Page 50 of The Rebel with Broken Strings
“Look at you go,” he whispered, more to himself than the horse. “All that fear, all that doubt, gone.”
As he watched the mare integrate seamlessly with the herd, Gunner couldn’t help but draw parallels to his own life. He’d come to Timber Falls feeling like an outcast, a washed-up country star with more regrets than hit songs. But this town, these people—they’d healed him, helped him find his footing again.
The tranquil moment shattered as Gunner’s phone vibrated in his pocket. With a sigh, he fished it out, his brow furrowing as the screen lit up with an overwhelming barrage of notifications, now that his patchy reception had evidently improved.
“What the hell?” he muttered.
Each ping echoed in the quiet of the ranch, a stark contrast to the gentle whinnying of horses and loud voices of the cowboys working the ranch. His calloused thumb scrolled through the messages, his heart rate quickening with each swipe.
“What?” he whispered.
His new song with Emily—their impromptu duet at The Naked Moose—had somehow found its way onto social media and was spreading like wildfire. Comments flooded in, praising the sweet performance, the raw emotion in their voices.
He leaned against the fence, his legs suddenly unsteady, his chest tightening with each ping from his phone. Pride swelled within him at the song’s successful reception, a bittersweet reminder of the heights he’d once reached. But that pride was quickly overshadowed by a gnawing anxiety that threatened to consume him.
He gazed out at the sprawling Montana landscape. The life he’d built in Timber Falls—the stability, the sense of belonging—suddenly felt fragile.
As if on cue, his phone erupted with a familiar ringtone, slicing through his thoughts like a knife. Gunner’s heart raced as he saw his agent’s name flash across the screen. His thumb hovered over the screen, his hand trembling slightly.
Gunner took a deep breath, steeling himself. “Here goes nothin’,” he said, his voice steady despite the storm raging within him. He answered the call, bracing for the conversation that he sensed could upend the peaceful life he’d fought so hard to build.
“Gunner, my man!” Tom’s voice boomed through the speaker, crackling with excitement. “You’ve done it again, buddy! That song is blowing up!”
Gunner leaned against the weathered fence post, his free hand absently tracing the grain of the wood. “Yeah, I noticed,” he replied, his tone measured. “Quite a surprise.”
“Surprise? It’s a goddamn miracle!” Tom’s enthusiasm was palpable. “Listen, I’ve got the label on the other line. They want you in the studio to record this so we can release it as a single.”
Gunner’s breath caught in his throat. The offer dangled before him like a shiny lure, tempting and dangerous. He closed his eyes, remembering the roar of the crowd, the thrill of the spotlight. But then Aubrey’s face flashed in his mind.
“I don’t know, Tom,” Gunner said. “I’ve got a good thing going here.”
“Good thing? Are you kidding me? This could be the comeback story of the decade!” Tom’s voice rose an octave. “We need to strike while the iron’s hot. I’m talking private jet to Nashville to record the song.”
Gunner’s mind raced. The allure of fame, of reclaiming his spot at the top of the charts, clashed violently with the peace he’d found with Aubrey. He thought of the kids he was mentoring, of lazy evenings at The Naked Moose, of all the quiet moments with Aubrey that held more meaning than any stadium show.
“I can’t just up and leave,” Gunner said. “I’ve got commitments here, people counting on me.”
“People?” Tom scoffed. “This is a good thing for you, Gunner. Don’t mess this up.”
Gunner pressed, “I’ve been good here. I’ve been sober.”
“That’s great, Gunner, really,” Tom replied. “Remember how it felt to have thousands of fans singing your lyrics back to you?”
His breath caught in his throat. The memories flooded back. The adrenaline rush, the adoration, the feeling of being on top of the world. His fingers itched for his guitar, longing to strum out the melodies that had been his lifeblood for so long.
“Dammit, Tom,” he growled. “You’re asking me to uproot my entire life here. It ain’t just about the music anymore.”
“I get it, I do,” Tom’s voice crackled through the phone. “But this could be your last shot at the big time. You really want to let that slip away? We need to ride this wave, and you need to do it now.”
Gunner’s jaw clenched. The demons of his past whispered seductively, reminding him of the intoxicating highs of his fame—and the devastating lows that followed. He closed his eyes, picturing Aubrey’s smile, the way her eyes lit up when she laughed. It was a different kind of high, one that didn’t leave him hollow afterward.
“Look,” Gunner said finally, his voice intense even to his ears. “I ain’t saying no. But I ain’t saying yes either. I need time to think this through, to figure out what I really want.”
He could almost hear Tom’s disappointment through the silence that followed. “Alright, Gunner. Take some time. But don’t take too long. Opportunities like this don’t come around every day.”
“I know,” Gunner replied. “I’ll be in touch.”
As he ended the call, the sudden silence of the ranch enveloped him. He slumped against the fence, the weight of the decision pressing down on him like a physical force.
