31. Walker
Chapter 31
Walker
V iolet hums the melody under her breath, tapping her fingers against the body of her guitar. She’s been sitting across from me on the couch in the cabin for the past hour, looking unfairly gorgeous in my old green and black flannel and a pair of leggings, her hair piled up in one of those messy buns that makes my hands itch to pull it loose.
We're supposed to be writing a song. But hell, how am I supposed to focus when she looks so beautiful in my space, wearing another one of my damn shirts?
I strum a chord, watching her. “What if we take the second verse up a notch?”
She tilts her head. “You mean make it sadder? Or sexier?”
I swallow hard. “I was thinking…both?” Big mistake. Now I can’t stop thinking about her voice, low and breathy, about how damn thing she says sounds like it was made to wreck me.
Her lips curve. “Bold choice, Asher.”
I love it when she says my name.
She jots something down in her notebook, biting the end of the pen. I watch her mouth, completely losing my train of thought .
She lifts an eyebrow. “You got something, or are you just staring at me?”
Busted. I clear my throat and lean forward, resting my forearms on my knees. “Maybe something about knowing you shouldn’t love someone, but you do anyway. Like, ‘I know this isn't supposed to happen, but I’d still burn it down for you.’”
The second I sing it, I know. It’s not just a song. It’s the truth. She’s fire, and I’m the fool who’d burn the world down for her.
Her breath hitches. She blinks at me, something unreadable flickering in her emerald-green eyes. “That’s…” She swallows, her voice softer now. “That’s good.”
We sit there for a second, the air thick. I don’t know if it’s the late hour or the low glow of the fire, but suddenly, the space between us feels way too small.
She licks her lips. “Sing it.”
I grab my guitar, strum the opening chords, and let the words roll out low and rough.
"I know this isn’t safe, but I’d still cross that fire for you…
One step, one touch, and I’m burned right through…”
When I look up, her expression is unreadable. But her eyes are locked on mine, deep and wanting.
Screw it.
I set the guitar aside, reach for her, and pull her into my lap. She gasps, but it’s swallowed when my mouth covers hers.
The kiss is slow at first, hesitant, like maybe she’s still testing the waters. But then she fists her hands in my shirt and presses closer, and every rational thought I have flies straight out the window.
I used to be worried about everything. But now I'm not. I don’t care about the risks, the lines we swore we wouldn’t cross. All I care about is how good she feels and how right this feels. For once, something feels right, and I love it .
Her taste is like wild honey and temptation, her breath warm as she sighs against me. I slide a hand into her hair, letting it free, running my fingers through it, tilting her head to deepen the kiss. She melts into me, soft and perfect, and I know there’s no going back.
She is the kind of woman that ruins a man for anyone else. And I think I was already ruined since our first night together.
This isn’t a maybe for me. This isn’t a mistake.
This is everything I didn’t know I needed.
Sunlight filters through the curtains, spilling golden light across the room.
Violet’s still asleep, curled up against my side with one arm draped over my stomach. Her hair is a mess, her lips are a little swollen from last night, and I swear, I’ve never seen anything prettier.
I could wake up like this for the rest of my life. And the worst part? I don’t even feel panicked by that thought. It just feels...right.
I run my fingers down her back, watching her breathe.
But all I can think is, God, I love her. I can't imagine myself not being able to love her.
I should be scared. This should freak me out. But it doesn’t. Not anymore. Not even a little. And then, like it comes out of nowhere, another thought hits me.
I don’t just love her. I want to build something with her. Not just a life. But something real and that matters.
Something like a record label.
I’ve spent years avoiding the music industry because I hated how it chewed artists up and spit them out. But maybe that’s the problem. Maybe the only way to change it is to step in and build something better. Be a safe place for artists who can create in peace and not be taken advantage of.
The idea clicks into place so fast that I almost laugh. It's like it's been there all along.
I’m sick of labels like Royce Records screwing over artists. Sick of watching people like Violet get stolen from and cheated. Artists deserve to be treated fairly.
What if I built something better? Something independent, something fair?
Violet stirs, her fingers curling against my chest. She lets out a sleepy little sound and blinks up at me. “Why are you awake? Stop thinking so loud.”
I grin. “I’ve got an idea.”
She groans, burying her face against my shoulder. “No ideas this early.”
