How to Kill Yourself in a Small Town (8 page)

Tough

When
the set was over and we were putting stuff up, I was shaking a little bit. Not
enough for someone looking at me to notice, but enough that I felt it in my stomach.
Adrenaline, a good set, and a little showing off always did that to me, got me
so jacked up I could run all night.

“Wipe
that shit-eating grin off your face or I’ll do it for you.” Owen swung his
fiddle case at my nuts as he passed by. “Look like a damn possum.”

I
slapped his case down and threw up my arms like
Let’s go, bitch!

Owen
got up in my face, all crazy-eyed and grinning.

“Need
your ass kicked, boy?” he asked, banging against my chest, trying to shove me
back.

I
nodded and yanked my hat down tight like I was ready to tear into him.

“You
been hanging around them big-city pussies too long if you don’t remember what a
Grade-A, certified, country-fried badass who will fuck you up looks like,” Owen
hollered.

Willow
rolled her eyes.

“I
want to get to the bonfire sometime before sunrise,” she said. “You guys either
settle this at the farm or borrow Rowdy’s tape measure and get it over with.”

“Oh,
hell yes, I got this one,” Owen said, pretending to go for his fly.

I
gave him the Up Yours sign and kicked the lid of my guitar case shut. Desty was
still hanging back along the wall. I wished she’d come over.

Dodge
saw where I was looking.

“Why
don’t you bring your girl out to the farm,” he said. “Nothing like a bonfire
for a little romance.”

Owen
started humping the air and singing, “Get that truck a-rocking like a Garth
Brooks song—”

But
Willow said, “You should totally bring her. I’ll go ask her for you.” She
locked up her headphone case and headed for the stairs, passing close enough by
me that I could’ve stopped her if I’d wanted to. “Desty!”

I
snapped the latches shut on my case and hopped off the stage beside Willow.

Desty
smiled at me and that shaking feeling in my stomach spread out to my arms and legs.
I hadn’t noticed before that I was pretty much soaked in sweat. I took off my
hat and wiped the damp hem of my t-shirt across my face.

“A
bunch of us are going to Dodge’s for a Welcome Home bonfire for Tough,” Willow
said. “You should come.”

“Right
now?” Desty asked.

“Got
anywhere else to be?” Willow asked.

Desty
shook her head.

“Then
come on,” Willow said. “There’ll be plenty to drink, some music, a crazy-big
fire… It’ll be fun.”

Desty
looked at me like she wanted to see if I really wanted her to go. And since it
doesn’t get much more invincible than right after a set like that, I gave her
the
Come on
nod.

“Okay,”
Desty said. “Cool.”

“You’ll
have to ride with Tough, though,” Willow said. “Everybody else’s truck is
full.”

Dodge
laughed as he carried his case by.

“Hope
you ain’t allergic to rust,” he told Desty.

I
knew what was coming next. It’s weird that you could go more than a month
without talking and still keep finding things you wish you could use your voice
for.

“You
got to remember, though,” Dodge said, “It is a Ford. Tough’s lucky it still
runs.”

I
pulled down on the bill of my hat with both hands and bit my lips together.

No,
Dodge’s lucky I’ve got a Ford so he can go mudding without having to walk home.
At least I don’t have to drive an ugly piece of Chevy like Owen. Do you know
what happens to a truck like mine when it breaks down? It turns into a—

“You
didn’t tell me you drove a Ford,” Desty said, letting loose a smile that was at
least fifty-one percent
laughing at
instead of
with.
“What’re we
waiting for? Let’s go.”

I
could feel my face mirror hers. If I hadn’t liked her before, I would’ve
started to right then.

*****

The
radio in my truck worked great. I had a badass set of speakers behind the seat,
subs in both doors, and I’d spent the cash to get my antenna NP-protected. It
could pick up just about any station in the state. But I hadn’t listened to the
radio much in the last month and I didn’t know how I would explain it to Desty
if Jason Gudehaus came on singing “Tulsa Time” in what used to be my voice and
I did something stupid like put a fist through the dash. I left the radio off
while we drove.

The
bank clock said the temperature had dropped down to eighty-five. I shut off the
air and rolled my window down so the noise from the locusts would break up some
of the quiet. Desty rolled hers down a couple inches, too, and stuck her
fingers out.

“Not
too bad a night for as hot as it’s been,” she said.

I
nodded. She wasn’t looking at me, but I could see her face reflected in her
window with black holes that the stars blinked through where her eyes should
be.

I
turned south on the highway leaving Halo and tried to pay attention to driving.
That post-show shakiness hadn’t faded yet, but it had turned into this kind of
bubbling feeling that I would do something stupid like miss the turnoff to
Dodge’s or hit a deer.

“That
one song you guys played,” Desty said, “I liked it.”

That
made me smile. I’d pegged her right—one of those sweet girls you see rocking
out to the rough stuff. I bet she had a bunch of old Streetlight Manifesto and
SR-71 on her mp3 player. Maybe even some of Mom’s songs. Probably no country.

“Did
you write it?” she asked.

I
nodded.

“I
thought so,” she said. “It sounded like you.”

For
a while, I tapped my thumb on the steering wheel, wishing Desty would keep
talking so I wouldn’t have to think about “My Halo”—that song I’d played her at
the bar—and how I used to come down after a really good night. Mitzi loved
adrenaline-fueled sex. What the hell was her problem? Did she get tired of me
or did I piss her off? We had a deal, dammit. I’d be her twenty-four-seven
booty-call so Jason wouldn’t have to think about how his dick shriveled up when
the temperature dropped and they would make sure Kathan left me alone. For five
years they were fine with it, and suddenly they decided to get figurative with
the “screw Tough” part of the agreement?

