He’s been through so much pain since I left. I know he doesn’t hold it against me, but I still can’t stand the thought of him forcing himself to weather every storm alone. It makes me want to be his anchor.
And I can’t help thinking that compared to the blows life has dealt him, it’s been smooth sailing for me.
“You must think I’m a spoiled bitch,” I confess.
Rust’s head jerks. “Where’s this comin’ from all of a sudden?”
“Looking at my life from the outside, I have it all. Money. Fame. I’m one of the lucky few and I love my fans. I love music. Hell, I’m grateful I get to live my wildest dreams! But…” A sigh leaves my lips. “Okay, you’re gonna think this sounds stupid.”
He squeezes me gently. “Nothing coming out of that pretty mouth of yours could ever be stupid. Tellme.”
“Some nights, I don’t wanna go through hours of makeup and costume fitting. I don’t want the bedazzled mic and the flashing lights. I want to touch people’s hearts with my music, exactly as I am. Me and my guitar.”
“Excuse me speakin’ so plainly, but why don’t you do that?” Rust suggests.
“If only it was that easy. I worry people wouldn’t like me anymore if I went on stage as the woman Tally, not the diva. When I first signed with Rex, we tried my way.”
He makes a confused noise. “What do you mean?”
“No record label wanted me. They said my hair was too wild and my attitude too loud. My songs were too emotional. I was too much.”
I shrug like it’s no big deal, but I still remember how those comments hurt. They hurt so badly, it took years until I was brave enough to leave the house without hiding behind my persona.
Rust presses a kiss to the top of my head. “I hate that anybody would make you feel like you’re too much.”
“I realized that if I wanted a shot at being a country star, I had to do as I was told. So I wore the stupid blond wigs and wrote soulless songs that were sure to sell. At first, I convinced myself that it was temporary. Now, a decade has passed and when I look in the mirror before a concert, I don’t recognize the woman staring back at me.”
It’s terrifyingly easy to open up to Rust. Maybe it’s cause he knew me before I was somebody.
Tears spring to my eyes. “I-I lost my spark and I’m so fucking scared it’s gone forever. And worse, I lost myself.”
He strokes over my side. “That’s why you wanted to go on this trip.”
“For one week, I wanna play music and write songs without a camera in my face. Without somebody criticizingwhat I wear and what I say. Without somebody judging everything I do. Without the pressure to be perfect.”
He tips my chin up and seals my lips with his. “You’re already perfect, Trouble. You don’t even gotta try.”
A choked-up noise escapes me.
“You were perfect when that old sofa in my parents’ living room was the front row for guitar practice. You were perfect when we two-stepped in the kitchen at midnight, sharing a pair of earbuds while my folks were sleeping upstairs.”
Rust sits, making me rise with him. His eyes shimmer in the moonlight and my heart tumbles into my belly.
“And you were still perfect when you turned up at my doorstep with a corpse in your trunk. You’re still perfect when you cry out my name in pleasure and when you fit into my arms like the piece of myself I’ve been missing.”
He leans in and kisses me so fiercely the stars start to spin.
“You’re perfect when you’re on stage in your sparkly custom boots with a bedazzled mic in your hand. And you’re just as perfect when you lie in the back of my truck with messy curls and smudged eyeliner. But you’re always the most beautiful when you’re happy. So whatever you need to find your spark again, I’ll move any mountain to make it happen.”
I laugh, but my breath hitches on a sob. “What if I wanted to murder somebody on purpose? You know, for inspiration.”
“Let me get my shotgun. Who do I need to kill?” he deadpans.
I’m pretty sure he means it. That should probably be scary. But after everything we’ve gone through since I came to him with my corpse problem, my brain only registers the swoon-worthy devotion behind his declaration.
I take his hand. “No shooting tonight. But I do have a different request.”
23
