15. Walker
Chapter 15
Walker
T he drive to The Dogwood is quiet tonight.
Violet sits in my truck, legs tucked up, fingers playing with the hem of her sweater. I can tell she wants to say something, but she doesn’t. And I don’t push.
I pull up to The Dogwood, the porch light casting a soft glow over the old wooden steps to her door.
She shifts, undoing her seatbelt. “Thanks for the ride, Walker.”
I nod, watching as she grips the doorhandle, hesitating for half a second before turning back to me.
“I like your kid. And I had fun tonight.”
I glance at her, a flicker of warmth settling in my chest. “Yeah,” I murmur. “She’s something.”
She smiles, soft and real, then steps out into the night.
I wait until she reaches the door until I see her disappear inside.
Then, and only then, do I drive away.
I drive slowly, the engine's hum steady beneath my hands, but my mind’s not on the road. It’s still back there .
Still back on the porch, watching Violet disappear inside her room, still hearing the way she’d said it.
“I like your kid. And I had fun tonight.”
Simple words. Casual, even. But somehow, they settle deep, lodging themselves right in my chest.
I grip the wheel a little tighter, exhaling through my nose. I shouldn’t like this. Shouldn’t like the way she looked sitting across from Mack and Maggie tonight, laughing over fries, tossing fries at Pickles like she belonged there.
But I do like this.
God help me, I really do.
I saw it happen tonight. The way Mack, my impossible, sharp-tongued, full-of-hellfire kid, started gravitating toward her, the same way she does with Maggie. How Violet met her head-on, matching her wit for wit, teasing but never condescending, treating her like a person instead of just a kid.
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.
I spot Jack first. He’s standing near the truck, sweat and soot smeared across his face, talking fast with the firefighter crew. Our fire department’s small—mostly volunteers, mostly men and women who’ve got regular jobs during the day but show up when the sirens wail, no questions asked.
And tonight, they’re all here. Because when one of us goes down, we all show up.
I see Poppystanding near the fire truck, her blond hair pulled back tight, streaks of black on her arms where she must’ve wiped sweat and ash away. She’s talking with another firefighter, her expression tight, eyes scanning the crowd.
And then there’s Ollie, all business, all firefighter mode,directing the last of the containment. His crew moves fast, securing the area, knocking down lingering flames whilesteam rises up in thick, angry clouds where water meets fire.
I step out of my truck, my boots hitting the ground hard, my chest tight with something I don’t have a name for yet.
Because standing here, watching my town—the people I know—band together in the face of disaster and destruction…
It does something to me.
Because this is Bridger Falls.
This is home.
And no matter how much I tell myself I don’t get attached or try to keep my distance, it pulls me in.
I take a step forward, scanning the scene, my heart hammering as I spot one person in particular in the crowd.
Violet.
And when I see her—standing near Maggie, her arms crossed, eyes locked on the blaze with something unreadable written all over her face?—
Everything else falls away.Something tightens in my chest.
Mack rushes to Maggie first, wrapping her arms around her.
Maggie looks up, and when she sees me, her shoulders sag just a little with relief.
Forgetting my boundaries, I can’t help it when I step up to Violet and pull her into my chest, my arms wrapping around her protectively, utterly relieved that both of them are okay and safe. Violet leans into me, pulling me close, needing the hug.
“Hey,” I murmur. “You both alright?”
Maggie nods, but her voice is hoarse. “Everything’s gone.”
"I'm so sorry, Aunt Maggie," Violet whispers as she reaches for her hand.
Maggie squeezes her hand. “They’re just things, sugar. I'm so glad everyone is safe.”
I watch Violet swallow hard, her throat working like she’s trying to keep something down. But I know better .
This isn’t just stuff to either of them. It’s not just things lost in the fire.
I see it—the grief, the fear, the weight of it all—sitting heavy in their eyes. The kind of weight that doesn’t just come from watching a place burn—it comes from knowing what could’ve happened. From what almost did. And I can't let my brain go there. I can't.
I exhale sharply, rubbing the back of my neck. I can’t stand it.
“Come on,” I say, my voice firm, leaving no room for argument. “You’re coming with us.”
She blinks. “What?”
I gesture toward Maggie and Mack. “You’re both staying with us. End of discussion.”
Violet hesitates, chewing her lip, her gaze flicking to Maggie, then back to me. She’s torn.
“I can go stay with my parents in Indiana,” she says, but there’s a quiet edge to it. A reluctance. “But… I don’t want to leave you.”
And maybe it’s the smoke in the air, maybe it’s the way the firelight still flickers in her eyes, but the truth hits me like a hammer to the chest.
I don’t want her to go anywhere else. Sure as hell not Indiana.
I find Ollie and clap him on the back, relieved he’s okay, too. This was a nasty fire. “What the hell happened?”