“Tree
frogs are singing.” Desty sounded kind of nervous. Maybe she’d picked up on my
pissed-off mood swing.

I
nodded.

“Must
be going to rain,” she said.

I
looked at her. Were we seriously going to spend this ride talking about the
weather?

“Fine,
you got me,” she said. “I’ve never been around somebody who couldn’t talk. I
don’t know how to act. Not that I think you’re handicapped or that I wouldn’t
want to go on a date with you. It’s just, under the best circumstances I’m
awkward enough.”

I
tried to keep a straight face and raised my eyebrow at her.

“Not
that this is a date,” she said. “I know we’re just going to a bonfire, but—
Which isn’t to say that a bonfire isn’t good enough or—”

I
snorted.

“You
jerk!” She smacked my arm, but she was trying not to smile. “You were being
weird on purpose.”

In
my defense, you’re even cuter when you’re squirming around acting like a dork
who just grew boobs and doesn’t realize she’s hot yet.
Dammit, I wished I could talk.

“Just
for that I am counting this as a date,” she said. “Date One: Desty and Tough.
Let’s see how it goes, shall we?”

That
knocked my bullshit down a little. I didn’t really want to think about this
being a date. Flirting’s easy—even if you can’t talk—and I ought to be good
enough at sex by now, but dating was one of those in-between steps I’d never
gotten around to.

Desty
quieted down, too.

“Unless
someone would be upset if I called it that,” she said, watching me. “Like
jilted-girlfriend-upset.”

I
shook my head, hard, kind of offended she would think I’d take a girl out
riding around if I had a girlfriend. Then I remembered the night before when
Rowdy told her I’d been banging some other guy’s wife.

Shit.
I should just wear a fucking sign around my neck.

But
Desty nodded.

“I
just wanted to make sure. Those blonde girls you were with last night seemed
pretty serious about not liking me. But that’s okay—I don’t like them either.”

Laughing
felt good, even without the sound. When Desty wasn’t being weird, there was a
lot of fuck-you attitude in her.

I
picked her hand up off the seat. It felt kind of cold, so I folded her fingers
into a ball and put my hand around them.

Desty
turned and looked out her window again, but I could see her smiling in the
reflection.

Then
red and blue flashers lit up my rearview, letting me know that Halo’s version
of a dickhead cop was after us. I let go of Desty’s hand and got a strangle-hold
on the wheel.

For
a second I considered gassing it and making Rian earn his paycheck, but if I
got caught, I probably wouldn’t be lucky enough to get the face-meets-asphalt,
ass-whooping treatment. Rian would haul me in. I didn’t want to take the chance
that Desty might be considered an accessory, so I pulled over.

“What’s
going on?” she looked over her shoulder at the lights. “We weren’t speeding.”

We
were speeding a little bit, but that wasn’t why he pulled us over.

Rian,
fallen angel foot soldier and state trooper wannabe, sauntered up to my window
and tipped his hat back so he could see into the cab.

“Step
out of the truck, Tough,” he said. “You know the drill.”

The
drill is a superiority complex. Fallen angels don’t like having to look up at
anybody—especially a punk with an eight-inch lift on his truck. That was part
of why I got the kit.

I
shoved open my door. Rian had to jump out of the way or get knocked over, which
made me feel a little better about going peacefully.

“You
realize you’re over five miles from Halo city limits?” Rian asked as he spun me
around and put my hands on the truck bed. He ran his hands down my sides. “If
you’ve got any weapons on you or anything in the truck to indicate that you’re
leaving town again—”

“We’re
just going to a bonfire,” Desty said, sliding over to the driver’s seat. I
wished she would’ve stayed put. Whether we were calling it a date or not, her
watching me get a pat-down hadn’t been in my plans. “At Dodge’s farm. The whole
band is going. It’s a Welcome Home bonfire for Tough.”

Rian
laughed. He got the Welcome Home joke, even though Desty didn’t. His hands slid
down my left leg, then zipped back up my right a little too close to home for
comfort. He stepped back.

“All
right, little miss—”

But
Rian never finished whatever retarded insult he was going for.

I
looked over my shoulder at him. He was leaning forward, trying to get a better
look at Desty. I’d disconnected my truck’s dome light a long time back, so he had
to pull out his flashlight. It was weird to see that big-ass,
I’m-compensating-for-something Maglite without expecting to get it upside the
head.

“Are
you Modesty?” Rian asked.

When
I was little, I remember watching a show about tigers. I hadn’t thought about
it since Mom died and I’ll probably never think about it again, but the way
Desty’s face lit up the second Rian said her name reminded me of a shot on that
show of a tiger jumping out of the bushes at its prey.

“Are
you—” Her voice was shaking. “Was Tempie with you? Is she with you? Or with
someone you know? Another foot soldier?”

She
wanted him to say yes, any idiot could see that. I don’t know why I thought it
would help, but I put my hand on her knee.

Faster
than I could flinch, Rian stabbed me in the ribs with his Maglite. Something
crunched and bumped against what I would guess was one of my internal organs.

I
went down, but I came back up and slammed my shoulder into Rian’s stomach. He
bounced off the truck door, threw me down, and put his boot on the broken rib.
My whole body tried to twist out from under his foot as the pain caught up with
me.

“Keep
your hands off her, dipshit.” Rian leaned on me a little harder and I forgot I
couldn’t yell. “Modesty, Mayor Dark gave us specific instructions to bring
Temperance’s twin to the mansion as soon as we locate her.”

Then
Rian’s boot slipped off of my side and Desty was kneeling in the dirt by me.

“Are
you all right, Tough?” she asked.

I
nodded. As long as I didn’t breathe, I was fine. You don’t realize how much of
your body is connected in the middle until you break a rib and someone stands
on it. I had to let Desty help me get to my knees.