Sing You Home by Ava Hunter

Luke stares down at the photo of Sal, taken earlier this morning as they exited the hospital. Splashed across the front page of the tabloid news website the Nashville Star is the headline Luke Kincaid’s Wife Back from the Dead.

The photo’s grainy, snuck on a cell phone, but still has Luke seeing every shade of red in the rainbow.

This is exactly why he wanted to keep Sal’s homecoming under the radar. She’s not even home yet and already the media’s sniffing around. Asking questions. Wanting her photo. Trying to take advantage when she’s at her most vulnerable. It’s why he’s asked friends and family to stay away until Sal feels up to visitors. Overwhelming her ain’t an option. It’s her pace or no one’s.

“Jesus,” Seth mutters.

Luke growls. “How in the hell did they find out?”

Mort has the phone against his ear. “Workin’ on that now, son.”

Scrubbing a hand down his face, Luke watches as his manager sticks his earpiece in and launches into take-charge mode. However Mort will squash it, Luke will let him.

There was a moment, early last year, when Luke wasn’t sure Mort was the right manager for the band. Mort was pushing the Brothers Kincaid to go mainstream—a change Luke wasn’t comfortable with. However, after Mort discovered that it was Clive Jasper who’d sent Sal the photo that had caused her accident, Mort proved his worth and Luke never looked back. The Brothers Kincaid re-signed their contract with Six String Records.

The soft pad of footsteps sound somewhere behind Luke. He stands when he sees Sal coming down the corridor. Almost warily, she sidesteps Mort before hovering in the doorway to the lounge.

“Hey,” Luke says, moving toward her. “All okay?”

“Fine,” she says. “Just exploring.”

The husky lilt of Sal’s voice nearly has Luke’s knees buckling. He’s still not used to the sight of her, appearing like an apparition, only a hundred times more real. She stares up at him with those big green eyes, and all the air leaves his lungs. God help him. He wants to kiss her so damn bad. Just take her in his arms and tell her that he’ll never leave her, that it’s her he’s loved all these years.

But he’s kept his distance. It’s her decision if she wants to be touched by him. By anyone. She barely knows him. He’s a stranger to her, just like everyone else. Just having her back is more than he deserves.

It’ll take time for Sal to heal. And he’ll be beside her every step of the way, helping her with whatever she needs, giving her whatever she wants.

“What do you think of the bus?” he asks.

“It’s like a maze.” Sal raises her eyes up, looking around with a kind of innocent awe. “A palace on wheels.” She arcs an inquisitive brow. “So do you do this a lot? The whole bus thing?”

Luke smiles. “The whole bus thing? You mean touring?”

“Uh-huh.”

“We did.”

A tilt of her dark head. “I went with you?”

He swallows past the dryness in his throat. “Always.”

Even with Sal’s job as a paramedic, even to Mort’s chagrin, Luke managed to coordinate his schedule with hers so that she always went on tour with him. He never went without her.

Sal considers this, then her eyes are widening, fixed on a point above Luke’s shoulder. Following her gaze, he turns to see her sights on the rolling green hills and snaky roads that make up the Tennessee hills. Down in the valley, twenty minutes from Nashville, sits their old farmhouse.

“Is that home?” Her voice borders on awe.

Home. Even the thought of it bamboozles his brain. Sal, home. With him.

This second chance. He can’t fail.

“Yeah,” Luke says hoarsely. “Wild Antler Farm.”

When Luke thinks of their farm, he thinks of Sal. The day he came home from the bank and there she was, a hammer in her hands, ready to bust down the walls on their fixer-upper. That was his wife, never willing to wait, always ready to take on the world and make it theirs.

“Oh, wow,” she murmurs, pushing past him for the front of the bus. She hangs over the shoulder of the driver, taking in the scenery through the large windshield. A wraparound porch, peach trees, stables, the tree line of forest.

“This is gorgeous,” she tells Luke as he comes to stand beside her.

But Luke only has eyes for Sal, watching her pretty profile as she takes it in, looking like a kid on Christmas morning. She’s still painfully thin, but her face has more color than it did in the hospital. Her dark hair has been combed glossy, hanging down to her waist in loose waves.

Only the sharp bend of the bus is enough to draw Luke’s attention from Sal. He stiffens as he realizes what they’re approaching. Hellier Curve. The place of Sal’s car accident.

Luke’s hand grips white on the headrest. He’s aware that both he and Seth are staring at Sal. They’re watching her face to see what she remembers, if anything from that night comes back to her. But her eyes stay blank, her face impassive.

As the bus rounds the corner, it takes the curve so fast its tires squeal. Sal wobbles and nearly pitches forward into the windshield.

Luke’s there to catch her, wrapping a protective arm around her waist. Sal tenses as he yanks her close but doesn’t pull away.

