Chapter 33 Rust
RUST
I land a punch straight to Trevor’s jaw. A veneer catapults from his mouth and he crumples like a paper bag, hitting the floor with a loud thud.
Deathly silence blankets the room, only the jukebox keeps on playing. I feel eyes boring into me.
I don’t know what the fuck happened, but when I turned around after paying for our drinks, I saw these bastards coming at Tally. That was all the info I needed to abandon our beers at the bar and play backup.
Two on one ain’t fair. Much like Trevor’s dental bill is gonna be. And much like the fact that I’m two heads taller than him and double as wide, but he brought this on himself.
His girlfriend shrinks, terror in her eyes. All alone, she’s not so fucking brave anymore. She crouches by Trevor’s side, tapping his cheek. “Baby, are you okay?”
I flex my aching fist. Fuck, I’m getting old. My last bar brawl was too long ago. I’m rusty. I do work out regularly, but my fight instincts have dulled.
“You good?” I ask Tally over my shoulder.
Her palm lays itself gently on my upper back and her body heat sinks through my shirt into my skin. “Yeah. Thanks, Big Guy. The asshole deserved it.”
I nod. “Don’t doubt it.”
Singular clapping signals we’re not the only ones who think Trevor got his just desserts.
“Bout time somebody taught that boy a lesson in humility!” a man shouts.
“Now we punch people we don’t like? Violence ain’t the answer!” another voice rises.
“Tell that to my fist!” the first guy hollers.
A bottle flies past my head and explodes against the wall. Chaos erupts. Suddenly everybody is at each other’s throats like they’ve been waiting for a reason.
Dave ducks behind the bar. “Not again, y’all!”
But nobody’s listening.
Now I understand why Erin made an early exit. This is what she meant by the locals getting rowdy.
The space turns into a dizzying sea of movement, all denim and hats and flying fists. Boots shuffle and men groan in pain when fists meet faces. A bar stool crashes to the floor before a limp body tumbles against the jukebox. The music skips.
“My baby’s gone to greener pastures—my baby—greener pastures—my baby—”
A boot flies at the jukebox and hits center mass, which seems to fix the issue. The song continues smoothly.
“My baby’s gone to greener pastures cause cowboys always do,” the singer crows.
“Thank fuck! Can’t focus on my punches with that shit!” someone shouts over the splintering of glass and a wave of laughter echoes through the room.
Everybody’s drunk enough to think a brawl is the perfect end to a fun night out.
I turn to Tally, already planning a strategic exit to bring her to safety. I find her still right behind me, covering my back. A look of pure delight in her eyes, she giggles madly as she swings a pool cue at some guy’s feet, putting him on his ass.
I grin. This woman doesn’t need saving and she ain’t caught in the storm. She’s the center of it.
Trouble—with a capital T.
A fella in a plaid button up charges at us and I elbow him in the nose, sending him howling. From the blood streaming down his face, it seems broken. Too bad.
Tally laughs when a mountain of a man lunges too close for comfort. She doesn’t hesitate. With a dancer’s grace, she shifts her weight onto her left leg and swings her right boot up.
She catches the dude straight in the crown jewels.
His face twists like he ate a bucket of lemons. He clutches himself, dropping.
“Ooh, nice hit!” I shout over the noise.
Tally flicks her hair over her shoulder. Her chest heaves, but her smile shines brighter than the neon lights above the bar. “You know I fight dirty.”
I grab her face and press a quick kiss to her lips. “Seriously, I’m gone for one minute and you start a brawl? You wanna have all the fun without me!”
She pouts. “That Trevor asshole was talkin’ shit about you, so I took a swing at him.”
My heart falls into my stomach and jumps immediately back up into my throat. Tally was defending my honor?
Another guy tries his luck with me and I grab him by the collar, slamming his forehead into the bar top. Once I turn back, Tally is gone. I panic, scanning the room, when a whoop comes from above.