“Oh, I think you’ll like this one.” I trail my fingers down her spine, and she shivers. “What if I started my own record label?”
She lifts her head, eyes still heavy with sleep. “Wait. What?”
"Red, I'm serious. I want to do this.” I shift to face her. “I know music. I know the business. And I know I’m sick of watching talented artists get screwed over.”
She blinks. “You’re serious.”
“Dead serious.” I brush her hair back. “What do you think?”
She studies me for a long moment, then leans in and kisses me soft, slow, and deep. Pulling back, she whispers, “Okay, I take it back. I love your early morning ideas.”
And just like that, I know this is a good idea. This is going to change everything.
I haven’t been this keyed up in a long time. I’m so excited about all of this. My mind whirls and buzzes with energy. I don’t want to sit around and wait on this. I know exactly who I can talk to more about this .
Will picks up on the second ring.
“You got five minutes, Walker,” he says. "I’m about to walk into a meeting with Royce Records where I have to pretend to be nice, smile like I don’t want to strangle someone, and resist the urge to flip a table."
I smirk. “I’ll make it quick. I'm starting my own label.”
Dead silence. Then, “I’m sorry, what?”
“You heard me. I’m done watching Royce screw people over. I want something better. Something fair.”
I expect him to call me crazy. Hell, I half expect myself to call me crazy. But the second I say it out loud, it clicks. This isn’t just an idea. It’s a damn good one.
Will exhales. “Well, shit. I can’t even make fun of you because that’s a damn good idea.”
“You can still make fun of me. I know you want to.”
“Oh, I will. Later.” He pauses. “How's Rip Heeler doing?”
I grin. “He's living the dream, chasing goats. Thanks again for that, Maren."
"Alright, so remember when I asked you for a favor for that?" he says.
"Yes," I say hesitantly.
"What if I kick this meeting, and we sign my artist to your future label? Sure would like to deal with you and not Royce ever again."
I grip the back of my neck. “That’s exactly why I want to do this.”
Will hums. “And this has nothing to do with the fact that you’re madly in love with Violet Wilson?”
I scowl. “That's...”
He sounds amused as hell. “Because last time I checked, you were a grumpy bastard, and now you’re out here playing ‘Love Me Tender’ on your guitar like a damn fool.”
I sigh. “Are you done? ”
Will laughs. “Oh, I’m not even close to being done. But just know that the next time we talk, I’m bringing popcorn to watch you trip all over yourself for this woman.”
I should deny it. I should roll my eyes. But instead, I just smirk and say, “I already fell, Maren.”
And I don’t want to get back up. I'm a goner for Violet Wilson.
Violet paces back and forth like a caged animal, mumbling song lyrics under her breath while clutching her guitar like it might strangle her if she lets go.
We’re only a week out from the county fair, and tomorrow night is her practice run at the Black Dog. But with every passing hour, her nerves grow.
I lean back against the couch, arms crossed, watching her and wondering when she’ll wear herself out.
She’s doing that thing again, winding herself up until she’s ready to combust. And damn, if it isn’t kind of adorable. She chews on her bottom lip and mutters under her breath like she’s trying to bargain with the universe. I should let her burn off some of this nervous energy, but if I don’t step in, she’s liable to wear a hole through my damn floor.
“Red.”
No response.
“Violet.”
Still nothing. She’s muttering to herself now, something about forgetting chords and making a fool of herself.
I sigh. “Baby.”
That gets her attention. She stops mid-pace, whipping her head toward me at the new endearment. “What?”
I nod toward the chair in front of me. “Sit. ”
“I can’t sit! I have to do something. I?—”
“Sit, or I’m carrying you over here.”
Her eyes narrow. “You wouldn’t dare.”
I arch a brow. “You wanna test me?”
She mutters something about bossy cowboys but plops down in the chair, gripping the guitar like it’s a damn life raft.
I kneel in front of her, resting my forearms on her thighs. “You nervous?”
She lets out a sharp laugh. “No, I just love sweating through my shirt for fun.”
“It’s not a good look on you, anyway. Maybe take it off," I tease.
She groans, dropping her head back. “Walker, I’m being serious. What if I mess up? What if I completely bomb? Cami is counting on me. I am not ready. I just keep hearing the voices telling me I shouldn’t do this anymore.”
