Chapter 39
TALLY
Buzzing with adrenaline, we drive on to gain some distance from the scene of the crime. Near the Arizona state line the radio loses reception and I twist the tuning knob through static noises when a newscaster fades in with a peculiar announcement.
“Earlier today, the owners of a small diner were victims of what the police call ‘the strangest robbery ever reported’,” the radio announcer says.
“According to local law enforcement, nobody was harmed,” a female voice adds.
Rust slaps the wheel, smirking. “We made the news!”
I roll my eyes playfully. “Only the local news. Clearly, we need to step up our game. I expected a national bulletin at least!”
“Patience, Trouble. Crime’s a marathon, not a sprint.”
I take my phone and turn on the voice note recorder, holding it to the radio speaker.
The male announcer croons a buttery-smooth laugh. “The masked robber left his loot behind alongside one thousand dollars laid out like a donation. But are you ready for it to get weirder?”
His co-moderator gasps. “That’s already pretty bizarre!”
The man hums. “You’ll never guess the next part. The waitress said the anonymous male engaged in intercourse with a female customer who ‘seemed to be enjoying herself. A lot.’ Her words, not mine. The woman then freely chose to leave with the robber.”
The female announcer sighs dreamily. “She must’ve fallen for his roguish charm. How romantic! Like Bonnie and Clyde.”
The other host clicks his tongue. “Somebody has been reading too many dark romance books.”
“Maybe you should pick one up. You might learn something and finally get a date,” the woman ribs.
Rust jabs a finger at the radio. “Yeah, you tell him!”
The male host sighs exaggeratedly. “My love life isn’t the topic tonight. The cook who owns the retro restaurant decided not to press charges. He said that the damage to his property was minimal and the money left by the robber is more than enough to cover the repairs.”
“And if our two love criminals are out there listening right now… this song is for you,” the female announcer adds and I can hear the smile in her voice. “I hope your story will have a happier ending. Good luck.”
‘The Legend of Bonnie and Clyde’ by Merle Haggard starts playing and I stop the recording.
“Damn, talk about an oldie,” Rust says and puts a hand on my thigh.
I lace my fingers through his, leaning my head against his shoulder. Love criminals pretty much fits the bill. Ugh, if only I didn’t make it friends-with-benefits criminals.
Past Tally was a fucking coward. In her defense, she didn’t know how easy Rust would be to love. How much he’d care for me and never fail to show it.
“I gotta make a playlist with our songs,” he muses happily. “I could use Caleb’s computer to burn you a CD.”
“Very old school, Big Guy. But I don’t think computers nowadays still have CD drives.”
“Fuck. I’ll find a damn way, if it’s the last thing I do.”
I let out a laugh. “You know what? I’d love that. Thank you.”
With the help of my all-knowing maps app, I find a secluded spot in nature where we decide to make camp. The weather is supposed to get a little chilly, but no rain.
After we arrive, Rust moves our luggage from the truck bed and sets up the air mattress. In an attempt to ignore the knot of feelings in my chest, I busy myself with making a campfire, stealing glances at the veins on Rust’s forearms popping as he works the hand air pump.
The man just can’t stop being handsome. His sex appeal has no off button.
The setting sun paints the world gold and a cool breeze sweeps in while we light the fire, sitting on camping chairs. Soon, I’ll trade sundresses for colorful scarves and sip pumpkin spice lattes. Fall’s always been my favorite season, but with Rust I wish summer could last forever.
I want an endless road and a million warm nights to play guitar and write music together. The sunshine, the heat, the music and him—I need it all.
The wind picks up. Goosebumps rush over my bare arms. Rust gets the furry blanket from the truck and wraps it around my shoulders. In comfortable silence, we roast marshmallows on metal sticks. Rust packed those, too. It feels like he anticipated this moment and every other on our journey.
“I can’t believe you didn’t warn me what you were up to in the diner!” I playfully smack his stick with mine like it’s a sword.
“Wouldn’t’ve been a surprise if I told you and I got you all figured out.” He taps his temple.
My heart stops. Fuck, what does he mean? Does he know I’m a goner for him? I’m not ready for this conversation. If I’ll ever be ready. Gigantic if. Right now, I need to distract him.
