Page 44

Magnolia Sebring

The fabric swatches in front of me are a mix of dove gray and pale champagne, with a soft sheen that would catch light beautifully beneath the new chandeliers. I’m trying to decide between two finishes for the ballroom moldings—brushed brass or antique bronze—when the phone on my desk buzzes.

I press the button, still distracted by the sample board. “Yes?”

“Hi, Magnolia. I apologize for the interruption, but there’s a man here to see you. Tyson McRae.”

My body reacts before my mind does with a quick spike of adrenaline. My hand moves to the curve of my belly as if to protect it.

“He’s here?” I ask, even though I already know the answer.

“Yes, downstairs. I can tell him you’re unavailable if you wish.”

“No.” I exhale. Sharp. Sure.

There was a time when I would’ve hidden. But that time is over.

If this is closure, I’ll take it on my feet. Not hiding behind a door.

“It’s fine, Anne. I’ll come down.”

By the time I reach the lounge off the main lobby, he’s standing there, fidgeting. Tyson McRae, once so polished, is now frayed at the edges. He turns when he hears me coming and freezes.

His eyes fall to my stomach.

“Fuck, Mags,” he says.

I stop inside the doorway. “Hello, Tyson.”

He blinks. “You’re––”

“Pregnant,” I finish for him. “Yes. Alex and I are having a baby.”

He nods, but it’s shaky. “I see that.”

“You wanted to talk to me?” I prompt, arms crossed.

He clears his throat, finding his footing. “Yeah. I do.”

He stands before me, eyes still wide in surprise. “I don’t expect you to believe this, but I’m trying to do better.”

His voice isn’t slick as it once was. There’s no charm in it—only gravel. Worn down. Worn out.

And he looks it.

He’s thinner with hollows beneath his cheekbones, shirt hanging looser on shoulders that used to stretch every seam.

The bulk of his muscle is gone, replaced with something softer and sunken.

As if life carved him out and didn’t bother filling him back in.

Even the way he stands is different. Less sure.

Like the confidence that once dripped off him in waves has dried up and left nothing but dust.

“I was a bastard to you.” His gaze flickers to mine and then away. “I know that now.”

I say nothing.

“You didn’t deserve what I did to you. What I put you through. You didn’t deserve any of it. Neither of you.”

I cross my arms. “No. We didn’t.”

He nods. “It wasn’t a lie when I said I fell in love with you.” His voice drops a little, almost inaudibly. “That part was very true, but I understand that doesn’t matter. It never mattered. You love him. It’ll always be him.”

I hold his gaze, feeling no need to confirm what he already knows to be the truth.

He looks down at the unmistakable curve of my stomach. “Is it a boy or a girl?”

“Didn’t find out. We want to be surprised.”

His mouth lifts, almost a smile. “My money’s on a boy. I can see Sebring with a son.”

His smile fades, but the softness stays. And for once, there’s nothing sharp in his expression. Just acceptance.

I don’t move closer. I don’t soften. But I don’t harden either.

“I hope you mean what you’re saying about being a better person.”

“I do.” His voice cracks, then finds its footing. “Facing down death changes things for a person. But I’m lucky. My odds are good. The cancer has responded to the treatments.”

“I’m glad to hear that. Truly.” I pause. “But whatever part of your story included me is finished.”

He nods, throat working as he swallows.

“There’s nothing left here for you, Tyson. No anger. No resentment. Nothing at all. And that’s not bitterness—it’s peace. I found it. Please don’t come looking for pieces of something I’ve already let go.”

His lips press into a thin line, his eyes briefly closing. “I understand.”

“Good,” I say, offering nothing more. No false comfort. No invitation to rewrite the past.

After a pause, he nods again, slower this time. “Then I guess I’ll go.”

I stay exactly where I am. “Take care of yourself, Tyson.”

He looks at me— really looks—and for the first time, I think he sees me clearly. Not the version he wanted. Not the one he tried to control.

“You too, Magnolia,” he says, voice low. “You look happy.”

“I am.”

Fiercely, finally, completely happy.

He turns, and I watch him walk out of the hotel. Not because I’m still tangled in him, but because I’m not. Because there’s something triumphant in standing still while the past walks itself out the door.