33. Walker
Chapter 33
Walker
I don’t say a word as I grab Stella’s arm and haul her toward the door.
She stumbles in her too-high heels, yanking against my grip, but I don’t stop.
I can’t stop.
The second I saw her standing there, smirking like she owned the place, like she owned me , the air in my lungs turned to pure fire and rage.
The audacity.
She doesn’t get to be here. Not in my town . Not in my bar. Not near my daughter.
I shove the door open and drag her out into the cool Wyoming night, the door swinging shut behind us. The distant hum of music and conversation is swallowed by the silence outside, the only sound between us is the sharp click of her heels against the pavement as I let her go .
She smooths out her shirt, her lips curving into that same smug, infuriating smile that used to make me lose my mind—in every damn way .
I used to love that smile. I used to think it meant something . Now?
Now, it just makes my stomach churn. It's a smile I never wanted to see again.
Because that smile? That smile is nothing but destruction. A wrecking ball disguised as lies and expensive perfume. And I’ll be damned if she comes back here, after all these years, to tear down what I’ve built. What I’ve worked my ass off to create. The life I made for Mack. The life I made for myself.
I inhale sharply, working to contain the rage pulsing under my skin. She doesn’t get to do this. Never again. Not after what she put me through. Not after the wreckage she left behind, wreckage I barely crawled out of.
And now she’s here? Acting like she has the right to step back into our life?
She has no right. She signed those rights away and left our baby all alone just hours old. But my anger isn’t just about me. It’s about Mack .
She’s in there, in the bar, probably trying to act like she’s fine, but I know my kid. I know when she’s putting on a brave face. And even if she’s indifferent now, this will affect her. How can it not? And I’ll be damned if I let Stella hurt her, too.
I force the words through gritted teeth. “What are you doing here, Stella?”
My voice is low. Rough. Barely restrained.
She lets out a breathy, almost laughable little sigh, pressing a manicured hand to her chest.
“Asher—”
I shake my head. “ No. Cut the shit. Why the hell are you here?”
Her lips press together, the mask slipping just enough for me to see something else beneath it, desperation. The need to control the situation and manipulate it to her benefit .
“I fucked up,” she whispers, her voice small. “I know I fucked up.”
I say nothing. Because what is there to say? She’s right. She did . In more ways than I can count.
She swallows, eyes darting over my face like she’s searching for a weak spot.
That used to work on me. She used to look at me like that, and I’d soften. I’d let her in. I’d believe whatever bullshit she fed me because I thought I could fix things, fix us. But I’m not that man anymore.
Not after what she did and not after what it cost me.
“I just…I want to make amends,” she says softly. “I want to see her. I want to see my daughter .”
The words hit me like a kick to the gut. I go still . My body moves before I think, stepping closer, my voice dropping to something dark, something dangerous .
“You don’t get to call her that.” My hands curl into fists at my sides. “You signed away your rights. You don’t even know her name , Stella.”
She flinches. But only for a second before she tilts her chin up, all faux confidence and arrogance wrapped in a designer coat.
“That’s not fair,” she breathes. “You kept her from me.”
I laugh . A sharp, bitter sound."That's not true at all, and you know it. You walked away and left her alone in the hospital. You didn’t even wait for me."
She shakes her head, eyes wide, dripping with the same manipulation she’s always used. “You don’t know what I went through, Asher. You don’t know .”
That name.That damn name. I hate hearing her say my name.
My fists tighten. My jaw locks . I grind my teeth together. “ Don’t call me that.” I love it when Violet says it but when Stella says it, it sounds patronizing.
Her lips curve. “It’s who you are.”
I don’t wait for her to say another word. I turn back toward the bar and push the door open. Inside, Maggie waits, her arms crossed, her eyes soft but knowing.
I exhale, rubbing my jaw. “Take Mack to my office. Keep her there until Stella leaves.”
Maggie nods, already moving. “Come on, sweetheart,” she says gently to Mack, who looks more confused than anything.
Mack frowns, looking at me. “Dad, I’m fine.”
I shake my head. “Just… go with Maggie, okay?”
I need to know she’s safe. I need to know she’s away from this .
Mack sighs but follows Maggie. As soon as the office door clicks shut, I let out a slow breath, pressing my hands to the bar.
And then, before I can even think about what happens next, Violet is in front of me, eyes blazing.
“Did you know?” My voice is quiet, dangerous. “Did you know before tonight that she was my ex?”
