TALLY
Rust smiles earnestly. “Anything for you.”
“Then I’d like to hear you sing.”
His hand slips from mine and he averts his eyes. “Oh, I don’t know, Trouble.”
I interlace our fingers again. “It’s been so long since I’ve heard your voice, Big Guy. I miss it. You play covers in the Coal Bucket and that’s a much larger audience than lil old me.”
His hands shake slightly. “Truth be told, I don’t give a shit what the others think. That makes it easy to perform. But your opinion matters to me.”
“Please, just one song? A short one maybe? And you did say you’d do anything for me…” I give him a wicked grin.
He sighs. “Got me there.”
The air mattress bounces as he hops over the side of the truck bed and rummages through our pile of luggage on the grass. He returns with his guitar and sits on the open tailgate. I settle beside him, my ribs aching as I see the letters etched into the instrument.
They look like the day I carved them.
T + R 4 EVER
I run a finger along the clumsy lines. For a second, I swear I can feel those same lines etched into my heart like scars, throbbing with every beat of my pulse.
Rust clears his throat and starts plucking the strings. I recognize the beginning notes of‘Change My Mind’by Riley Green. When the first line of the lyrics hit, goosebumps rush along my arms.
Fuck, he used to be good. Now, he’s brilliant.
His gravelly voice has a richer timbre and the resemblance with Johnny Cash is even stronger. But it’s also distinctly his own, full of emotion with a wider vocal range.
It’s a one-of-a-kind voice. The type to be born once in a generation.
How does he not realize how special he is?
The moon shines on Rust like a spotlight. His lips curl into a soft smile while he sings, but his eyes are fixed on his boots. A blush spreads across his cheeks and I realize he wasn’t playing coy.
He’s genuinely nervous.
When he forces himself to look up at me, I get light-headed like a groupie in the front row. His effortless charm makes this tailgate in the middle of nowhere feel like a world-class stage. Charisma oozes from his every pore.
My heart stumbles.
Oh shit, am I okay? Did I have too much beer? Were the pickles bad?
When the song finishes, Rust winces. “Give it to me straight, Trouble. How bad did I sound? Too much small-town hillbilly pretendin’ he’s a big shot singer?”
I jab a finger at his chest. “You’re the real criminal here!”
His head cocks. “I’m anaccomplicetoyourcrime and I’m still willing to take the fall if the cops catch on, but?—”
“It’s a fuckin’ crime to hide that voice from the world! A mortal sin!” I throw my hands in the air.
He flushes a deeper shade of pink. Looking like this, he reminds me of the boy I used to know. It makes me want to kiss him.
“Another!” I demand. “Please?” I add with a smile.
“Only if you sing with me.”
“I’d love to.”
