Page 9 of The Rebel with Broken Strings
“Now, I think it’s time to celebrate,” Aubrey said. “And I’ve got a new recipe for you to try.”
Willow’s hands rubbed together. “Oh, goodie,” she replied.
Aubrey retreated behind the bar. She measured bourbon into a shaker and mixed in a generous pour of huckleberry syrup, watching as it bled into the whiskey. Finishing off with a gently bruised sprig of sage, she presented a drink that shimmered with hues of purple and gold.
“Alright, cheers to putting the past behind us,” Aubrey announced, sliding the glasses across to Willow and Charly, the act of sharing the drink both a celebration and an unspoken confession of vulnerability.
They lifted their glasses in a quiet toast. After the first sip, there was a charged pause.
“Wow,” Willow eventually said, eyes alight but also searching. She examined the glass as if expecting the drink to reveal something more. “This is amazing,” she noted.
Charly’s delighted sound came with a subtle note of awe. “I love it. You’re a genius, Aubrey,” she said.
“I actually agree with you,” Aubrey replied. “This is divine.”
At that moment, a middle-aged woman clad in a denim jacket stepped up to the bar, her curiosity mingling with cautious optimism. “Whatever that is, I’ll have one too,” she said, nodding toward the sample.
“Coming right up,” Aubrey assured her, pouring another glass.
The woman took a sip and exhaled a satisfied sigh. “You gals are onto something here. First time in, but it won’t be the last,” she remarked warmly.
Aubrey allowed the woman’s approval to settle into her chest like a soothing balm. She didn’t have Atlanta with its glossy promises, but here, amid the blend of celebration and healing, there was a spark of something deeply sweet too.
Three
The next morning, sweat beaded on Gunner’s brow, mingling with the earthy scent of horse and leather that clung to him like a second skin. As he finished cooling down the colt after a long training ride in the indoor arena, his mind wandered to the stage of the last arena he’d played, to the glint of spotlights and the roar of a crowd he feared he’d never hear again. He shoved the thought away, refocusing on the young quarter horse he currently trained for Jaxon’s ranch.
He’d grown up riding at the ranch every summer, along with Jaxon and Eli, under Jaxon’s father’s guidance. Any memory at the ranch was a good one, but it wasn’t the life Gunner had imagined for himself. It wasn’t filled with music, and the deep ache in his chest wouldn’t let him forget that fact.
“Easy there,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble as the colt shifted restlessly beneath his touch. “We’re done, bud.”
With a final pat to the colt’s flank, Gunner dismounted and then gathered the reins and led the horse from the indoor arena to the weathered red barn. The familiar creak of the door brought a wave of nostalgia washing over him, memories of simpler times before fame and addiction had nearly destroyed everything he held dear.
As he stepped inside the barn, the wintery wind battering against the windows, Gunner’s eyes fell on a familiar figure. Jaxon stood in one of the stalls, adjusting the saddle on the spirited young mare he was training for a lady out in California.
“Good ride?” Jaxon asked.
Gunner nodded. “Uneventful.” Which was how Gunner liked his horses. In his youth, he’d loved the horses that had spunk, but after his ATV injury, he couldn’t risk getting injured again. “How’s the new filly coming along?”
Jaxon chuckled, patting the horse’s neck. “She’s got too much fire.” He glanced over his shoulder and winked. “Just how I like them.”
Gunner snorted and began untacking the colt. Even if the ranch didn’t fulfill him like playing arenas did, he knew the value of this place. He swallowed hard, thinking of the countless nights Jaxon and Eli had sat with him through the shakes and sweats of withdrawal after he’d come home, washed up and a full-blown addict. They’d never judged, only supported.
“Listen, Jax,” Gunner began, his voice rougher with emotion than he intended. “I’m going to mentor some of the local kids for an afterschool music program that ends in a talent show.”
Jaxon left the stall, locking it behind him. His brow was drawn, likely in response to the emotion Gunner had failed to hide. “Yeah? That’s great, man.”
Gunner set the saddle down on the rack. “It’s good, for sure, but it will cut into my training time. The talent show is a month away, and word on the street is that practice will be in the afternoons after the kids get done school.”
Jaxon paused, his head cocking. “You’ve got three horses in your roster right now?”
Gunner nodded. “This colt is nearly ready to be sold. The other two are just getting started.”
“All right,” Jaxon said. “I’ll give Decker the other two you’re starting, just keep finishing this guy. A morning ride is doable?”
“Yup,” Gunner agreed. “Thanks for this. This music program… I know it sounds like a small thing, but it feels like it’s the right thing to do.”
He couldn’t help but think about how far he’d come. For the past two years, he’d done the work. He went to rehab and got the pills out of his system. He continued therapy after that. He kept in contact with his sponsor if he felt his mood shift. But this felt like somethingnew. Something that he needed to do. From the depths of addiction to standing here, ready to give back to the community that had supported him through his darkest times.
