16. Violet
Chapter 16
Violet
E ven 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 in my 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.
I tighten my grip on the neck, searching his face. “Where did you get this?”
His jaw twitches. “Doesn’t matter.”
“It kinda does.”
“Red.” His voice is a warning.
I hesitate, but I know a locked door when I see one. And I’m also not going to make him feel like I’m ungrateful or interrogating him. He didn’t think twice about letting me stay here with Maggie. Sure, she’s like family to him. But me? I’m not his family, and he still took me in, without a thought. And he’s been so kind to Maggie. I’m glad she has Walker and Mack.
So, I don’t push.
Instead, I run my fingers over the strings again, letting the sweet, golden sound settle into my bones.
I lost everything in that fire.
But now—he’s given me this.
And I don’t really know what to do with that.
But somehow, that guitar feels like hope. Like a blanket of reassurance that everything is going to be okay. Maggie’s safe, and that’s all that really mattered to me. I can rewrite the songs. They’re in my head, anyway. I can buy another guitar and give this one back to Walker. But I can’t replace Maggie.
Maggie decides we need to go into town .
“Supplies,” she says, listing things off on a piece of notebook paper. “Clothes. Shoes. Shampoo. Probably some snacks, because I’m not living in a house full of hungry people without emergency cookies.”
She refuses to dwell on the fire, refuses to let us sit around and feel sorry about it. At first, I wondered if she was handling everything okay. But this is just her way. She pushes through it and makes it fun.
I love that about her.
So, off we go.
Walker stays back, saying he has things to do. But I think he saw the writing on the wall and didn’t want to be dragged to a million stores to shop with us. Instead, he hands Maggie his credit card and heads out to the barn.
Maggie grins and holds it up. “Who wants to go on a shopping spree?”
I shake my head, laughing, glad my phone still holds a way to pay for my things.
Maggie doesn’t take us to some big-box department store to replace what we lost.
She takes us to the Bridger Falls Thrift Shop.
Before we can even enter the store, about a dozen people stop us and tell Maggie and me how sorry they were about the fire and that they were all safe and to offer help if we needed anything.
God, I love this town and these people. They rally around Maggie and give her the love that she deserves.
The thrift store is amazing. It’s chaotic and wonderful, packed with old books, weird lamps, and clothes that should have remained in past decades.
Mack groans as we step inside. “If you try to make me wear someone else’s old moldy jeans, I swear?— ”
Maggie pats her cheek. “Hush, child. You’re gonna love this.”
Mack just sighs, already resigned to whatever is about to happen.
But me?
I love places like this. I love thrift stores. I love finding treasures.
Because sometimes, the best things in life aren’t new.Sometimes, the best things are the ones that have been loved before.
Twenty minutes later, we are deep in the trenches. And I mean deep. It’s chaotic, hilarious, and the most fun I’ve ever had. I’ve never laughed so hard at all the ensembles we’re putting together.
Mack and I are trying on the most ridiculous outfits we can find, and Maggie is cry-laughing when Mack steps out in a floral blazer straight out of the ‘80s with puffed sleeves.
I spin in a hideous sequined prom dress, arms wide. “Maggie, be honest. Could you see me wearing this?”
Mack shakes her head. “If I ever see you in that in public, I’m pretending I don’t know you.”
Maggie wipes away tears of laughter. “Oh, honey, you look like a Vegas lounge singer on her last night before retirement.”
Mack collapses against the dressing room door, howling.
Well, I’m glad I can provide the entertainment. And it feels so good to see them smile, despite how shitty the past twenty-four hours have been.
By the time we leave the thrift store, our arms are full of clothes, accessories, and a few things Maggie insisted we needed, like a hideous owl-shaped cookie jar. Where she plans to put that, I don’t know.
Mack groans as we load up the truck. “I cannot believe we spent over two hours in there. I’m so hungry. We need food.”
Maggie beams. “And we had so much fun. ”
I settle into the passenger seat, exhaling slowly.
This morning, I woke up feeling uncertain about everything.
But right now, I feel full.
And not just because of the ridiculous amount of stuff Maggie made us buy.
Maggie loves Mack and Walker fiercely, I can see it in every tiny action—the way she fusses over Mack’s hair, the way she playfully slaps Walker’s arm when he gets too broody, the way she looks at them like they’re the best thing she ever helped build.
And somehow, she’s dragged me into this circle, too.
Like she’s decided I belong.
I don’t know what to do with that.
I don’t know if I should trust it.
But as Maggie drives us to more errands, the sun dipping low over the town that has somehow wrapped itself around my heart, I think…
Maybe I want to.
Maybe I’m ready to.
For the first time in a long time.
If Maggie can let them in, maybe I can stop being a big baby and let them in, too. But the problem isn’t with me. Walker doesn’t seem to want to let me in. Although, he is letting me stay at his home. That’s something.
By the time we pull into the Bridger Falls General store, my stomach is growling, and Mack is already plotting a snack heist like we’re about to go on a twelve-hour road trip instead of buying comfort food snacks and planning an epic sleepover.