She stands on the pool table, Stetson slanting on her head. How the hell did she get up there so fast?
She kicks an empty beer bottle off the edge, sending it flying before it shatters on the floor. One particularly brave fella tries to grab her leg and the tip of her boot gets cozy with his chin. He’s knocked back, holding his jaw.
Tally does a victory dance, wiggling her delicious ass. She spins, stumbles…
And falls.
I lunge, shoving a tangle of bodies out of the way just in time. Giggling, she drops right into my arms.
Her hands brace on my chest, drawing playful shapes. “My hero… You saved me. How can I ever repay you?”
There’s a bruise forming on her jaw and I want to kiss it better. Unfortunately, the guy whose nose I broke earlier has other plans. He dashes toward us and I spin sideways, lifting Tally behind the bar while the man crashes into a stool.
“You had enough for one night. For the love of fuck, please stay here!” I bite out.
“But Rust—”
I reach over and smile, putting her hat on straight. “This once do as you’re told, woman!”
She nods, giving me bedroom eyes. Fuck, she’s way too into it when I give her orders. And so am I. My cock stirs and I adjust myself, thinking of all the ways I’m gonna make her come when we get back to the motel.
Distracted, I don’t see broken-nose-guy making a third attempt.
He hits me square in the gut, knocking the air out of me. I brace myself on the bar, breathing through the pain, when Tally hops and slides over the top, grabbing a stool. She lifts it and swings, cracking it over the man’s head. Next thing I know, he’s on the floor.
She raises a broken stool leg like a trophy. “Gotcha! You okay there?”
I attempt a smirk. “Yeah, thanks. Guess we’re saving each other.”
“That’s what partners in crime do.”
Police sirens howl outside and, in an instant, the bar gets quiet.
Knots of tangled limbs turn into separate people. Everybody brushes off their clothes, dabbing at bloody lips and eyebrow gashes.
Dave sighs. Like it’s just another routine night, he puts a bucket of ice onto the bar and lays out clean rags. Folks line up to grab some and ice their bruises.
The door opens. A yawning man in a fuzzy purple bathrobe walks in, the color matching the bags under his eyes. He wears slippers and a beige cowboy hat, white hair sticking out from underneath.
Dave stands straighter. “Evenin’, Sheriff Foster.”
The crowd echoes a unified, mumbled ‘Evenin’, Sheriff Foster.’
The man grumbles, rubbing his face. Somebody got the poor fella outta bed for this.
His arrival has sobered up the entire room. People keep their heads down, settling in for another round of drinks to forgive and forget. Snitching ain’t what these folks do, not even the dude who got kicked in the nuts by Tally. He nods at her respectfully, icing his balls as he sips on bourbon.
I wonder who the fuck would call the cavalry when the rat reveals himself.
“That’s the guy!” Trevor whines. He’s huddled under the pool table with his girlfriend, sticking out an arm to point at me. “He hit me cause he’s jealous that his girl made a move on me!”
“I did not!” Tally stomps her boot. She turns to me with a pleading gaze. “You know I’m tellin’ the truth, right?”
“Of course. This asshole is lying.”
“I lost a tooth, sir!” Trevor whimpers, making sad eyes at Sheriff Foster.
The sheriff sighs. Nevertheless, he takes a pair of cuffs from the bathrobe’s pocket and approaches. “Well, give ‘em here then, son.”
“I’m being arrested?” I ask but comply, holding out my wrists. “That Trevor fella actually tried to take a swing at my—”
The word wife dies on my tongue as I make eye contact with Tally. Right, she probably wouldn’t want me calling her that in public. How very non-casual of me.
“My ex-wife,” I finish the sentence. I must’ve taken a hit to the head cause I think I see a shadow of disappointment cross her face.
Sheriff Foster shrugs apologetically as he puts the cuffs on me.
“You’re coming down to the station to cool off.
” He leans in and adds softer, “Sorry ‘bout this. Trevor’s daddy is runnin’ for mayor and projected to win.
