Page 135 of Forever To Me

Cami watches me, reading my hesitation. “Please. You did karaoke at the bar.”

I look at Poppy, who is very much not getting involved but taking all this in. Rubbing my hands over my arms, I cradle them to me. “I’ll think about it.”

There’s a big difference in singing with friends at the bar and doing an actual performance at the bar. I sang covers and other people’s songs there. But a performance is more raw, vulnerable, and especially triggering since I left Nashville with my tail tucked between my legs about performing.

Cami nods. But I can tell—this means everything to her.I have to do it.

Later that night, I sit on the porch, watching Walker build a goat housebecause, apparently, that’s just a normal part of our life now.

And I have to say that the whole rugged cowboy, tool-wielding thing should be illegal. Damn, he looks good. Too good. Like distractingly good.

The kind of good where you can’t even begin to focus on anything else when he stands there without a shirt on, his forearms flexing as he grips the tool, sweat sliding down his chest. His Wranglers shape to him every time he bends to grab another plank of wood.

He looks up, sweat on his brow, eyebrows raised. “You gonna keep staring, or are you gonna tell me what’s on your mind?”

I roll my eyes. “What makes you think something is on my mind?”

He smirks, tossing a piece of wood aside. “I can tell.”

I take a deep breath. “Cami wants me to perform at a fundraiser concert to raise money for her ranch.”

He pauses and watches me. “And?”

“I told her I’d think about it.”

He nods and sets his hammer down, wiping his hands on his jeans. “If you don’t want to do it, don’t do it.”

“Idowant to help her,” I say quickly. “I just… I don’t know if I can.”

He tilts his head and asks softly. “What are you afraid of, Red?”

I look down, fingers twisting together. “Remember when I told you that my ex-best friend tried to sabotage me? How she spread lies about me all over Nashville and got me dropped from my label? Well, now…” I exhale, shaking my head. “Now I can’t even sing in public without feeling like I’m gonna choke.”

“I remember,” he says, looking pissed all over again on my behalf. It’s the same look he had the night I told him all about it.

I swallow, the hurt still raw. “I’m finished in Nashville, Walker.” I tell him, humiliation creeping in all over again and making me feel sick to my stomach.

The memories of the social media posts and how nasty people were to me, completely oblivious to the truth. To the fact that the whole story was actually the other way around.

“Whoever she is, she’s a horrible person. You didn’t deserve that,” he says as he glares at the goat house and shakes his head.

I nod, agreeing, "She sucks."

Walker watches me for a long moment. Then, carefully, he says, “What if you did a practice concert at The Black Dog?”

I blink. “Like… what do you mean, practice?”

He tilts his head. “Just family, friends, a few regulars. Get comfortable on a stage again. Work through the nerves. You’re a performer, Red. You’ve got this. You can do this. And whoeverthat woman was back in Nashville, she can’t touch you here in Bridger Falls. You’re one of us now.”

I chew my lip. “And what if it’s a disaster?”

He shrugs. “Then, at least you’ll know before you step onto a county fair stage.”

I stare at him, my pulse uneven. Then, I ask him softly, “Would you help me practice and get over my fears?”

His jaw ticks. His eyes darken. “You want me to help you?” His voice is low, rough.

I nod.

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