As Luke swears under his breath at the driver, it’s Seth who takes up the yelling. “Jesus, easy,” he snaps, tossing the driver an angry look. They’ve got precious cargo on board.

A shaky exhale. “Nice catch.”

Luke’s attention flicks back to Sal, so curved into him it’s like they’ve never been apart. The fragile weight of her, her very nearness has him relishing the feel of Sal finally in his arms.

He clears his throat. “You okay?”

“A-OK.” Letting out a silvery laugh, Sal braces a hand against Luke’s chest. When she fans her slender fingers out over his heart, every muscle in Luke’s body locks. Her touch is like a thousand volts of electricity to his nerve endings. The nearness of her makes him fall-on-his-knees grateful.

“Just getting my bus legs back, I guess.” She stares at Luke for a long moment, her eyes almost searching, then she drops her hand.

He releases her, hating the absence of her in his arms, and she goes to sit next to Jace.

“Hey, Luke.” Seth’s voice is low. Too low.

Luke turns to Seth. “What is it?”

Seth points out the window. “We got company.”

As the bus pulls onto the snakelike dirt road that leads to Wild Antler Farm, Luke sees the circus that awaits. Media and reporters swarm the front of the farmhouse. One in particular catches his attention. Luke’s hands ball into fists. Clive Jasper, that dirty rat bastard, leads the pack.

“Holy shit,” Sal says, her stunned voice making Luke jump. “You really are famous.”

Jace barks out a laugh. “You thought we were lyin’?”

Her mouth twitches. “Exaggerating, more like.”

“I’ll give you ten bucks for every one you hit,” Luke says as the driver pulls into the driveway.

Beside him, Seth adds, “Make it twenty.”

The bus comes to a stop with a groaning whine.

“Okay, boys,” Mort says, slicking his stringy hair back. “Get Sal inside, and I’ll handle this.”

The bus doors open. The crescendo of reporter babble blasts Luke’s ears. Gritting his teeth, he says to Mort, “They ain’t off my property in ten minutes, I’m gettin’ my shotgun.”

Seth hops out. “Shit, that’s being generous.”

Luke’s out next, turning immediately to find Sal reaching for him, her green eyes curious, yet tinged with fear. “You ready?” His eyes hold steady on hers, waiting for permission. Finally, she gives a determined nod. Her armor is a go.

Luke picks Sal up by the waist and sets her on the ground next to him. Before the sea of reporters can surge forward, he shields her protectively with his arm, blocking their view of Sal. They want her tragedy for their own, and he’ll do his damnedest to ensure they don’t get it.

Sal winces at the aggressive glare of flashbulbs, at the questions being lobbed her way, at the strangers clamoring for a glimpse of her. With a soft gasp, she turns her face into Luke’s chest.

The look of fear in her eyes sends a surge of anger straight through him.

“C’mon, darlin’,” Luke says as Jace and Seth flank her, protecting her from the cameras as they lope up the front steps to the wraparound porch.

Then, the door’s swinging open and they step inside.

Sal blinks at the two women hovering in the center of the foyer. There’s an older woman with long gray hair, and a frosted blond with her hands clasped to her heart.

“Oh my word,” the blond bubbles, her eyes lasered on Sal. She’s practically fizzing with excitement. Her southern drawl’s as thick as honey. “Oh. My. Word. Sal.”

She takes a step toward Sal, and Sal backs up, nearly tripping over her own feet.

“Easy.”

His voice a soft warning, Luke moves to Sal’s side. When she takes his arm, Luke clinches his bicep to keep her close. Glancing up, she flashes him a grateful smile. Her legs feel shaky, from the bus ride or from nerves she can’t tell, only that she needs something steady to hold herself upright.

Seeing Sal’s distress, the blond freezes, presses a hand to her mouth. She winces. “Oh, shoot. I’m sorry.” She gives Sal a bright smile. “You’ve been gone for far too long, sugar.”

Jace moves quick to intercept the blond. “This is Emmy Lou,” he tells Sal. “My wife.”

“The human Chihuahua,” Seth whispers in Sal’s ear, and she has to bite her lip to stifle a laugh.

“And I’m Martha,” says the older woman. “Married to Mort.”

Luke looks unhappy.

Emmy Lou goes to him with arms outstretched. “I know you wanted to get her settled in, Luke, but we couldn’t wait.”

“Hello.” Sal lifts a hand, aware they’re watching her with wide eyes. Expecting her to crumble any second. A sudden flush creeps its way onto her cheeks, angry at herself for not being able to place these faces. “Good to meet you. Again, I guess.”

Emmy Lou huffs with determination. “Alright.” She hooks her arms through Jace’s and Martha’s. “We’ll get out of your hair.” Tugging them toward the door, she glances back at Luke. “Don’t you hide her away too long now, you hear? We missed her.” She gives him a knowing look. “You too.”