He shrugs, wiping sweat from his brow. “Not sure. We’ll know more tomorrow. Just glad we got everyone out safe.”
Maggie and Violet finish getting checked out by the paramedic, finally clear to go. I see them scan the crowd for me.
“Thanks, man. I’m going to get Maggie and Violet home.”
He nods and returns to cleaning up his equipment.
The truck is quiet on the way home .
Maggie and Mack talk softly in the back seat, but Violet stares out the window, her fingers curled around the blanket still draped over her shoulders.
I don’t say anything.
Not until we pull into my driveway, the house looming against the backdrop of trees and night.
I cut the engine. “We’re home,” I murmur.
Violet lets out a soft, shaky breath.
Then, finally, she nods. As if she’s trying to convince herself of something.
Inside, Maggie and Mack head upstairs to settle in. Mack brings down clean pajamas for Violet and hands them to her, looking sad for her.
But Violet lingers in the living room, arms wrapped around herself like she’s trying to hold something together.
My room and bathroom are on the main floor of the house, a guest room with a bathroom on the other side of the house. Upstairs is Mack’s room and three other bedrooms, one that Maggie uses when she stays. Maggie has a lot of her things up there already, thankfully, and has extra clothes here.
Violet has nothing now. All her things were in that motel. And I know it’s not just things. She had that guitar, her notebook I've seen her writing songs in. Everything she has is gone.
“Hey, come on,” I murmur as I lead her to the guest room. I check for bathroom towels and ensure she has everything she might need.
She still looks a little shell-shocked, so I hug her. “It’s okay.”
She leans into me, holding me. “That place was Maggie’s home and her livelihood. She lived there for over thirty years,” she whispers.
I know she lost a lot, too. But her concern for Maggie is selfless, and I can tell she cares as much as I do. I hate seeing the loss Maggie is facing .
“I know. I'm just relieved that you’re all safe.” I rub her back.
She steps back and nods. “Yeah, you’re right.”
“Get some sleep, Red. It’s gonna be okay.”
I linger in the doorway after she disappears into the guest room, my fingers curling around the frame, my pulse still too damn uneven.
That hug—Jesus.
I can still feel the way she leaned into me, her body pressed against mine, her fingers gripping the back of my shirt like she needed something to hold on to. Like she needed me to hold on to.
And I didn’t hesitate. Not for a second.
When Maggie needs me, I show up. Her niece is like family, too. I try to tell myself this, anyway.
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.”
She studies me for a long second—like she sees something in me I don’t want her to.
But then she nods and strums another note, and just like that, I know she’s already finding her way back. And damn it, so am I.
I finish the barn chores, and when I step back into the kitchen, chaos is already in full swing.
Maggie whips batter in a mixing bowl like she’s on a mission. Mack sits on the counter, barefoot and smug, flipping through her phone. Violet, still in her borrowed sweatpants and hoodie from last night, leans against the fridge, grinning at both. Pickles runs back and forth, excited that so many people are here.
“What is happening?” I ask, crossing my arms.
Maggie gestures at the mess of flour and butter across the counter. “Making breakfast, obviously.”
I arch a brow. “Yeah, but why are you cooking? ”
“Oh, don’t be dramatic,” she scolds, swatting me with a dish towel. “We’re celebrating.”
Mack looks up. “Celebrating what?”
“Being alive,” Maggie says.
The words land heavier than they should.
For a second, we all get quiet.
Because last night could’ve gone a lot differently.
Violet’s gaze flickers to me, and I see the weight of it in her eyes too.
Maggie claps her hands together, breaking the moment. “Anyway! Waffles fix everything.”
Mack rolls her eyes. “That is a lie, but I’ll allow it.”
Violet chuckles, looking over at me. “You gonna let her burn those waffles, Walker?”
I exhale, shaking my head. “I will if I want to live, apparently.”
Maggie smirks. “Smart man.”
We eat at the big farmhouse table, plates piled with waffles and syrup.
It’s loud—Mack and Violet throwing sarcastic comments back and forth, Maggie fussing over how much syrup everyone uses. The truth is, we kind of need the syrup to cover up the taste of the waffles. Maggie is a terrible cook, but we say nothing and dig in.
And somehow, it feels normal.
Like this isn’t temporary.
Like they’ve always been here.
Mack teases Violet relentlessly about something—probably how she nearly fell on her face earlier when she tripped over my dog in the hallway.
“That was a velociraptor attack,” Violet says, pointing her fork at Mack.
Mack smirks. “She was literally asleep. ”
“I think she moved last second,” Violet accuses.
“Riiiiiiight,” Mack counters.
“Walker, tell your daughter that your puppy is an energetic velociraptor,” Violet pleads.
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.