Chapter 6 Tally
TALLY
“You did what now?” Rust asks as he pours bourbon into my second mug of coffee.
“I told you I was driving back from a solo retreat in the woods. I wanted to prepare for my tour and—”
He raises a palm. “Yeah, I got that bit. Can you skip to the accident?”
“I took a sharp right turn when suddenly, this guy jumps from the tree line out into the road. I slammed my foot on the brakes, but there was no way I could’ve stopped in time.”
“Alright. And where is he now?”
“In my trunk. Dead.” I rub my temples. “It’s typical, really.
That’s what I get for trying to form healthy habits and prioritize rest for once in my life.
I should unfollow #SelfCare. Cause if I hadn’t seen a million pastel-colored posts telling me I needed a ‘recharge to focus on myself’ I wouldn’t have booked this trip.
I blame the sponsored content for turning me into a murderer. ”
Rust blinks at me like I’m speaking in tongues.
Before he can call an exorcist, I point at the bottle. “Make it a double, please?”
He pours more into my cup before taking a swig of amber straight from the bottle. I can’t blame the man. All things considered, he’s taking the news well.
“You’re sure he’s dead?” he asks.
“He seemed pretty deceased when I wrapped him in tarp and stuffed him into my trunk.”
“And nobody saw you?”
“It happened up on a damn mountain! I picked that cabin precisely because there’s nothing around. I’m positive nobody saw. Unless a squirrel is gonna rat me out.” I squint at him. “Or maybe you will?”
“What kinda piece of shit husband would snitch on his wife?”
Butterflies riot in my belly.
“So you’ll help me get rid of… it?” I wince. “I mean get rid of him?”
“No need to flutter your lashes and plead with them big green eyes of yours. Don’t you know that you already got me wrapped around your little finger?”
I flush. Usually, I pay no mind to compliments from men. But when Rust says this cheesy stuff, it sounds genuine. It’s so sugary sweet I can feel myself getting a cavity—and somehow I like it.
He stretches his arms over his head like a warmup. “Nothin’ like a Friday morning corpse disposal to ring in the weekend.”
Yeah, that’s the Rust I know. Always joking. Always the problem-fixer.
“You don’t sound the least bit upset by this.”
He smiles. “That’s cause I ain’t upset.”
“Please don’t tell me you’re an unhinged serial killer and this is a regular occurrence for you.”
“Hell naw. But I’ve had over a decade to figure out what I’d do for you, and let me tell you, hiding a body ain’t the worst thing on that list. Want me to commit arson? No problem. Manslaughter? Sure. Premeditated homicide? No big deal.”
“Stop talking dirty to me,” I quip. It’s meant to sound sarcastic, but the way my voice breaks gives the impression of a teen girl getting teased by her crush.
I chug the last of my coffee and leave the cup on the table. The bourbon stokes my courage as I get up, bridging the distance between us to poke him in the chest.
“I don’t have the faintest idea what you hope to achieve with all that flattery, but it won’t get you nowhere,” I chide.
“Just tryna help you, Trouble. You’ve been around them fake music industry folks for too long.
I want nothin’ from you.” He puts his index finger under my chin and I feel his calloused skin as he tips up my head, his darkening eyes boring into mine.
“At least nothin’ you don’t want as badly as I do. ”
Face on fire, I turn away before I do something stupid, like finding out if that slutty mustache would tickle if I kissed him.
Because what could go wrong with kissing your ex-husband while trying to cover up a murder, right?
“We should burn him,” I muse, staring out the window at a squirrel scurrying across the yard and under Rust’s silver truck.
He chuckles like I said something outrageous. “Amateur. A regular fire won’t burn all of him. You’d need a special furnace like in a crematorium to turn his bones to ash.”
I twist around, hands on my hips. “How about you make a suggestion then, Mister Full-Of-Great-Ideas?”
“Remember the stretch of swampy land in the woods behind the house? We weigh the body down with rocks and toss it in there.”
My eyes roll. I had hoped to make fun of his idea, but unfortunately that sounds like a solid plan. And now I’m certain he has spent an extensive amount of time considering corpse disposal before today.
“Alright. Let’s get to gettin’.” I collect my boots, tugging them on.
“No, you stay here and I’ll take care of it. Believe me, you don’t wanna hike through the woods after last night’s storm.”
I stomp my foot. “We’re in this together. I’m not letting you do all the work while I twiddle my thumbs. And I know the forest around this house like the back of my hand. Did you forget all those times we went camping out there as kids?”
A smile plays around his mouth. “I thought you’d come back being little Miss Priss, scared to get your hands dirty. Glad I was wrong.”
My nostrils flare. “Don’t insult me or I’ll show you how dirty these hands can get.”
I instantly regret my choice of words. What is it about my ex-husband that makes me say the most innuendo-charged things?
Rust leans down and I smell the bourbon on his breath. “Was that a threat or are you flirtin’ with me?”
I stretch up on my tiptoes, wrapping my hands around his neck while I make intensely murderous eye contact. “What do you think? I already killed one guy, so what’s another?”
His pulse picks up, thudding against my fingers and I can feel the muscles in his neck flexing. Suddenly I’m acutely aware of how close we are.
His eyes sparkle. “I thought you said it was an accident.”
“It was! But way to ruin my badass main character vibes, thanks.” I pout, dropping my arms as I step away.
“You’re always the main character in my life, Trouble.”
“Great. A role in the Rust Show where everything is about fishing, beer, and big trucks.”
“And you.”
I sneer so I don’t let myself smile. “Now let’s get going before the corpse starts liquifying in my trunk. I parked around the barn.”
Visibly amused, Rust leaves the bottle of bourbon on the window sill. “I meant to ask… how attached are you to that car?”
“Not attached at all. I bought it used cause it lets me move around low-key.”
“Then we should get rid of it, too. Safer than cleaning.”
I take my Stetson from the coffee table and plop it on my head. “Okay. And what’s your genius plan for that? The swamp, too?” I mock while I sling my purse over my shoulder.
“I know a guy who’ll crush the thing into a neat cube of metal and ship it overseas. Nobody’s ever gonna find it, which means nobody can use it as evidence against you. No body plus no evidence equals no crime.”
God, fine. I’m more than impressed with how calmly he’s handling this catastrophe I dropped at his doorstep.
As I follow Rust through the hallway, a familiar guitar case leaning against the wall gives me pause.
Does he still play?
“You comin’?” he asks, holding the door open for me.
I rush past him, stuffing my feelings somewhere into the furthest corner of my brain. Why should I care if he still plays the guitar? Cause I don’t. It’s probably just the stress catching up with me and making me emotional.
When it comes to Rust, I already learned my lesson. Swooning over my ex-husband again would be like touching lightning a second time to see if it still hurts.
Clearly, this is a teaching moment, courtesy of the universe. A chance to learn about burying a body—and how to let go of my past.
Any moment now, he’s gonna stop being so fucking perfect and sweet and handsome. Then come evening, I’ll drive off into the sunset, glad I dodged a bullet.
When this is over, I’ll be happy he broke up with me.