Page 103 of American Beauty

The wreckage of the night lingers around us, but it’s distant, unimportant. Because she’s in my arms now.

And Magnolia Steel is my home.

I tighten my hold on her, letting my fingers drift over her spine, tracing the delicate dips and ridges. My body still hums with the remnants of adrenaline, the echoes of everything that’s happened tonight.

The fight.

The fury.

The way I took her like I was claiming her all over again.

A thought gnaws at the edges of my mind, clawing its way forward before I can shove it down. “Was I too rough?”

She shifts against me, tilting her chin up so our eyes meet in the dim light. There’s no hesitation when she shakes her head. “No. I needed that just as much as you did.”

Relief washes through me, but it’s tangled with something heavier—regret for the chaos of the night, for the destruction left in our wake. I don’t have to be looking at the wreckage to know it’s there. I can hear it in my head. The crash of furniture. The shatter of glass.

My throat tightens, jaw clenching at the memory.

I clear my throat. “I’ll take care of everything. Get the place put back together. Buy you whatever needs replacing.”

She shakes her head against my chest. “I’m not worried about it.”

“Not even a little?”

A small smile ghosts across her lips. “It’s just stuff, Alex.” Then her expression turns serious. “Except my music collection.”

That pulls a quiet laugh from me, the first one I’ve had in a long time. “Your music survived.”

“Thank God.”

The teasing lilt in her voice makes my chest ache. I love this side of her. The woman who can tease me even after the night we’ve had. The woman who doesn’t care that we destroyed furniture or scuffed walls… as long as her music is safe.

Magnolia Steel. A contradiction in the best way.

And she’s mine again. For the first time in months, I’m at peace.

She lifts her head, her eyes focusing on the ink etched over my heart. Her fingers trace the lines, careful and slow.

I say nothing. Just watch her.

She sits up, the sheet falling to her waist, and brushes her hair back as she studies the design. “This is new.”

I nod once, my chest tight. “Yeah.”

“What is it?”

“The manumea. It’s a rare Samoan bird. Beautiful. Endangered.”

She stares at it, saying nothing. Just studying.

“I got it for you.”

Her lips part, but the words don’t come. Her eyes shine, soft and wide.

“After everything fell apart, I didn’t know if I’d ever see you again. But I needed to mark what was real, what mattered most. Even if you never came back to me.”

She presses her palm over the tattoo like she’s trying to absorb it. “Alex––”

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