Chapter Twenty-One
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.”
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.”
“Can we take a photo with you?” the other woman chimed in, her eyes sparkling with excitement.
Gunner forced a smile and stood behind them as they took the photo.
“Thank you so much!” the woman exclaimed with gratitude.
He gave a small nod before walking away, the taste of his past troubles lingering in his mouth. It was a stark reminder that even in a city bursting with life, he could still feel completely alone.
* * *
The bell chimed as the door of The Naked Moose swung shut behind Aubrey with a resounding thud, her boot heels clicking against the worn floorboards as she began closing for the night.
The silence enveloped her like a thick blanket, a welcome relief from the boisterous energy that had filled the space just hours ago.
Her gaze swept across the empty tables, lingering on the stage where Gunner had once stood, his voice weaving magic through the air.
They’d texted all day long, and into the night.
When they weren’t texting, they FaceTimed, but it didn’t feel like enough.
Timber Falls felt empty without Gunner there.
And Aubrey felt like she was torn in two.
Timber Falls seemed even quieter now. She missed Atlanta.
The sense of life there. And the bar was too damn busy for her to fly out to see Gunner.
A familiar ache bloomed in her chest as she made her way behind the bar, her fingers trailing along the polished surface. “Another night over,” she murmured to herself, reaching for a rag to wipe down the counter. The motions were automatic, ingrained now.
As she worked, her mind wandered to the day’s events, replaying moments like a worn-out record. The laughter of patrons, the clink of glasses and always, always, Gunner’s missing presence, magnetic and undeniable. She paused, gripping the edge of the counter as a wave of longing washed over her.
“Get it together, Hale,” she chastised herself, but her voice lacked its usual edge. The tough exterior she’d cultivated since fleeing Atlanta felt paper-thin tonight, barely concealing the vulnerability beneath.
Her gaze drifted to the bottles of beer in the fridge, Gunner’s favorite. Without thinking, she reached for one, cracked it open. The amber liquid caught the low light, reminding her of the warmth in his eyes when he smiled at her.
“What are you doing to me, cowboy?” Aubrey whispered, bringing the glass to her lips but not drinking. The scent of the beer enveloped her, and suddenly she was back in Atlanta, that first night when their paths had crossed, and their journey began.
She set the bottle down with a soft clink, her hand trembling slightly. “This isn’t me,” she said aloud, her voice echoing in the empty bar. “I had a plan. Move to Timber Falls. Be happy.”
But even as the words left her lips, Aubrey knew they were a lie.
She had never been happy with small-town life.
Not truly. She missed the big city, and Gunner had burrowed his way into her heart, past all her carefully constructed defenses.
He understood her in a way no one else had, seeing past the tough-as-nails exterior to the woman beneath who longed for connection, for home.