Page 88 of Forever To Me

She keeps going.

“But those were mine, and I worked hard on those songs. They were my stories,” she says pointing at her chest as she looks at me.

“Then she got me dropped from my label,” she says, still petting Rip like she needs something to ground her. “Then to top it off, I walked in on her in my bed with my boyfriend.”

The air in the truck goes heavy.

Violet turns toward me again, and when I glance at her, I wish I hadn’t. “I guess my songs weren’t enough to steal. She took my boyfriend, too. Whatever she wanted, I guess.”

Because her eyes are full of hurt.

Not in the way that says she’s still broken. In the way that says she’s had to rebuild herself from nothing.

And I know exactly how that feels.

“Red,” I start, my voice lower than I meant for it to be.

She shakes her head, forcing a small, too-casual smile. “It’s fine,” she says. “I mean, it sucked. It broke me for a while. But I got out, and I got away.”

She swallows hard. “And now I’m here. And I’m not telling you all of this for you to tell me anything. But I just want you to know why I am the way that I am.”

I don’t say anything for a long moment. Because I’m glad she’s here. But I hate that she’s here for those reasons.

Because what the hell am I supposed to say?

I know what it’s like to watch someone steal from you, to watch someone you trusted turn into a monster.

I know what it’s like to walk away from everything you thought you wanted, because staying would have destroyed you.

I glance at her again, and the weight in my chest feels unbearable.

“This is why you don’t talk about your past,” I say quietly.

She nods. “Yeah.”

I grip the wheel tighter. “Your ex—” I grit my teeth, exhaling through my nose. “He took Rip to hurt you, didn’t he?”

She hesitates, then nods again.

Something inside me snaps. Because I hate that I know this game.

I hate that I know exactly what kind of person would take a dog to make someone suffer.

I hate she had to learn it the hard way too.

I hate that this world and this industry spits people out and doesn’t care. It shouldn’t be that way.

And I hate that I still care.

Even after all these years, music still has its hooks in me, tangled somewhere deep in my chest where I can’t reach. I think it always will.

No matter how much I tried—still try—to escape, it will always be a part of me.

I slow the truck as we near the house, pulling into the long gravel driveway, headlights sweeping over the front porch.

For a second, neither of us moves.

Violet finally exhales, her voice quiet. “And now you know.”

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