I reach out, plucking the guitar from her lap and resting it against mine. My fingers instinctively find the strings, a soft chord ringing out as I strum. It’s automatic and easy like breathing.
It always comes back to this. The weight of a guitar in my hands, the feel of the strings against my fingers. No matter how much I try to bury the musician in me, it never left. And right now, I feel like that part of me is waking up again, but not for me. For her. For Red. And for future artists.
“You’re not gonna bomb,” I say, nodding for her to watch my hands. “You just need to trust yourself. And the music.”
She huffs. “That’s easy for you to say. You’ve done this a million times.”
I shrug. “And you think I never got nervous?”
She hesitates. “Did you?”
“All the damn time.” I pluck a simple melody, letting the sound settle between us. “But here’s the trick. Half of performing is looking like you belong there, even when you’re freaking out inside. You have to practice putting on your poker face. Sometimes every damn time.”
She watches my fingers as I play, her bottom lip tucked between her teeth.
I pause and lean forward. “Look at me, baby.”
She does. Her eyes are still laced with worry, but there’s something else there, too.
God, those green eyes. I could drown in them if I let myself. And the worst part? I don’t think I’d fight it.
“You know this song like the back of your hand,” I say. “So, when you step up there, don’t think about everything that could go wrong. Just feel the music. Let your body move with it, keep your breath steady, and if you get lost, just come back to the rhythm. It’ll be there for you.”
She swallows. “And where do I look?”
I smirk. “Depends. If you wanna make ‘em swoon, pick someone in the crowd and sing like you’re telling just them a secret.”
Her brows lift, and she grins. “I guess I could dothat.”
“It works.” I grin. “If you’re nervous, pick a point above their heads. No one knows the difference.”
She nods slowly, rolling the advice over in her mind. Then she leans forward slightly. “And what about staying in tune?”
I can’t help it; I laugh. “Red, if you go off-key, just take a breath, regroup, and jump back in. No one’s gonna throw tomatoes at you… probably.”
She gasps. “A new worry unlocked!”
I grin. “You'll do great.”
She shoves my shoulder, but she’s smiling now, the tension finally breaking. I reach for her hand, sliding my fingers between hers, playing with them absently.
She watches me, eyes tracing over my face. “You miss this, don’t you?”
The question catches me off guard. I pause, running my thumb over her knuckles. “I don’t miss performing and being in the spotlight.” I glance down at my hands and how they rest so easily on the guitar. “I think those days might be over for me.”
She frowns. “But?”
I take a breath, letting the truth settle before I say it. “But I’m really excited about the label.” I look back at her. “Helping artists. Giving people a chance without having to sell their souls to the industry. That feels right.”
And maybe, just maybe, I’m starting to believe I can build something real. Something worth holding onto. Just like her.
Something shifts in her expression. She squeezes my hand. “You’re gonna change a lot of lives, Walker.”
I let out a breathless laugh. “I hope so.”
Her lips part slightly, like she’s not sure if she should kiss me or shove me for getting too deep. So I make the decision for her.
I set the guitar aside, reach up, and pull her down into my lap. She gasps as she lands against my chest, straddling me, her hands instinctively landing on my shoulders. I smirk up at her. “Better?”
She breathes out a laugh. “You are so?—”
Whatever insult she had on her lips leaves when I thread my fingers into her hair and kiss her. Hell, I should’ve done this sooner. Maybe then I wouldn’t have spent so long fighting this with her. Because this kiss is everything.
She melts into me immediately, hands curling into my shirt, pressing closer like she can’t help herself. Her lips are warm and soft, and when she sighs against my mouth, I deepen the kiss, tilting her head to claim more of her.
Her fingers slide into my hair, tugging just enough to make my pulse slam.
I groan against her lips. “You keep doing that, and I’m not gonna be responsible for what happens next.”
She grins, challenging me. “Oh? What's going to happen?”
I grip her hips and flip her onto the couch, pinning her beneath me before she can blink. She gasps, and my grin is slow and wicked.
“You were saying?”
Her breath catches. She tilts her chin up, eyes locked on mine, daring me to kiss her again.
So I do.
If I was lost before, I’m completely gone now. This is it. This is her. And no way in hell am I letting go.