Page 67 of The Rebel with Broken Strings
Gunner opened his eyes to catch the sound engineer’s thumbs-up through the glass partition. A silent nod of encouragement from a stranger who had no idea of the emotional turmoil brewing inside him. “Sounds great on our end.”
“Alright, let’s take it from the top,” Gunner said. He adjusted his stance, feet planted firmly on the studio floor, and focused on the sheet music before him.
The first chords of the melody filled the air, rich and resonant. It wrapped around Gunner like a familiar embrace, tugging at something deep within his chest. He closed his eyes, letting the music seep into his bones.
“I’ve been down this road before,” Gunner began to sing. The words flowed from him, carrying a weight he hadn’t anticipated. “Chasing dreams that always seem to slip away.”
As he sang, Gunner’s mind drifted. The lyrics, once just words on a page, now felt like they were etched on his heart. Each note carried a piece of his story, his struggles, his hopes.
He didn’t falter. He couldn’t. This was his shot at redemption, his chance to prove he still had what it took. So Gunner poured everything he had into every word, every note, letting the music carry him away from the doubts that had plagued him for so long.
His voice swelled with emotion as he reached the chorus, his thoughts drifting to Aubrey. Each memory fueled his performance, infusing the lyrics with raw longing.
“I can’t shake the feeling that I left my heart behind,” he sang, his voice cracking slightly with the weight of the words.
Through the glass, Gunner caught sight of the producer leaning forward, eyebrows raised in appreciation. The sound engineer nodded along, clearly impressed. But their admiration felt hollow, disconnected from the true source of his inspiration.
As he launched into the second verse, he closed his eyes again, picturing Aubrey’s face. He felt a pang of loneliness. Here he was, pouring his heart out, and nobody truly understood the depth of what he was feeling. The irony wasn’t lost on him—surrounded by people, yet feeling more alone than ever.
The melody swelled, and Gunner’s rich baritone soared to meet it. But as the chorus approached, a tremor crept into his voice.
“Chasing dreams, but my heart’s back home with you,” he sang, the words catching in his throat.
Gunner’s fingers tightened around the microphone stand, knuckles turning white.
“Cut!” The producer’s voice sliced through the music. “Let’s take five, folks.”
Gunner stepped back from the mic, running a hand through his hair. He caught his reflection in the glass and saw a man torn in two.
“You okay in there, Woods?” the sound engineer called.
Gunner managed a weak smile and a thumbs-up. “Just need a minute,” he replied.
As he leaned against the wall, memories of Timber Falls flooded his mind. The warmth of The Naked Moose, Aubrey’s fierce blue eyes, the taste of her.
“What am I doing here?” he whispered, conflict etched across his face. His boots scuffed against the studio floor as he made his way to the corner, where his battered leather jacket hung. He shrugged it on, the familiar weight settling on his shoulders like armor.
“That was gold, Gunner,” the producer’s voice rang out, excitement evident in his tone. “We’ve got magic here.”
Gunner turned, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Appreciate it,” he said. “I need some air.”
The producer nodded, but Gunner barely registered the response. His mind was already miles away, back in Timber Falls. He could almost smell the pine-scented air, hear the gentle clinking of glasses at The Naked Moose.
And Aubrey. God,Aubrey.
Her face swam before his eyes. Those striking eyes that could see right through him, the loose waves of blond hair that he longed to run his fingers through.
Success was within his grasp, but at what cost? The unanswered question echoed in his mind as he walked away, leaving a piece of his heart behind in that recording booth.
He gulped in the air as he stepped outside. Amidst the bustling crowd and constant flow of traffic, neon signs buzzed and flashed, each vying for attention. Towering buildings with vibrant exteriors housed a variety of establishments, from bars to eateries to live music venues. The air was thick with a blend of scents—the rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee intermingled with the sweet tang of Southern barbecue, with the unmistakable scent of car exhaust lingering in the background.
The memories of his dark past came flooding back as he thought about the times when he’d turned to pills for comfort to numb feelings like this.
Suddenly, he was snapped out of his thoughts by two women holding cell phones in front of him.
“Excuse me, are you Gunner Woods?” one of the women asked eagerly.
He looked up and nodded. “Ya. Nice to meet you.”
