Page 56 of Forever To Me

She wasn’t just some woman standing in the smoke, watching her things burn—she was wrecked. And seeing her like that, hearing the ache in her voice when she whispered about Maggie’s home?—

It undid something in me.

I close my eyes, pressing my knuckles against the doorframe.

I’m falling.

Hard. Fast. Without a goddamn safety net.

And I’m starting to think—maybe I don’t want a safety net.

The next morning when I wake up, Maggie and Mack are in the kitchen making coffee and talking about getting pet ducks. But they’re both in good spirits, and that makes me happy. All things considering, I hope the duck idea passes because we don’t need ducks right now. Or ever.

I glance around for Violet, and Maggie points, “Front porch.”

I glance out and see her in the same position I saw her in a few weeks ago. Only no guitar and notebook. Then it hits me. That’s what she was missing last night. Her guitar is gone. And the songs that were in that notebook she carried around.

I watch her for a second before heading into my office. When I return, I’m carrying a guitar I keep in my office.

The screen door creaks as I step out and hold the guitar out to her.

She looks up, brows knitting together. “What’s that?”

“For you. You can keep it.”

She blinks, eyes flickering between me and the guitar. “Walker, I?—”

“Just take it.”

Her hands are hesitant at first, but when she finally curls her fingers around the wood, I see how her grip tightens, like it’s something solid she wasn’t ready for.

I figured she’d like it, but I didn’t expect her to look at it like it might break her. She stares at it in her hands, her fingers ghosting over the worn wood, tracing the edges like she’s afraid of it. Her breath hitches when she blinks at me, her eyes glassy.

Shit.

I feel something tighten in my chest, something that pulls so hard it almost hurts.

She runs her fingers over the strings, testing them lightly, and the softest note hums through the air.

Then she looks up at me, her voice quiet, and I can tell she’s trying to make light of it so she won’t cry. “You just… have this amazing guitar lying around?”

I exhale, shifting my weight. “Just...it’s not a big deal.”

I’m not doing this again with her. Not talking about my music with anyone.

She doesn’t know that this guitar, the one I’ve kept locked away for years—is one of the last pieces of the life I left behind. She doesn’t know that, before this town, before The Black Dog, before Mack, this was all I had too.

She doesn’t know how much it guts me to see that same lost look in her eyes.

Because I know exactly what it feels like to lose everything.

I know what it means to start over with nothing but a few broken dreams and whatever strength you can scrape together.

And right now, in this moment, this guitar and whatever’s left of the songs in her head? That’s all she has left in the world.

So, I shake my head, pushing away the weight of my past.

“Just… play,” I murmur. “You’ll feel better.”

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