Violet’s mouth opens, then closes. “No,” she breathes. “Of course not.”
I want to believe her. I should believe her. But, like Stella says, this is really convenient. How could we both have the same enemy? And how did she even find us? Did Violet lead her right to us? How else could she know?
But after everything I’ve been through, after what Stella did, my chest tightens with something ugly.
Violet sees it. And it shatters her. Her face falls, her arms dropping to her sides. “You don’t believe me.”
I exhale, trying to fight the doubt, trying to push it away . But I don’t answer fast enough. And that silence? That’s what kills her .
She shakes her head, stepping back. “Wow.” Her voice is thick, raw. “Guess I don’t know you as well as I thought either.”
Then she turns and walks out.
I wake up with a pounding head and the sharp sting of regret pressing heavy on my chest.
The cabin is dark, the only light coming from the early morning sun filtering through the curtains. My mouth is dry, my body heavy, the remnants of last night’s whiskey still burning low in my stomach.
I don’t drink like that. Not anymore. But last night?
Last night, I needed something to numb the ache in my chest, to drown out the feeling of her, the way she looked at me when she walked away, when I let her.
So, I came here. To my safe place.
I tried to work on a song, thinking maybe I could get it out of me , the anger, the confusion, the damn hurt , but nothing came. No words. No melody.
Just silence.
Except now, sitting up in bed, I realize something. It doesn’t feel safe anymore. It feels empty . Because she’s everywhere.
Her coffee mug still sits in the sink, the one she always used because she swore it made the coffee taste better. One of her hair ties is on the nightstand, forgotten, like she just stepped out for a second and might come back.
And then, I see the flannel. It’s draped over the chair by the fireplace, the one she always curled up in when she stayed over. I don’t even have to pick it up to know it still smells like her.
I do it anyway. The scent is faint , but it’s there . Vanilla and coconut. Something that smells like home . I inhale sharply, clenching my jaw .
Damn her.
Damn the way she’s in every corner of this place. Damn the way I can still hear her laugh, see her curled up on the couch, wearing my flannel and pretending like she wasn’t stealing it.
Damn the way I pushed her away.
I step out onto the porch and lean on the railing, trying to ground myself.
I rake my hand through my hair, trying to pull myself together, when suddenly, I hear it.
Click. Click. Click.
The sound of cameras. I freeze. Then—the shouting starts. Voices just beyond the tree line.
“Asher Wyatt, over here!”
More cameras. More clicks.
I shove the flannel down, my stomach twisting . How the hell did they find me here? I go inside and close the door. Clenching my jaw, I move toward the window. Sure enough, past the porch, a group of them stands on my property, cameras raised, flashes going off even in the early morning light.
“Jesus Christ.”
I grab my phone off the nightstand, dialing fast. It rings twice before a deep, steady voice answers.
“Matthews.”
“Sheriff,” I grit out. “I need your help. Now.”
A pause. “What’s going on?”
I exhale sharply. “Reporters. They’re on my property. Trespassing.”
His voice turns sharp. “I'll send out help.”
“Thanks.”
I hang up and immediately text Maggie.
Me: There are reporters at my cabin.
A second later, my phone buzzes.
Maggie: They’ve been at your front damn door too .
I curse under my breath. Because I know exactly how they found me. I know exactly who led them here. The one person who is hellbent on destroying me. She didn’t get what she wanted last night, so now she’s doing this. I know it.
Stella.
Rage coils in my chest. My fists clench, my jaw tightens, at how she’s exposed me. Told the world exactly where to find me, where to find Mack.
I shove open the front door, only to see Maggie standing on the cabin’s porch, her arms crossed, eyes sharp as she glares at the people with cameras standing beyond my fence.
Damn it, she must have driven back here. “Where’s Mack?” I ask her, needing to know that she’s safe. But the one person I can’t bring myself to ask about is Violet.
“She’s getting ready for school, you lunatic. Now get yourself together and come deal with all of this.”
I swear and grab my stuff and follow her out, ignoring the chaos.
This was supposed to be my sanctuary. The one place I built from the ground up where no one could touch me, where no one could touch Mack. And now? Now the vultures are circling.
“How the hell did they get here so fast?” I grind out.
Maggie exhales, shaking her head. “When I got up this morning, this mess was already happening.” She jerks her chin toward the chaos. “Your ex-wife wasted no time, did she?”
My teeth grind together. “She just couldn’t help herself.”