I snicker. “You’ve got figured me out? Oh, please…” I snatch the marshmallow from his stick, stuffing it into my mouth. “Ha, did you see that coming? I think not!” I mumble through the sticky sweetness.
His smile is devastatingly soft. “You think I’m gonna be mad about a stolen marshmallow?
Trouble, you could steal the breath from my lungs or the blood from my veins and I’d thank you for it.
Shit, you already stole my heart when we were kids and I never wanted it back.
It makes a lot more sense being yours, anyway. The damn thing only beats for you.”
Suddenly the heat of the fire is nothing compared to the flush on my face. Damn him and his romance-novel approved, swoon-worthy lines!
Must. Not. Confess. Love. And. Destroy. Our. Friendship.
Quickly, I pluck the marshmallow from my own stick, neglecting the small fact that it’s literally on fire cause I forgot it in the flames. I stuff the gooey, hot, burned mess into my mouth.
Oh, shit. God, that stings!
My mouth falls open as I inhale and exhale quickly, trying to cool down the lava-like marshmallow from the depths of hell burning my tongue.
“Hashafashasha!” I groan.
Rust holds back a laugh. With the weird noises I’m making it sounds like I’m possessed by a demon, but that’s far better than actual words coming out.
Words admitting that I’m truly and hopelessly in love with my ex-husband. It’s the last plot twist I’d ever expected for my life. I spent more than a decade trying to get over him, just to fall back into his arms in a single week.
It feels as if we were always meant to be and I finally stopped fighting fate.
Or like a romantic comedy—if second chance romcoms started with accidental murder instead of a meet cute. Talk about a meet macabre. Is that a thing? If not, it’s a thing now.
Call Hollywood, I’m about to redefine the romcom genre!
Rust winces. “That looked like it hurt.” He reaches into our cooler by his chair, taking out a cold bottle of water. “Here, drink some of this.”
I grab it and take a deep gulp, swishing the cool liquid around in my mouth before I swallow. “Thank you.”
“No problem. Where were we? The diner, right. You wanted to know why I didn’t warn you.”
I nod, sipping water.
“Well, I reckoned a little robbery was bound to get your creative juices pumpin’. The other kind, too.” He winks.
I giggle. Feelings I can’t handle. Dirty jokes on the other hand? Yes, please.
“I’m definitely gonna use the diner in a song. You might not believe it, but you really are my muse, Big Guy.”
He clears his throat, staring into the fire. “You ain’t the only one gettin’ inspired.”
I slap my palm over my lips. “Shut up! Are you serious?”
“I might’ve written a lil somethin’ for you when I was sitting in that jail cell. Couldn’t help myself cause I was missin’ you so badly.”
Butterflies start fluttering in my belly. At this point, they should just take up permanent residency in there.
Not only did Rust finally pick up his composer pen after a decade, but the first song he wrote is for me? No marshmallows can save me now.
“Please, let me hear your new song! Oh, please, please, please!” I beg shamelessly.
“It’ll probably sound shit. I haven’t had a chance to revise or practice, and I wrote it without my guitar.”
I drop the stick. “Rustin McAllister, don’t leave me hanging like this!”
He gives me a crooked grin. “Full government name-ing me, huh? You mean business.”
“I’ve waited twelve fucking years for a new song from you!”
“But we’ve been writin’ together during the trip,” he protests.
“Nuh-uh, that’s not the same. I love making music with you and it fills my creative cup until it overflows. But a song that’s 100 percent you? That hits different. I want to hear it. Now.” I make grabby hands at him.
Rust blushes, catching my wrist. He raises my hand to his mouth and his soft lips encase my marshmallow-coated index finger. My breath hitches. He sucks off the sticky burnt sugar, alternating with slow, precise swirls of his tongue.
My pussy tingles, reminding me what that mouth can do. Or more precisely, what that mouth has already done and what I want it to do again. As soon as possible… but not now.
I shake my head to clear the fog of lust from my brain. Pulling my finger free with a wet pop, I cross my arms. “Your silver-tongued seduction techniques won’t work on me! Not when there’s the future of country music on the line.”
Heat flickers in his eyes as he brushes over his mustache. “What a damn shame.”
