Page 7 of Gunner

For the last twelve years, I busted my ass to become the person I was. Someone who would be there for others who were alone. Someone who was there for them when no one else was.

That was why I approached Cash.

I wanted to be there for him. The way no one had been there for me. When my parents died, the town council helped with the funeral. And the residents in town made sure I didn’t go hungry. But no one taught me how to deal with grief.

No one had taught Beck, Rachel, and Ryder how to deal with their pain.

Shouts from behind me had me turning on my stool. Two more members of the MC had come to take Cash home, despite his protests. Gunner followed them as they carried Cash outside. I couldn’t help the frustration I felt at the way things had transpired.

Cash deserved more than to be treated like a child throwing a tantrum. He was an adult. If he chose to cope in unhealthy ways, that should be his choice.

You don’t really believe that.

No, I didn’t. Sometimes I wished I didn’t have to be an adult. For the past twelve years, I’d had to make every decision in my life.

I was tired.

“You ok over here?”

“Yea.” I gave Grace a small smile.

“You know, Cash may have been a bust, but Gunner’s been watching you since he walked back into the bar.” Grace wiggled her eyebrows at me, and I couldn’t help the laugh that tumbled out.

I looked to the end of the bar where Gunner was sitting. His eyes locked on mine. He winked, and I felt my cheeks heat.

Immediately, I dropped my gaze, embarrassed by how much that simple wink affected me.

He hadn’t even smiled at me.

Grace leaned over the bar and whispered, “Take a chance, Haizley.”

Grace was right. What was the worst that could happen?

I nodded and took a deep, fortifying breath. Hoping to inhale a little of the confidence I witnessed in others around the bar.

Grabbing my drink, I left my spot at the bar and allowed my feet to carry me over to his. His eyes never left mine as he said something to the man next to him, who quickly left his seat, making an opening for me.

Leaning into Gunner as I climbed on the stool beside him, I inhaled the scent of leather and men’s cologne.

“Hi.” As soon as I uttered the word, his head turned, and he looked straight ahead.

“Hey.”

Ok, so this is going great.

“Thank you. For stepping in, I mean.”

“Cash wouldn’t have hurt you.”

“I know...”

“How?” He turned to look at me, his brows scrunched together.

“What?”

“How do you know he wouldn’t have hurt you?”

“He’s grieving. People lash out when they’re hurting, but they don’t suddenly change who they are.”

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