Maggie sighs, stepping closer. “Walker, listen to me?—”
“No.” My voice is sharp, cutting. “You know who did this, Maggie. You know how she operates.”
Maggie studies me for a long moment, then says something that makes my stomach churn. “You know who wouldn’t do this? "
My fists tighten. “Maggie,” I warn.
But she doesn’t back down. “She’s my niece,” she reminds me, voice steady. “And you know damn well she wouldn’t purposely set you up like this. You’re acting like an asshole to the wrong person, Walker.”
I let out a sharp breath, scrubbing a hand over my face. “Then why else would she be here so randomly? And she was friends with Stella.”
Because it doesn’t make sense. None of it does. The timing, the connection, the way this whole damn thing blew up the second she walked into my life. I don’t believe in coincidences. Not anymore. And if she didn’t know and was truly innocent in all of this, then why does it feel like I’ve been set up all over again?
Maggie’s eyes flash. “Because she loves you, you damn fool. She never came here for you. She came here to find a safe place to land. Which turned out to be you. She never meant for any of this to happen, it just did.”
Maggie and I ride in her truck over to the house, leaving the boat to deal with for another time.
Before I can open the door to the house, it swings open. Mack steps outside, her arms crossed tight over her chest. She glances at the camera crew perched at the end of the driveway, then at me. “Seriously? Why would you mess things up with Violet?”
I don’t have an answer for that. Because I don’t know . Because the truth is—I know that this is all very bad. Also, I don’t know how far Stella will go.
I don’t know what game she’s playing, or what her end goal is. But I do know one thing.
She’s a viper. And I don’t trust a damn thing that comes out of her mouth .
I exhale sharply, looking at Mack. “How are you doing with all of this? Do you want to talk to her?”
Mack hesitates. Just for a second. Then she says, “Part of me, yes. Because I’m curious .” She swallows hard. “But part of me, no . Because she seems so... toxic.”
I nod, throat tight. “When someone shows you who they are, believe it. She's shown us.”
And that’s what terrifies me. That Stella will find a way to sink her claws into Mack. That even after all these years, she’ll find some twisted way to manipulate her, the same way she did to me. Mack says she doesn’t need her, that she doesn’t even want her, but she’s fifteen. And I know what it’s like to want answers. To wonder if the person who left ever really cared and then brutally find out that they actually didn’t.
Maggie sighs, rubbing Mack’s shoulder. “Sweetheart, whatever you decide, just know you don’t owe her anything.”
Mack nods. But then she turns on me, and her glare is almost as sharp as Maggie’s. “You’re being an idiot,” she announces.
I blink. “Excuse me?”
She glares harder. “Why are you letting Stella win ?”
My chest tightens. “I’m not?—”
“You are,” she interrupts. “You know that, right?” She throws up her hands. “Violet is our family now, Dad. And you just threw her away.”
Maggie exhales. “She’s got a point, Walker.”
I clench my jaw. “I needed to think.”
Mack scoffs. “To think? Or come up with an excuse?”
The words hit harder than I want them to. Because deep down, I know she’s right. I didn’t push Violet away because I needed to think. I pushed her away because I’m scared. Because it’s easier to shove people out before they can leave on their own. Because what if she knew? What if she’s not the person I thought she was? And worse, what if I let myself believe in something real again, only to have it ripped away?
But Mack isn’t finished.
“You’re mad at the wrong person, Dad.” Her voice cracks. “You’re mad at Stella. Not Violet.”
I swallow hard, my chest twisting.
Maggie nods, arms crossed. “Walker, if you keep this up, you’re going to lose Violet. She stayed at Cami’s last night.”
I don’t answer. Because I don’t know what to say. Because they’re right. Because the anger is still there, boiling under my skin, but the doubt is starting to creep in, too.
And I hate it.
I exhale sharply and pull out my phone, my fingers already dialing before I can stop myself.
Maggie and Mack watch as I put the phone to my ear.
A few rings, then, “Walker?” Will Maren’s voice is groggy, like I just woke him up.
“I need help,” I grit out.
Will sighs. “If this is about the label, I already?—”
“It’s not about that.” I exhale sharply. “It’s about Stella.”
Silence. Then, “Shit.”
“Yeah.”
Another beat of silence. Then Will mutters, “Tell me everything.”
So, I do.
And as I talk, as I lay it all out, something shifts.
Because for the first time, I finally start to see how badly I might have just screwed up.