Then the door’s shutting behind them. Shutting out the noise. Shutting out the strangers.

Releasing a breath, Sal raises her eyes around the foyer. The farmhouse is quaint and homey. A blend of vintage and contemporary charm. Leather and wood. A vintage Victrola. A bar stocked with whiskey. It smells of lemon, of cleaning supplies. It feels well lived in and well loved.

As Luke says something in a low voice to Seth, Sal drifts down the long hallway. The wood floors creak beneath her feet. She feels like she’s forty feet up, looking down on herself. The sensation is strange, dreamlike.

Framed records line the walls of the hallway. At least ten total. A song name on each one. Sal touches the edges of black frames, touches trembling fingers to her mouth, her fascination like a gravitational pull, this spot a much-needed lifeline to her past.

Interspersed between the framed records are framed photos of the Brothers Kincaid. One photo has her leaning closer. It’s a photo of Sal, Seth, Jace and Luke at an awards show. Sal’s in the middle, her arms looped around Luke’s neck, and she’s laughing at a scowling Seth.

The thought comes sudden. I was someone who laughed. Who was loved. Is loved. They love me. These men do.

The last picture frame holds a silver CD. Scrawled across the top in black magic marker is The Brothers Kincaid. Demo #1. Beneath it—HANDS OFF, SETH! Sal squints. The handwriting is feminine. Messy. Familiar.

“You did that,” a quiet voice cuts into her thoughts.

She refocuses to see Luke leaning against the wall, his hands in his pockets, his dark brown eyes pinned on her.

“When we first got going with the music, you were right there with us. Helping us stuff envelopes and book gigs and label CDs.”

“Don’t forget the shitty T-shirts,” Seth chimes in.

Luke chuckles. “Yeah. Those too.” He smiles and his eyes, his expression, turn serious. “Without you, Sal, we’d be nothin’.”

Luke’s words have her shivering.

Sal tries to picture being that type of force. Throwing down longnecks with the band, unloading and loading, riding a bus. She can’t. When she searches her memory, all she gets is a black wall. She can remember pop culture, math, but nothing about herself. Not even the medical skills needed to do her job. All she knows is what she was told by Roy, and even that’s a lie.

Hot tears of frustration fill her eyes. Her body feels like a volcano trembling for an active memory. If she doesn’t get one soon, she’ll explode.

“Lot to take in, huh?” Luke’s voice is gentle and understanding. “You wanna take a walk around?”

Sal nods. She keeps close to Luke’s side as she inspects the rest of the house. The first floor holds a kitchen, a guest bedroom, a powder room, and a sizeable living room that opens to a formal dining room. Her fingers trace flowered wallpaper, knotted walls. She presses palms against doorknobs, kitchen countertops, feeling like she’s searching for a wormhole into her past. She can tell the house used to be a fixer-upper. It’s clear hard work was put into it. When Sal gets to the living room, she taps the stone wall framing the fireplace. She looks at Luke. He’s been following her at a careful distance, waiting to help if asked.

“Did we do this?”

“We did,” he says. “We spent one summer fixin’ it up. Jace and Seth even pitched in, peelin’ off wallpaper and sandin’ floors.”

“Yeah, and you paid us in beer,” Seth adds. “Cheap bastard.”

Smiling, Sal points at a large door with an old acoustic guitar painted on it. “What’s this? Basement?”

Luke stiffens. “Recording studio.”

Sal tips up her chin, amazed. “You have a studio here?”

His throat bobs. “It ain’t been used in a while.”

Sal wants to ask him why, but something in his face stops her. There’s a sadness there, a reluctance to get into it.

Seth peers at her. He can’t help it. He’s curious. “Anything comin’ back to you?”

Sal pulls her eyes from Luke and shakes her head. “No, nothing.”

Luke shoots his brother a hard look. “That’s alright.”

Not for Sal. She knew it would be difficult, but not this difficult. Sal thought that maybe, seeing her home, it would all come rushing back like those amnesiacs from the movies. Instead, she’s left with only blackness. More frustration than knowledge.

Is this how it’ll always be? Living a blind life? Being unable to find the thing most precious to her—her memories? Hell, it’s not like she lost her wallet.

She’s lost.

Her.

“Sal?” Luke’s leaning in, looking at her with concern.

Sal blinks away the tears and forces a brave smile at Luke. Knees trembling, she moves for the stairs, steadying herself for a moment on the wood banister.

“Show me the upstairs?”

“Of course.”

Luke goes to reach for her hand, stops himself. He steps around her and extends an arm. “Why don’t you head on up, and I’ll get your bag?”

His reaction confuses her. Sal frowns, puzzled, when she’s hit with a hard thought.

As Sal watches Luke head to the front door, her heart sinks in her chest. Maybe she was right. Maybe her memory isn’t the only thing she’s lost since being gone.