Page 13 of The Rebel with Broken Strings
Gunner said, “Tom, it’s so good to see you, man.”
“Back at you,” Tom said, and the two men hugged.
When Tom leaned away, he held on to Gunner’s shoulders. “Things good?” he asked gently.
Gunner hesitated and then nodded. “Yeah, I’m good.”
Aubrey’s curiosity piqued at his long pause. She busied herself with wiping down a nearby table, straining to hear.
“I’m feeling good,” Gunner continued. “I’m staying strong and keeping up with the physical therapy to keep the pain away.”
Realization dawned on Aubrey. This must be Gunner’s substance abuse counselor. She felt a twinge of guilt for eavesdropping but couldn’t bring herself to walk away. She knew his past addiction must always weigh on him, but hearing the vulnerability in his voice made it all too real. She wanted to go to him, to offer comfort, but she held back. Getting close to Gunner was dangerous territory. Her fingers trembled slightly as she continued to wipe down another table, her ears still attuned to Gunner’s conversation.
“I’ve been writing again,” said Gunner, his voice tinged with cautious hope. “It’s helping, you know? Channeling all those feelings into something positive.”
Tom responded warmly. “That’s fantastic, Gunner. Music has always been your lifeline.”
Aubrey’s breath caught in her throat. She’d heard Gunner’s songs before, but now she understood the depth of emotion behind them. Her eyes flickered to his strong hands as they absently strummed his guitar, wondering how many demons those fingers had battled.
“It’s hard when the past creeps up,” Gunner admitted, his shoulders sagging slightly. “Especially when I think about how I’ve let people down.”
The raw honesty in his voice made Aubrey’s heart clench. She found herself wanting to reach out, to tell him he hadn’t let her down. But the memory of their one passionate week and the complications it brought stopped her cold. She couldn’t risk being hurt at the expense of anyone else anymore.
Tom patted him on the shoulder. “You’re doing the work, Gunner. That’s what matters.”
As the conversation wound down, Aubrey retreated behind the bar, her mind a whirlwind. She’d been so determined to keep Gunner at arm’s length, to protect herself from the intensity of her feelings for him. But now, with more of a glimpse into the battles he fought daily, she felt her resolve weakening.
“Dammit,” she muttered, closing her eyes briefly. How could she reconcile her growing empathy for Gunner with her need for self-preservation? The urge to comfort him warred with her instinct to maintain distance.
Gunner’s rich laugh drifted across the room, and Aubrey’s eyes snapped open, drawn to him like a magnet. Their gazes locked for a moment, and she saw a flicker of vulnerability beneath his easy smile.
“Get it together, Hale,” she muttered to herself, tearing her gaze away only to have it drawn back moments later when Tom headed back to the table he sat at with two companions.
She watched Gunner from across the room as he sat on a stool on the stage, guitar cradled in his lap, those strong, calloused hands fine-tuning the strings with a tenderness that made her breath catch.
Why was this all so damn confusing?
Following Aubrey’s line of sight, Willow sidled up next to her, polishing a whiskey glass. “He’s really come a long way from that YouTube video we saw, hasn’t he?” she said, a note of pride in her voice.
Aubrey swallowed hard, nodding. “Yeah, seems like it.” The video was the very last show he’d done a couple years ago. He was out of his mind high and aggressive and smashed his guitar on the stage before storming off.
“I mean, look at him up there,” Willow continued, oblivious to Aubrey’s internal struggle. “Focused, sober, ready to perform. It’s just awesome.”
“Mmm-hmm,” Aubrey hummed, desperately searching for a change of subject. Her eyes landed on the cocktail menu. “So, about those new featured drinks we’re rolling out this weekend…”
Willow raised an eyebrow, clearly catching on to Aubrey’s deflection. “Right, the cocktails. What’ve you got in mind?”
As Aubrey launched into a description of her latest concoction, which she’d named Rose Kiss, she couldn’t help but steal another glance at Gunner. Their eyes met briefly, and she felt that familiar pull, the one she’d been fighting since that first night his eyes met hers in Atlanta. She clenched her jaw, determination warring with desire.
But then her heart skipped a beat as a petite redhead entered the bar and sauntered up to the stage, her eyes fixed on Gunner like a lioness stalking her prey. Poppy’s form-fitting dress and stride screamed confidence.
“Well, hello there, handsome,” Poppy purred, leaning against the stage. “You must be the famous Gunner Woods I’ve heard so much about.”
Gunner’s eyes crinkled as he flashed that heart-stopping smile. “Guilty as charged,” he said, setting his guitar aside. “And you are?”
“Poppy, Charly’s wedding planner.” She twirled a strand of hair around her finger. “Which means we’ll be spending a whole lot of time together soon.”
Aubrey’s grip tightened on the glass she was polishing, her knuckles turning white. She tried to look away, but her eyes kept darting back to the scene unfolding before her.
