Page 53 of Forever To Me

Mack doesn’t let many people in. Neither do I.

But I could tell that she likes Violet.

And Maggie? Hell, Maggie’s been waiting for this moment like she’s been secretly planning this all along.

She watched the two of them at that table tonight—Violet and Mack, feeding Pickles, stealing food off each other’s plates, bickering over music—and she looked at me with that knowing glint in her eye.

Like she knew exactly what was happening.

Like she knew that no matter how many walls I put up, they were already crumbling.

And she’s right.

Because when Violet sat there laughing with my family like she’d been a part of it all along?—

I knew.

I’m in trouble. Real trouble.

Because this is what I've always wanted. I didn't think that I could have it.

Until now. Now, I'm rethinking everything.

The ringing wakes me out of a dead sleep. I’ve only been asleep for a few hours because after I dropped Violet off, I worked on a few songs at the cabin.

I pick up my phone, hit the button and put it to my ear, blinking at the ceiling, my body on high alert before my mind can catch up. Calls in the middle of the night usually aren't the friendly checking-in kind.

Then I hear the urgency in Poppy’s voice. “Walker—The Dogwood’s on fire.”

I’m already moving before she finishes the last word, my heart pounding against my ribs.

“Is everyone out?” I demand, shoving my boots on and grabbing my keys as I brace myself for the answer.

“Everyone got out safely. But it’s bad.”

“I’m on my way,” I clip, disconnecting the call.

I’m already up the stairs and running down the hall, pushing open Mack’s door. She blinks awake and sits up, confused. “Dad?”

I don’t waste time. “Come on. We gotta go, honey. The Dogwood’s on fire.”

She’s on her feet in seconds, throwing on a hoodie. Panic in her voice, she asks, “Maggie and Violet?”

“Everyone got out,” I say, more to myself than her.

I don’t exhale until we’re in the truck, tires spitting gravel as we speed toward town. Mack is strangely silent. I can feel the worry from the passenger seat.

“Hey, it’s gonna be okay,” I reassure her, reaching over and patting her arm.

"What's going to happen to Maggie? She loves The Dogwood. That place is her whole life," she says with turmoil on her face.

"I don't know, but she's safe. And she can stay with us until she figures it out," I promise her.

By the time we get to town, the air is thick with smoke, the sky glowing in the distance like the sun decided to set in the wrong direction. A sharp, acrid smell hits me first: burning wood and earth and a pungent chemical odor.It’s the kind of smell that clings to you, seeps into your skin, and settles deep in your lungs.

I pull up, my truck’s tires crunching over the pavement. The flashing red and white lights from the firetrucks cast eerie shadows against the charred structure, flickering across the gathered crowd of townsfolk—because in a place like Bridger Falls, a fire isn’t just a call for emergency services.

It’s a call for the whole damn town.

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