Total pages in book: 47
Estimated words: 43681 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 218(@200wpm)___ 175(@250wpm)___ 146(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 43681 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 218(@200wpm)___ 175(@250wpm)___ 146(@300wpm)
“Gunner, you can’t just leave it like this. She’s your mother.”
He doesn’t say a word, stomping to the sink and pouring himself a glass of water. He chugs it back, his hard eyes staring out the window.
I don’t know what to say or do, but I can’t stand here and let him seclude himself in anger and pity. “When were you gonna tell me you were in the business? Gutless Void is a pretty big deal.”
Gunner shrugs. “I’m not in the band. No one knows who Gunner Shaw is.”
I move closer, one hesitant step at a time. “Everyone knows who Dirtbag is, though.”
Gunner cracks a smile. “God, that name is so idiotic. Eighteen-year-old Gunner was a moron. The guys did a much better job picking their names than I did. You’d figure the songwriter would pick something more prolific. I thought about changing it, but the labels said it would fuck up brand recognition. I would’ve told them to fuck themselves, but the guys were getting traction, and Dirtbag was helpful.”
Wrapping my arms around his waist, I place my cheek on his back as I croon, “‘I’m an empty vessel crying into the night, begging for salvation.’”
He turns, gazing down at me. “Never thought I’d get so turned on hearing a sexy woman sing my lyrics to me.”
I push him off. “Oh, no, you don’t. You will not fuck me senseless to avoid talking about what happened back there.
Gunner sighs and pushes his hands through his hair, making the dark strands stick up in all directions. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Cash. I was born to a celebrity with so many issues that she self-medicates. So, for most of my life, I’ve raised myself. I should’ve lived my life and let her rot alone, but the guilt of leaving her alone killed me, so I left my dreams in the dust to ensure she didn’t kill herself as quickly.”
“That’s a start,” I whisper.
“Her getting better is a dream I’ve held onto practically my whole life, but I can’t sacrifice my future for her anymore. I’m not giving you up.”
“Who’s asking you to? I’m here, Gunner, but I can’t have you hurting. As much as you want to deny it, you love that woman. I won’t allow you to cut a piece of yourself out to be with me.”
“Your life isn’t here, Cash. It’s in New York. I can’t have you give up your dreams for her, too. I won’t allow it.”
I brush my hand against the stubble on his cheek. “And I won’t allow the man I love to hurt anymore.”
“I don’t know what to do, Cash. I have no idea how to reach her.”
“We’ll figure it out. Together.”
Chapter 19
Gunner
My arms reach out to capture Cash’s warmth, but my dreams become nightmares, and I clutch at empty sheets. Reluctantly, I open my eyes and take in the crumpled sheets on her side of the bed.
Getting out of bed, I walk into the kitchen to find that empty of Cash as well.
The lawn appears much different today than it did two weeks ago. That was the last time I saw my mother. I cut all communication. A therapist I saw ten years ago told me to cut ties with Loretta Shaw to allow her to cope alone, hoping she’d give up the bottle. But I couldn’t do it. Maybe I was weak. But the day she took out her anger on Cash, something in me snapped.
Picking up my phone from the kitchen counter, I shoot Cash a text.
Hey, beautiful. Where’d you run off to?
Leaving without saying a word isn’t Cash’s style. I sit by my phone for what feels like hours, staring at the screen like a teen girl waiting to be asked to the prom. I realize how pathetic it is to be so consumed by a woman that you need to know where she is at all times. It’s also a little unnerving, but in the time I’ve known Cash, she’s become the air I breathe.
After three hours of waiting at my kitchen island, tapping my foot nonstop, and drinking five cups of coffee, I grab my car keys. I’m about to search for Cash in the town when she and my mother walk through the front door arm in arm.
“Where have you been,” I ask Cash, ignoring my mother.
“You got a text at midnight. I tried to wake you, but you were out cold. Did you take one of my sleeping pills?” The redness in her warm eyes reveals her lack of sleep. She yawns before patting my chest and wandering toward the coffee maker. Taking a mug, she pours a cup and takes a sip. “Instead of calling the cops, I decided to go get her.” She digs in her front pocket and tosses me my keys.