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 soundexcited.
“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.
40
TALLY
We spendmost of the next day practicing and refining our new songs. In the afternoon, I take on the largest part of the drive to Phoenix where we check into a random motel on the outskirts of the city.
Both exhausted, we grab food from a nearby fast-food chain. We cuddle on the bed to watch late-night sitcom reruns while we eat, but as I dip fries into my vanilla milkshake I come to a shocking realization.
At the start of this road trip, I thought I needed the rush and the danger of crimes to feel creative. I convinced myself I needed the sex to get inspired.
Now I’m sitting next to Rust doing absolutely nothing special and my blood sings. I’m full of music, but it’s more than my creative spark.
He looks at me and the room spins.
He smirks and I lose my breath.
He says my name and there’s an earthquake behind my ribs, like my heart wants to burst from my chest and throw itself at his feet.
But in this peaceful moment, there’s no chase. No fight. No crime. No adrenaline. Not even lust.
Just his calloused thumb absentmindedly brushing over my knuckles. Just the playful kiss he presses to my lips before he steals one of my fries.
The adventure isn’t out there. It’s right here in the quiet, in the calm—with him. He makes standstill feel like a free-fall and somehow I don’t mind closing my eyes and letting it happen. Because I know he’ll catch me. Because he’s my peace.
The best adventure of all is being his.
Wiping my hands on a baby wipe from my purse first, I thread my fingers into Rust’s hair. I run my nails over his scalp and he lets out a content growl. It’s more like a purr. He’s always loved when I do this. It’s a trace of the young man I first fell for.