“Don’t you worry. We’ll circle back to that tongue of yours later. Music first. Orgasms later.”
“I’ll hold you to that.”
Rust gets his guitar from the truck and sits next to me again. His face bright red, he pulls a crumpled napkin from his pocket. There’s something written on it, but he puts it on the armrest away from me where I can’t see it.
He plucks the strings. It’s a soft, slow melody, melancholic in the same way your heart dips when a scent takes you back to your first kiss or the color of the sky looks like the night you fell in love.
Rust clears his throat. “This song is called… Trouble.”
He starts to sing and I don’t dare to breathe. His voice is all gravel and oil, but somehow still tender.
“I held her close but knew her wings
Told her goodbye, tried to do what’s right
But she crashed back into my life like a hurricane
Messed up my quiet and I love it so”
The melody rises with the word love and shudders run across my skin. His eyes close, every word full of longing.
“Lord, help me, cause I’m fallin’ again
Cause I don’t stand a chance, I don’t want tame
I want her…”
He pauses and the rhythm picks up as he strums the guitar. The chords ring out like the first streaks of sunlight breaking through storm clouds.
“T-R-O-U-B-L-E
She’ll cuss me out and kiss me after
Wild like honeysuckle and sweet like summer rain
She’ll call me fool, call me her favorite
Got a temper like a match struck in July
Music in her laughter, fire in her eyes
She’s my chaos, she’s my calm
She’s the reason I know I’m alive
Her love’s the best trouble I’ve been in
And I don’t wanna get out”
Rust switches back to fingerpicking with the second verse.
“Without her my world was grey
But she got lightnin’ on her tongue
She got thunder in her stride
And trouble is where my heart belongs”
He follows up with a variation of the bridge and finishes with a repetition of the chorus. The last note lingers on the wind, vibrating through my soul. I wipe at my eyes, sniffling.
Trouble is where his heart belongs.
Rust gives a wry grin, putting down the guitar. “Okay I didn’t think it was amazing, but it was so bad it made you cry? Damn, I suck.”
I shove him gently. “You idiot! That was the most beautiful song I’ve ever fucking heard!” I giggle and a tear escapes, rolling down my cheek.
His face lightens. “You’re not just saying that cause you’re tryin’ to get in my pants?”
“Please, you make it sound like getting in your pants is difficult. Those jeans have an open-door policy.”
“Only for you.”
I roll my eyes. “You know, for a man who claims to suck at composing, you’re alarmingly good. This is a first draft, but you could play this song on the radio right now and win awards. Somehow you made me sound like a natural disaster and a divine miracle at the same time. I love it. Thank you.”
I lean over to sling my arms around him, hiding my face in the bend of his neck. He embraces me and my breath stutters as I inhale his smoky, woodsy scent.
The words are right there, on the tip of my tongue.
I think I’m in love with you.
I reckon I never stopped loving you.
But I can’t make a sound. I can’t make myself say it. We’re older and wiser, but what if we mess up again?
I sob and Rust hugs me tighter.
“Let it out, Trouble. I’m right here with you…” He strokes my hair, pressing my ear to his thundering heart. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m sorry.”
If I can’t say what I feel, I have to voice the other issue weighing on my heart.
“The only thing upsetting me is your wasted talent and I’m not letting that go on any longer!”
He shakes his head. “I ain’t that good.”
“Yes, you are!” I pull back and frame his face with my hands. My thumb brushes over his upper lip, his mustache tickling me. “You’re better than good, Big Guy. You’re exceptional. Grandiose.”
He blushes so fiercely I feel his skin heat up under my fingertips.
I hum the melody of his song, tapping my foot. “It’s incredibly catchy! I’d bet every dollar I have that you got country gold on that crinkled napkin.”
“You truly believe that?” he asks, and from the hitch in his tone, I can tell he’s trying hard not to sound excited.
“One hundred percent. You need to get this song out into the world. When we’re in LA, I’d like to introduce you to some people in the industry who can help you with that.”
“I ain’t promisin’ anything, but…” He chuckles awkwardly. “I’ll consider it. Thanks.”
For now, that’s good enough. Better than a no, at least.