I purse my lips playfully. “You tricked me into writing a song.”
“No, I gave you a gentle nudge with an affectionate twist. There’s a difference.”
I laugh and lean over to kiss her cheek. “Thank you, Trouble. I needed it.”
“Nothin’ to thank me for.” She gets her notebook from her purse and opens a brand-new page. “Now let’s finish this song. Together.”
“It’d be an honor.”
“Okay! We need another verse… a bridge… fine-tune the melody…” She writes‘Love’s an Outlaw Version 2’at the top of the page, double underlining it. “And then, bam!” She slaps the paper with the pen. “Got a chart topper right there!”
I hold up a hand. “Alright, alright, alright. Let’s take it step by step. I’m still rusty.”
“Is that a pun or a silent invitation to call you Rusty from now on?”
“Call me Rusty once and I’ll throw you into this creek, woman. Clothes and all.”
“Heard you loud and clear, Rust-in.” She winks. “Now take it from the top, will ya? Cause I won’t leave this spot until we finish this damn song. A decade in the makin’, it’s bound to be the best thing we’ve ever written.”
30
RUST
Something’swrong with my wife. Worry knots my stomach as I breathe in the scent of stale beer permeating the bar.
Tally checks her lipstick in a hand mirror. It’s the fourth time since we got to the packed honky-tonk about ten minutes ago. All seats are taken, but the owner, Dave, had reserved three stools for us.
“Wow, you really drew a crowd!” Erin says, grabbing a handful of salted peanuts from a bowl on the bar top.
People squeeze around the bar, trying to get in their order. The line almost goes to the door. It’s impressive how many people turned up for an unknown singer. It’d be a whole ‘nother thing if they knewtheTally Creed is about to perform.
Without the wigs and the blue contacts, Tally looks different enough to keep her identity a secret. To me, it’s still crazy people don’t realize who she is. But I think that’s cause I’ve known her my whole life and longingly stare at her pictures every day.
I mean, even Dolly Parton didn’t get recognized when she went out without her massive wigs and tons of makeup. If it worked for the queen of country music, who am I to question the strategy?
“Everybody’s excited to see you!” Erin chirps.
“I guess,” Tally mumbles, her tone lacking its usual musicality.
There’s no trace of the bubbly woman who wrote a song with me by the creek this morning. What the fuck did I miss? I scan the room, trying to find the reason for her foul mood.
This place is the classic country dive bar experience, including multi-colored Christmas lights hanging from the rafters in the middle of summer. Peanut shells litter the perpetually sticky floor. A jukebox plays old country songs and the cracking of billiard balls comes from a pool table in the back.
Isn’t this exactly what she wanted?
Tally whistles to get Dave’s attention, pointing at her empty glass. “Another bourbon, please! Make it a double, no ice. I’m fine with the cheap shit cause I won’t taste much chuggin’ it.”
Dave looks up from pouring a beer and nods. Sweat beads on his brow as he continues to fill orders.
Erin chews more peanuts, following my gaze. “The whole town came out to hear you sing.”
Tally stiffens at Erin’s remark. I’m about to ask what’s gotten her so stressed, when a guy pushes through the crowd and heads straight for Tally. He taps her shoulder, but she doesn’t react.
My pulse rockets. A lesser man would’ve already succumbed to the impulse to break his finger for the transgression of touching her.
The scrawny fucker doesn’t pose a physical threat, but something about his sleazy grin puts me on high alert. If he touches her again, I’ll rip his spindly arm from its socket and beat him to death with it.
He’s definitely not from around these parts. The striped polo shirt and sweatpants give it away. My eyes drop and I wince. I thought his outfit couldn’t get worse, but I was wrong.