I have to make his family happy so I can keep my job when the takeover happens. ”
I nod. “Gotta do what you gotta do.”
Small-town politics can be more complicated than city folk expect. Everybody in Pine Bluff has been kind and welcoming, and I don’t intend to make things harder for them because of one jackass called Trevor.
Tally wraps her arms around my waist. “You can’t take him away, sheriff, please. What about postin’ bail? I can pay!”
Seeing her fuss over me like this makes me all tingly. If I knew she’d react this way, I would’ve gotten myself arrested on day one.
Sheriff Foster clicks his tongue. He’s clearly confused by Tally’s intense reaction when I just introduced her as my ex-wife, which doesn’t quite match the way she clings to me. Then he sighs again, seemingly deciding it’s not worth the headache to ask.
“Sorry. No bail. Your ex-husband will be free by morning. When Trevor called me, I convinced him not to press charges, but I gotta make it seem like I take his complaint seriously.”
“It’s fine,” I reassure her with a smile.
“None of this is fine! Look at yourself. This is my fault.” She brushes over my brow and I wince at the sting.
Damn, jacked up on adrenaline, I must’ve taken more hard hits than I realized. I’m seriously starting to hurt. In multiple places. Ribs. Head. Fists.
Shit, maybe I’m really getting too old for this.
I can’t remember everything hurting like this when I got into a scuffle at twenty-something.
Back then, I could drink all night, finish off with a fight, and still be good to go after a coffee and a cigarette in the morning.
Now I’m thinking I’ll need a whole bottle of painkillers and two to five business days to recover.
“If you gotta arrest somebody, take me in!” Tally holds out her wrists.
Sheriff Foster scratches his head, looking at her like he’s considering the option. Fuck no, I won’t let her spend a night in jail!
“Naw, it ain’t your fault, Trouble. I punched the fella and I stand by it,” I insist. “Take Yolanda’s keys out of my pocket so you can drive her to the station in the morning and pick me up.”
Tally pouts. “Okay…”
I feel a zap of electricity as her fingers dip into my pocket, fishing out the keys. She holds them clenched in her fist, glaring daggers like she’s fixin’ to stab a guy named Trevor.
“Atta girl.” I peck her cheek, drawing her attention to me. “Now I want you to go across the parking lot and back to our room. When you get there, ice that bruise and catch some sleep.”
“Yeah, alright.” She looks at Sheriff Foster. “And you’re sure I can’t post bail?”
“Sorry, no.”
He leads me out into the sweltering summer night. Tally follows like a puppy. When we stop by the beat-up old cop cruiser, she gets on her tiptoes and kisses me.
“I’ll pick you up in the morning!” she says against my lips.
She kisses me again. And again. And again. I bite back a grin. I love how much she worries about me.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see a strange strobe in an alley beside the bar, but when I look closer it’s gone. Must’ve been a reflection or a broken light. Or a brewing concussion, most likely.
The sheriff smiles patiently. “Let’s go, son. Cell’s waitin’ for you and my bed’s waitin’ for me.” He opens the car door and puts his hand on my head as he guides me into the back seat. Mercifully, he takes the cuffs off before shutting me in.
Through the window, I make a kissy face at Tally and her lip wobbles. As we pull out of the parking lot, she looks after me as if I’m going to be executed.
Given that I’m going to jail because of some snot-nosed little boy crying for his daddy, I shouldn’t feel like laughing, but I do.
Friends with benefits be damned. Tally cares about me and that’s the best feeling in the world.
A sudden creative spark ignites in my mind. “Hey, sheriff, you don’t happen to have a pen and some paper?”
Sheriff Foster grumbles, stopping by the curb to reach into the glove box. He takes out a pen and a napkin, rolling both up together before sticking the bundle through the metal prisoner partition. “Best I can do.”
“Thank you!” Grinning, I unwrap the napkin and lay it on my thigh, bringing the pen down on it. “This is perfect…”