Page 87 of Forever To Me

Bringing her in to cover for Cash? One of my better decisions.

Even if it’s costing me.

Because working this close to her, spending hours in her orbit, watching the way she moves, the way she laughs, the way she fits into this place like she’s always belonged?—

It’s getting harder to ignore what’s happening between us. What’s been happening from the second she walked into my life, no matter how I try to fight it.

And then, I do things I have no business doing. Like getting involved in something I should’ve stayed the hell out of. But when I saw the look on her face when she dropped to her knees and clutched that damn dog like he was the last piece of home she’d ever had…

It was worth it.

On the way home, the road stretches dark and quiet ahead of us, the only sound the soft hum of the truck’s tires against the pavement. The stars are bright over Bridger Falls, but I focus on the yellow lines flashing beneath my headlights.

Violet is next to me, silent for once, her fingers tangled in Rip’s fur as he stretches across the seat between us, his tail giving the occasional lazy thump when she pets him. He seems like a good dog. Mack and Maggie liked him. And I didn’t miss the looks Violet kept trying to give me. She’s been sneaking glances at me since we pulled away from the bar. I can feel it.

And I know what’s coming.

“How did you do this?” she asks, her voice soft but insistent. “Just please tell me, Walker. How do you know Will Maren?”

I tighten my grip on the steering wheel, my jaw already clenching. I knew this conversation was coming, but that doesn’t mean I want to have it.

“Just leave it, Violet.”

She huffs out a breath, not letting it go. “No,” she presses, shifting to face me fully. “You—” she pauses, shaking her head like she doesn’t even know where to start. “You play guitar like a damn pro. You know famous people in Nashville. You own a guitar that most musicians would kill for, and you just—” she gestures toward me, frustration laced in her voice, “—gaveit to me. Who the hell are you, Walker?”

I exhale sharply, shaking my head. “Just stop. Please.”

She stares at me. But I don’t say anything else. Because there’s nothing to say. And so much to say. So much that I won’t say. Opening up to her is something I can’t undo if it doesn’t go well. I’m nervous as hell to tell her the truth.

She sighs, leaning back against the seat, her fingers absentmindedly scratching behind Rip’s ears.

“I used to think,” she murmurs, staring out the window, “that when I made it, when I got a record deal, everything would fall into place.”

I glance over at her. Something about her tone pulls me in.

“I had this dream, you know?” she continues, her voice distant. “Of writing music, that meant something. Of playing on stage and feeling free.”

Her laugh is bitter.

“And then I signed with a record label that made my life hell. It was called Royce Records.”

My stomach drops. Just hearing this from her lips sets me on edge. My hands grip the wheel so hard my knuckles go white.

I say nothing. Mostly, because I can’t say anything. I’m frozen by her words.

She swallows hard, still not looking at me. “Anyway, I had a best friend back in Nashville who is also in the music industry,” she says, voice tight. “We did everything together. Wrote together, played together. I trusted her with everything. She was like a mentor to me. I actually thought she was helping me. It turns out that she was just getting me to write a bunch of songs that she could steal from me.”

My heart clenches at the pain and betrayal in her voice.

“She was toxic,” Violet says flatly, like she’s learned to make peace with the words, but I know better. “Took my songs, except I wrote them. Every damn lyric. Every chord. She just put her name on them, recorded them, made them into an album.”

My chest burns, rage curling in my gut.

Violet’s voice is quieter now. Rough around the edges.

“And when I called her on it when I told her she knew damn well those songs weren’t hers?” A humorless laugh slips from her lips. “She told me if I said a word, she’d make sure I never worked in the industry ever again.”

I swear, my pulse actually stops.

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