Page 66 of The Rebel with Broken Strings
“Gunner, I…” she started, her voice barely above a whisper. “I can’t just leave everything behind. The bar, it’s more than just a job. It’s my home, my responsibility.” She looked away, unable to bear the disappointment she knew she’d see in his eyes. “And Charly and Willow, they’re counting on me.”
Gunner’s shoulders sagged, but he nodded slowly. “I understand,” he said, though the pain in his voice was palpable. “You’ve built something real special here. I’d never ask you to give that up.”
Aubrey felt tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. “I want to support your dream. I do. But I can’t just abandon my life here.” She reached up, cupping his face in her hand. “Is there no way we can find a middle ground?”
The tension between them crackled like electricity in the air. Her hand fell away from his face, and she wrapped her arms around herself, as if trying to hold herself together. His jaw clenched, his eyes stormy with conflicting emotions.
“Middle ground?” he echoed, his voice rough. “I don’t know if there is one, darlin’. This tour, it’s not just a few weeks. We’re talking months.”
Aubrey’s breath caught in her throat.Months.The enormity of it hit her like a physical blow. She turned away, her gaze sweeping over the Montana landscape she’d grown to love.
“I can’t ask you to wait for me,” Gunner continued, his words barely audible over the pounding of Aubrey’s heart.
Aubrey whirled to face him, frowning. “What are you saying, Gunner? That this is it? We just give up?”
He took a step toward her, his hands reaching out but stopping short of touching her. “I’m saying I don’t blame you if you don’t want to sit here and wait for me to come home.”
Her eyes searched his. “And what about us? Aren’t we part of each other too?”
A flicker of pain crossed Gunner’s face. “Darlin’, you know I love you. You’ve known that since that first day in Atlanta.”
Aubrey’s heart swelled in her chest. He’d never said those three little words, but she felt them too. She took his hand in hers. “And you know I love you too. I can wait for you. I can fly to see you when I can.” She swallowed hard. “How long until you have to leave?”
“Two weeks,” he replied.
The finality of it hit her like a physical blow. Two weeks was all the time she had left to hold on to.
As they stood there, hands clasped and hearts heavy, the sun dipped below the horizon.
She took a deep breath, squeezing Gunner’s hand. “Well, these two weeks are ours. Let’s make them count.”
Gunner nodded, pulling her close and pressing a tender kiss to her forehead.
Twenty-One
Two weeks had come and gone in a blink of an eye, and Gunner stood frozen in the doorway of the state-of-the-art recording studio, his boots refusing to cross the threshold. The air hung heavy with the scent of leather and polished wood, a stark contrast to the crisp Montana breeze he’d left behind. His eyes darted from one unfamiliar face to another as musicians and producers bustled about, their energy palpable.
Aubrey. Nothing was the same without her.
He’d done his physical therapy this morning. While that managed the pain in his leg, it did nothing for the ache in his chest.
“Mr. Woods, we’re all set up for you,” a young assistant chirped, motioning toward the recording booth.
Gunner nodded, swallowing hard. This was it. The moment he’d been working toward for months. So why did it feel like he was walking to his own execution?
He forced himself forward, each step echoing his thundering heartbeat. The microphone stood before him. His fingers twitched, aching for the familiar comfort of his guitar. But today was all about vocals.
He rolled his shoulders to ease the tension. But as he stepped up to the mic, memories of Timber Falls flooded his mind. Aubrey’s laugh. The warmth of her hand in his—
No. He couldn’t think about her now. Couldn’t let himself get lost in what-ifs and maybes. He took a deep breath, willing his mind to focus on the task at hand.
“Ready when you are, Gunner,” the producer’s voice crackled through his headphones.
Gunner nodded, his jaw set with determination. “Let’s do this.”
As the first notes filled the air, Gunner closed his eyes, letting the music wash over him. But even as he opened his mouth to sing, he couldn’t shake the feeling that a piece of his heart was still back in Timber Falls, wrapped up in the arms of a certain blond-haired chef who’d stolen it without even trying.
“Perfect.”
