Page 3 of The Rebel with Broken Strings
“Yes.” She gasped as the first wave hit her. “Gunner, yes—”
Her body tightened around him as pleasure exploded through him. He made a sound—half groan, half her name—as he followed her over the edge. His arm tightened around her waist, holding her against him as they rode out the aftershocks together.
For several long moments, they remained locked together, both trembling with the intensity of their shared release. His forehead rested against her shoulder, his breath hot and uneven against her sweat-dampened skin. His arms held her securely, as if afraid she might vanish if he loosened his grip.
Slowly, carefully, he guided them down to the mattress, still connected, now lying on their sides. He pressed gentle kisses along her shoulder and neck.
“You okay?” he murmured against her ear.
Aubrey laughed. “Totally okay.” She turned to face him. “Satisfied to my very bones.”
Christ, he loved how sexy she looked after he’d had her. He kissed her then, soft and unhurried.
She watched him closely, tracing the curve of his lips with her thumb. “What happens now?”
The question Gunner had been avoiding since their first night together. The question that was growing more insistent with each encounter.Whatdoeshappen now?He was a musician on a North American tour, trying to pretend he wasn’t barely hanging on and losing himself more and more each day; she was a chef in Atlanta. Their paths had no business crossing.
Yet here they were, naked and tangled in hotel sheets, looking at each other like they’d discovered something precious and unexpected.
“Now,” he said slowly, making the decision as the words formed, “we stop pretending there isn’t something magical between us. We see where it goes.”
The smile that broke across her face was like sunrise back in his hometown, Timber Falls—gradual, then brilliant, illuminating everything in its path. He pulled her closer, his kiss conveying everything words could not.
But then that overwhelming urge returned, insistent and demanding.
He dropped a kiss on her forehead and pulled back. “I’ll be right back.” His gaze lingered on her features—the soft curve of her cheek, the smoothness of her skin and the way her lips were swollen. She was a stark contrast to the shadows that lurked within him, a bright flame illuminating the dark corners of his soul. For a moment, he allowed himself the dream of waking up like this every day—without the loneliness clawing at his heart.
With a sigh, he slid from the bed. Padding across the room, he entered the bathroom and flicked on the light. The harsh fluorescence revealed his reflection in the mirror—a man marked by the passage of too many hard-earned miles.
Staring into his own blue eyes, he saw the faintest echoes of the man he used to be before he lost himself somewhere along the way. His reflection haunted him. He gripped the porcelain sink, the coolness of the surface grounding him as he fought the swell of emotions threatening to capsize him.
Aubrey, with her fierce independence and her tender heart, had unwittingly staked a claim on his soul. She lay in the bed, a picture of peace and vulnerability, her presence filling the room with a warmth he couldn’t outrun. His chest tightened, the realization crashing over him like a relentless wave: he was terrified of wanting her to stay.
He knew too well the danger lurking in the depths of that desire. He was not the man she deserved—not anymore. His past was a tangle of mistakes and regrets, of women in his bed and gone the next day, his present a constant battle with demons that wouldn’t ever quiet. The pain in his leg a reminder of the day that changed everything for him.
With a heavy heart, he turned to the drawer next to the sink. There, in the dim half-light, he found the small bottle. The pills rattled softly, a grim reminder of the chains he had yet to break. His hand trembled as he unscrewed the cap, the familiar white tablets a stark contrast against his tan, calloused palm. He tossed two back, feeling them catch momentarily in his throat, and washed them down with a swig of water from the glass he kept there for this very purpose.
As the pills dissolved, so too did the brief flicker of hope he’d felt in Aubrey’s arms. He was still the same man, fighting the same battles. And though her light had pierced his darkness, he feared what might happen if she stayed close enough to be consumed by it.
One
The cold, dark Montana night cast long shadows across Timber Falls Ranch as Gunner stood rooted to the spot, his heart hammering against his ribs. The tips of his ears were frozen, his eyes were fixed on the silhouette of Aubrey, framed in the warm glow of the porch light, after the ranch’s annual Christmas Eve party. The sight of her hit him like a physical blow, stirring up memories of their incredible week together that had haunted him for a couple years now.
His fingers twitched, aching for the familiar weight of a guitar to ground him that always got him through the nervousness of going on stage. Instead, he clenched his fists, steeling himself for the confrontation ahead. The warm glow of the light guided him forward as he took a hesitant step, feeling the ache in his leg—a constant reminder of the ATV accident that had derailed his life and career. The injury that led to the painkillers that had soon become his only companion.
Once inside the house that belonged to his good friend—and Timber Falls Ranch owner—Jaxon, Gunner found Aubrey in the kitchen making herself another drink.
“Aubrey,” he called out, his voice rough with emotion. “We need to talk.”
She turned, her blond hair catching the light, and for a moment, Gunner forgot how to breathe. Those striking blue eyes widened in recognition before narrowing with suspicion. “Do you want a drink?” she asked, redirecting the conversation like she always did. Ever since she moved to Timber Falls.
“You know that’s not what I want to talk about,” he grumbled.
Only silence greeted him.
“Come on, Aubrey,” he said after a long-suffering sigh, “stop acting like you don’t remember our week together.” He had confronted her three times since she had moved to town with her two best friends, Charly and Willow, and she kept playing the same game that she had never met him. “Two years ago. Atlanta. That concert. Then the week that followed.”
“Not thisagain. Are you serious right now?” she retorted, finishing fixing her drink. “Gunner, whatever you think happened—”
