Page 6 of The Rebel with Broken Strings
Aubrey’s chest tightened at Willow’s words. “How?”
“I’ve seen the way Gunner looks at you. That man isn’t just chasing some fantasy. There’s something real there, something deep.”
Memories of Gunner’s intense gaze flooded Aubrey’s mind, but she shook her head, trying to fight the images. “He had his chance with me, and he lost it. That’s all that’s happening here.”
Willow cocked her head, softening her voice. “What if he’s genuinely trying to make amends? Maybe…maybe you should give him a chance to explain himself.”
Aubrey’s back straightened, the bed bouncing beneath her. “Explain what? How he used me and left without a word? How he made me feel like I was special, only to disappear?” Her voice cracked, betraying the pain she’d been trying so hard to hide. “I can’t do that again. I won’t let myself be that vulnerable.” Men had brought nothing but pain. She was in her self-care era, and nothing would change her mind.
Willow’s expression softened further. “I know you’re scared of him being a massive jerk again. Lord knows, I know this. But sometimes, the things that scare us the most are the ones worth fighting for.”
“No,” Aubrey said sharply, shaking her head firmly. “I’ve made my decision. I’m protecting myself, and that’s final. He’ll give up eventually,” she murmured, more to herself than to Willow. “He has to.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” Willow countered. “Men like Gunner… They don’t just walk away when something matters to them.”
Aubrey’s jaw clenched, her fingers digging into her arms. “He doesn’t get a choice. I won’t let him in.” But even as the words left her lips, a traitorous part of her mind whispered,What if he doesn’t give up? What if he keeps fighting for you?
She pushed the thought away, jumping out of bed to stare out the window, focusing instead on the distant mountains in the night sky. “I’ve made my choice, Willow. End of story.”
Willow sighed. “Alright. I hear you. But just…be prepared. Something tells me he’s not ready to let this go.”
As Willow’s footsteps faded down the hallway, Aubrey remained at the window, sighing heavily. She tried to convince herself that her resolve was unshakable, that her walls were impenetrable.
But in the depths of her heart, a flicker of uncertainty betrayed her. And she couldn’t shake the feeling that Willow might be right.
Two
Gunner clutched his well-worn coffee mug the following morning, savoring the way its gentle heat seeped through his calloused hands as he stood in his cool, sparsely decorated kitchen. The first blush of dawn spilled through the tall windows, revealing the majestic, snow-capped mountains of Timber Falls—a sanctuary where the dark shadow of addiction no longer trailed his every step. His humble bungalow, nestled snugly against the rugged peaks, exuded a comforting warmth, as if the very walls embraced him in a silent, reassuring hug. Exposed wooden beams and expansive windows framed the stunning wilderness. He also had a condo in Nashville, which he hadn’t visited since returning, but Timber Falls would always be his true home.
In that serene moment, the tranquil silence swathed him as thickly as the morning mist that lazily rolled over the valleys, when suddenly, the shrill ring of his phone shattered the calm. His hand, mid-gesture as it lifted for another sip of his coffee, froze in suspense. Gunner slowly turned his gaze toward the device resting on the weathered wooden table, its screen now alive with an insistent glow that revealed a name stirring a complex brew of emotions—a name that mingled promise with a hint of caution. His agent. The man who had ridden shotgun on the tumultuous roller coaster of Gunner’s career, sharing in the exhilarating highs and agonizing lows alike.
“Hey, Tom,” Gunner answered with a subdued greeting.
“Morning, Gunner. How’s the new material coming along?” Tom’s voice crackled through the line, a mixture of anticipation and concern in each syllable.
Settling himself into the timeworn kitchen chair with legs that creaked softly against the hardwood floor, Gunner exhaled slowly. “It’s coming,” he replied, his tone measured and reflective. He took a deliberate sip of his coffee, feeling the comforting warmth radiate through him. “You remember ‘Home Town Hero’? I’m plunging back into that style…but it’s fundamentally different now. Rawer. More honest and unfiltered.”
A weighted pause on the other end of the line carried with it echoes of Gunner’s tumultuous past—images of platinum records and sold-out arenas mingled with the bittersweet memory of sweet ballads. Unspoken, too, were the long nights drowned in pills and the mornings when every sunrise recalled the haunting darkness he had once embraced.
“Sounds promising,” Tom remarked at length, his voice imbued with both hope and nostalgia. “People fell for the raw authenticity in your voice, Gunner. They’ll be drawn to it again.”
“Maybe,” Gunner mused quietly, a deep-seated confidence simmering just beneath his reflective exterior. “I’m not rushing this process. Being away from all the noise has taught me that there’s a kind of healing in the stillness. My music has grown richer because of it.”
“Keep on that path,” Tom encouraged warmly. “Your fans will be there, waiting, when you’re ready.”
“Thank you,” Gunner replied, setting his coffee mug down carefully, his fingers tracing its rim as if drawing strength from its memory. Bathed in the soft morning light, he lingered on the line, each word anchoring him in the newfound belief that while his past had shaped him, it no longer controlled his destiny.
“It’s like night and day with you now,” Tom added with a lighthearted chuckle that bridged the distance between them. “The tabloids aren’t hounding you anymore. No more wild, reckless nights or run-ins with the law. It’s done wonders for your image.” Yet beneath those words lay the silent truth of the man Gunner had once been—the troubled soul lost in a haze of pills and too much whiskey.
A shadow of those former days flickered deep within Gunner’s mind. He inhaled slowly, drawing in the crisp, clean air of Timber Falls, letting those thoughts fade away. No longer was that his truth. Alongside that quiet healing, a pulse of pride beat steadily—an acknowledgment of how far he’d come.
“There’s a certain sweetness in living life straight,” he said. “I truly value this second chance.”
“Just keep walking that line,” Tom urged, his tone rich with genuine approval and admiration. “People are noticing. You’re winning hearts back, one note at a time.”
“Glad to hear it,” Gunner replied, a slow, sincere smile curving his lips as a hint of the weight from his past lifted imperceptibly.
“Stay true to yourself and to your music,” Tom added firmly, his voice laden with unwavering support. “That’s truly all anyone can ask for.”