“We need all the essentials,” Mack declares as we step inside. The automatic doors barely have time to shut before she beelines for the chip aisle.
I glance at Maggie. She gives Mack a look like they have an inside joke between the two of them. “I swear, if this turns into another ‘let’s see who can eat the most sour gummies without puking’ contest again, I’m leaving you both at the store.”
Mack waves her off, already shoving a family-sized bag of Hot Cheetos into our basket. “Maggie, please. This is a sophisticated operation. I’m grown up now. I don’t barf when I eat junk like I did when I was nine.”
Maggie snorts. “You say that like you won’t be double-fisting those hot Cheetos and soda in an hour.”
Mack pauses. “Fair.” Then she grabs two more bags for good measure.
I grab a cart and start piling in every piece of candy I can get my hands on. Reese’s, M&M’s, Skittles—if it has sugar in it, it’s going in the cart. I'm going to make a candy salad. It's going to be epic.
Maggie eyes my growing stash. “Are you planning on running a black-market candy shop out of Walker’s guest room?”
I shrug, tossing in another bag of gummy worms. “No. But if I was, you’d be my first customer.”
Maggie laughs,but I don’t miss the way she sneaks a pack of Oreos into the cart.
Mack pops up behind me, clutching a can of whipped cream like it’s a treasure map. “This is a necessity.”
I blink. “For what?” I mean, I’m not disagreeing. Whipped cream is always a necessity in my book.
“Midnight whipped cream shots.”
“Put it in the cart,” I motion. “Absolutely.”
“It’s like there are two of you now. Two peas in a pod.” Maggie looks like she’s reconsidering all her life choices. “Why did I bring you both here?”
Mack grins. “Because you love us. ”
Maggie mutters something about regrets but doesn’t take the whipped cream out of the cart.
After the sugar apocalypse has been secured, we move on to drinks.
“I’m thinking Dr Pepper and maybe some energy drinks,” I say, scanning the shelves.
Maggie immediately vetoes. “No energy drinks. The last time Mack had one, she tried to bribe the mailman to let her drive the mail truck.”
Mack sighs. “That guy had no sense of fun.”
I hold back a laugh and grab two bottles of soda instead. Mack swaps one out for a neon blue sports drink that looks vaguely radioactive.
Maggie side-eyes it. “That looks like something that would fuel a spaceship, not a human body. Walker’s going to kill me, isn’t he?”
“Probably.” Mack grins.
By the time we make it to the register, our cart looks like it belongs to a group of unsupervised teenagers at a gas station.
The cashier is a high school kid who looks both impressed and mildly concerned as he slowly scans each item.
“Big night?” he asks.
Mack nods seriously. “Sleepover.”
Maggie sighs. “More like a scheduled descent into madness.”
He looks over at Maggie and says, “Sorry to hear about the fire, Maggie.”
She smiles at him. “Thanks, honey.”
I go to swipe my card from my phone and pause while Mack grabs a pack of gum at the last second, and we haul our loot out to the truck, barely fitting all the bags in.
As I shut the door and slide into the passenger seat, I glance at Maggie, who’s staring at the massive pile of junk food like it personally offended her morals.
“Not one vegetable,” she murmurs, shaking her head.
Mack rips open a bag of Hot Cheetos and pops one in her mouth. “There’s corn in these.”
Maggie laughs andstarts the truck.
This is going to be a fun and hilarious night.
We grab some pizzas from the local pizza shop, because why not? What’s a few more junk food items. Walker’s going to think we’re all a bunch of raccoons when he sees all the food we bought at random.
The second we hit the road, Mack is already rummaging through my play lists,mumbling about how I have “the most tragic excuse for a playlist” and how it’s her duty to fix it.
Maggiesighs dramatically. “God help us on what she's going to choose.”
Mack pushes a button on the audio, and suddenly, the familiar bassline rumblefills the truck—Fleetwood Mac.
“Oh, hell yes,” I say as The Chain kicks in, that slow, haunting guitar creeping through the speakers.
Maggiethrows her arms up like we’ve just hit the chorus at a sold-out concert. “NOW we’re talking!”
She cranks the volume, and just like that, we’re flying down the road, the windows down, the crisp night air whipping through the cab, singing like we’re on a damn world tour.
Maggie is the first to start drumming on the dashboard.
Mack leans forward from the backseat, pointing at her. “You’re into it.”
Maggie scoffs, still tapping her fingers to the beat. “I will neither confirm nor deny.”
Then the chorus hits, and suddenly, we’re all shouting at the top of our lungs?—
“YOU WILL NEVER brEAK THE CHAIN! ”
I laugh and sing as the cool Wyoming air rushes in, carrying our voices out into the night.
When Go Your Own Way starts, Maggie is all into it, throwing her head back and singing without hesitation.
And for the first time all day—after the fire, the stress, the uncertainty—we’re just here. In this truck, on this road, together.
And I think we're all okay. Or we’re going to be.