Page 58 of Forever To Me

I sip my coffee, pretending I don’t hear her.

She groans. “You’re both terrible. It’s like you have a mini version of you, Walker.”

Maggie pats her hand. “Welcome to the chaos, sweetheart.”

Violet stills for half a second. Then she smiles, soft and real.

I swallow, but I'm not sure why that feels as good as it does. I like having her here in my chaos.

Chapter 16

Violet

Even though the fire is gone and the embers have cooled, I still feel the heat on my skin, the panic sitting heavy in my chest. Even though it's over, I’m still shaking off the feeling of the smoke. That was the scariest night I’ve ever lived through.

One second, I was sleeping peacefully in my bed at the motel, curled under my blankets, dreaming peacefully about songs.The next thing I knew, I was choking on smoke. Maggie was shaking me awake, her voice urgent but calm, telling me we needed to get out.

The flames weren’t at my door yet, but the air was already thick, making it hard to breathe and hard to think.

I barely remember grabbing my shoes or how Maggie’s hand felt tight around mine as she led me outside, past the smell of burning wood and lost memories.

But I remember the fear. The way we went up and down and banged on everyone’s doors until Maggie was certain we got everyone out, even the elderly gentleman and his dog.

All I can think about is how I probably would have died inmy sleep because I wouldn't have woken up if Maggie hadn't come to get me. And I think about what would have happened if I had lost Maggie. Maggie means everything to me. Other than my parents and sister, she's the closest family member that I have. I can't think about what would have happened if I had lost her.

Everything I had to my name was inside that motel.

My guitar.

My notebook that was full of the songs I had written. The only pieces of myself I still carried.

Gone.

When I first came to Bridger Falls, I really thought I had nothing other than Maggie coming here. And now that is ironically true. Now I really truly have nothing. And I’d give everything up again just to make sure everyone was safe.

Then Walker hands me a guitar the next morning like it’s nothing.

Like it’s just some extra thing he had lying around.

But I knew that wasn’t true the second I ran my fingers over the wood.

This is a real instrument. A piece of history. The kind of guitar people pass down, the kind musicians spend their whole lives looking for.

I strummed it once, and the sound was smooth as butter, rich as whiskey, deep and true.

I stared at him, stunned. “Walker, I?—”

He had looked away and shook his head like he didn’t want me to ask questions. I’ll never forget the look on his face, because I still have a million questions.

Random people don’t just own vintage guitars like that.

Random people don’t just hand them over like they don’t mean anything.

But Walker?

He just stood there, arms crossed, waiting for me to accept it. If I had turned it down, he looked like he would have been so offended.

Now it’s the next morning, and I’m dying to ask him again, and he still doesn’t want to talk about it.

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