Page 75 of American Beauty

The words hit me square in the chest. Texas is in the South. And Charleston…

How far is Dallas from Charleston?

My jaw clenches, annoyed at myself for even wondering it. Months have passed. I should be over this. Past her. But Magnolia’s never left my thoughts. She’s there always, woven into the quiet spaces of my mind.

Kye carries the confidence of a man who’s got life figured out. “Three years… I reckon you’ve got at least that much left in you if you get healthy again. I wouldn’t say that about just anybody. But you… you’re built different.”

Three years.

For the first time in a long while, something flickers inside me.

Three more years on the field. The roar of the crowd, the rush of adrenaline, the bone-deep satisfaction that comes from doing what I love most. It’s a future I hadn’t dared to consider since my injury.

It’s been two years. The road back won’t be easy—hell, it’ll be brutal. I’ll have to fight harder than I ever have, push my body past limits I haven’t tested in a long time. And even then, there’s no guarantee I’ll make it.

The idea gnaws at me, refusing to let go. The possibility that I’m not done yet.

I swirl the last sip of my drink, staring at the amber liquid as if it might offer some kind of answer.

Rugby would give me purpose, something to focus on besides the emptiness Magnolia left behind. If I can’t have her, this might be the next best thing.

“You get this surgery, you put in the work, and you’ll be back on the field. Trust me, when you’re out there again, everything else fades away.”

Everything else.

Magnolia.

The ache that never quite leaves me.

The thoughts that haunt me late at night when I’m alone with nothing but the weight of what could’ve been.

Kye’s unwavering belief in me stirs something in my chest. “It’d be good to play again.”

“Damn right, it would. You’re not done yet, Sebring. I know it. You know it.”

I let his words settle, rolling them over in my mind. He’s right. I’m not done yet.

For now, the thought of stepping back onto the field and getting that rush is enough to get me through another day. Even if it’s temporary, it’s better than nothing. And right now, I’ll take it.

Chapter 22

Alex Sebring

Dr. Harrison Tatestudies his computer screen, his eyes scanning the images of my ankle with a focus that makes my stomach twist. The large monitor casts a cool glow over his face, highlighting the lines of concentration etched into his features. He’s one of the best in the world—people fly from all over the globe just to sit in this chair.

I’ve been in Dallas for two days, going through one test after another. Now comes the part I’ve been dreading.

The verdict.

He clicks through a few more scans before giving me his attention.

“Alex.” He exhales, folding his hands together on his desk. “Your injury is more extensive than we first expected.”

The words hit like a wrecking ball to the gut, but I keep my cool, my hands gripping the armrests a little tighter. “How bad?”

His lips press into a thin line. “It’s obvious that the injury didn’t heal as it should. There’s extensive scar tissue, and the alignment is off.”

He turns his monitor around, and points to the glaring problems on the 3D scan, explaining a lot of medical terms I remember from before but still don’t understand.

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