum of Newcastle filling the air, until we reach our destination: a small, boutique cinema tucked into the heart of town. Its vintage marquee glows softly, the old-world charm drawing me in with the promise of something special.
I pause, taking it all in. “A vintage cinema? I didn’t see this coming.”
He watches my reaction with a satisfied smile. “I had a feeling you’d like it. I’m starting to figure you out.”
“Oh really? And what exactly have you figured out?”
“You’re not into the flashy stuff. You appreciate the kind of charm most people overlook. Thoughtful, unique, a little nostalgic—this seemed like your kind of place.”
I’m surprised by how spot-on he is. “Okay, I’ll admit, you’re getting to know me better than I expected. What are we seeing?”
“A rom-com.”
“A rom-com? That’s what you picked?”
“Hey,” he says, feigning offense. “I enjoy a good laugh, and I thought you’d appreciate something lighthearted.”
Wow. I’m touched by the thoughtfulness behind his choice. “You keep surprising me, you know that?”
“I hope so.”
I’m instantly enchanted. The cozy, nostalgic atmosphere wraps around us, and I spin slowly, taking it all in––the plush armchairs, the velvet drapes, the soft glow of the sconces lining the walls. “This place is incredible. It’s like stepping back in time.”
He smiles, clearly pleased by my appreciation. “I had a feeling you’d like it. It’s one of my favorite spots when I want to keep things low-key.”
It’s the perfect place to stay under the radar.
As the movie starts, he reaches over, lacing his fingers through mine. His touch is warm, steady. I try to focus on the screen, but my thoughts keep drifting back to him beside me, his hand in mine, and the quiet, unspoken connection that seems to grow between us with every passing moment.
Onscreen, the two leads bumble their way through a budding romance, tripping over misunderstandings, quirks, and an undeniable pull toward each other. As I watch, my thoughts drift to us—how, in such a short time, he’s done more thoughtful, meaningful things for me than any man ever has. He’s so openly shared pieces of himself, and it stirs something deep inside me.
I glance over at him, taking in the quiet confidence in his posture, the ease in his expression. A wave of appreciation washes over me—for who he is and for the space he’s carved into my life. He deserves everything good this world has to offer. And he deserves all the things he yearns for but might be too proud to say aloud.
As the movie ends and we step back into the cool night air, a thought settles over me, soft but unshakable. I want him to have it all—peace, fulfillment, love. Every last bit of happiness he’s chasing.
Sliding my hand back into his, I let myself savor this moment, realizing something I hadn’t before. Even if this—whatever this is—is only temporary, I’m grateful to be part of his story right now. For as long as it lasts, I’m content to be here, walking beside him, sharing these fleeting moments.