Sing You Home by Ava Hunter

Luke finds Seth on the porch with a bottle of Jim Beam. His brother’s pouring out great gulps of the honey-colored liquid into two glasses. Seth glances up and grins. “Figured we needed this more than iced tea.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” Luke says, his mind still on Sal. Just touching her tonight, her warm cheek in his palm, was enough to knock him over with a feather. It left him breathless, missing her.

Fuck. He hates leaving her. It feels like one false step and she’ll fall off the edge of the earth. But he knows Sal needs space; she’s not his to keep.

“I called Ma,” Seth offers as Luke swipes a glass of whiskey and drops into a porch chair.

He cocks a brow. “So she’s already driving you to drink?”

With a laugh, Seth sits beside him. “It’s gonna be in the paper tomorrow, so I figured they oughta know before then.” Luke nods, and Seth continues. “She wants you to call her. She and Dad are dyin’ to hear what’s going on.”

“I bet they are.”

“I tossed a casserole in the oven too. Think you’re well stocked on tuna noodle.”

“Thanks, Betty Crocker.”

Seth’s lazy chuckle rolls out. “I fuckin’ hate you, man.” Then his voice turns serious. “How’s Sal?”

“Fuckin’ exhausted,” he says, sipping his whiskey. Seth follows suit. “I don’t blame her. It can’t have been easy doin’ all this, seein’ a life you don’t remember. I can’t goddamn imagine.”

Seth kicks his boots up on the porch railing. “Sal’s strong.”

Luke leans back in his chair and stares out into the neon sunset.

Sal is strong. She’s the strongest person Luke knows. It’s why he loves her, among a thousand other heart-crushing reasons. But how strong can she be? She’s been through a miscarriage, a car accident, a plane crash, being held somewhere with no memory of who she was. Now, there’s all this expectation and hope that her memory will come back.

He’s got to get his head on straight, so he can be her center. So he can give her whatever she needs.

“She is.” Seth’s deep rumble cuts into his thoughts. “You know this.”

Luke looks up to see Seth staring at him. “Thanks,” he blurts. Although words barely seem enough. He can’t adequately express his gratitude to his brother. But he’ll damn sure try. “For helpin’ out with everything. For findin’ her.”

Seth shakes his head, shakes away Luke’s words of thanks. They’re not needed. Not for his brother, and not for Sal. Then, clearing a waterlogged throat, he says, “How’d you feel about me stayin’ over a few nights?”

Luke swallows down his whiskey in one large gulp. “I think that’d be good for her.”

This is Seth’s way of protecting Sal. They’ve both been away from her for so long; they don’t want to be apart from her, even for a minute.

Pouring himself another finger of whiskey, he bites out, “Besides, she probably needs you more than me right now.”

Though he tries to keep the bitterness out of his voice, his brother’s smart. In sync since they were kids.

“Luke.” Seth sighs. “Don’t do this.”

The guilt, the past, the whiskey, courses through him. Tears fill his eyes, and he leans forward, burying his face in his hands. “I never should have put her on that plane,” he says, lost in his inner turmoil. The memories of the search for Sal. “I should have looked harder. I should have found her.”

“You never gave up on Sal,” Seth says, his voice rising as if to brace itself against any of his brother’s objections. “You and I both know there was a shot in hell she survived that crash.”

Luke raises his face. “I survived,” he shoots back. “And so did Sal. She was alive, and I left her there.”

“That sick fuck took her, Luke. Hell, he probably had her the entire time we were doin’ search and rescue.”

Rage shakes Seth’s voice. It’s a rage Luke’s been holding on to as well.

It goes against every instinct Luke has not to track this guy down. Some sick motherfucker lays hands on his wife? You hurt Sal, you don’t live. It’s that simple. But that would mean hurting Sal. That would mean going to that dark place again, and Luke can’t. Not when Sal needs him.

Somewhere in the distance, the horses whinny, followed by the howl of a freight train. Seth leans over to clap his brother on the shoulder. “Listen. Sal’s safe, she’s here with you, and she ain’t goin’ anywhere again.”

The thought settles Luke, and he releases his fists.

Seth’s right. Sal’s safe. She’s here in Nashville and nothing and no one can touch her. Not if he can help it.

Seth’s voice cuts clean through the dusky night. “Where is she anyway?”

Heart thundering in his chest, Luke starts and shoves out of his chair.

Something’s wrong.

Luke cracks the bathroom door. Steam, hot humidity, hits his face and he waves it away. “Sal?” he asks louder than necessary, wanting to make his presence known.

As Luke approaches the running shower, there’s a roar in his head. Worry settles like a lead weight in his gut.

Goddamnit, Luke thinks when he pulls back the shower curtain.

Sal’s huddled in the tub. Her body’s curled into herself, her long wet hair hanging dark around her as she’s pelted by water.

“Sal.”

At her name, she raises her pale face. A thin trail of blood curves around her cheek.

Slowly, Luke squats beside her, resting an arm against the edge of the tub. “What’re you doin’, darlin?”

His tone is easy. Unthreatening.

A faint smile flickers across her face. “Oh, you know, just hanging out.” She rests her chin against her bony knee, tightening her arms around herself. “I hit my head on the soap dish. I got dizzy; I didn’t trust myself to get back up.”

Luke curses himself. He should have been here sooner. She could have slipped in the bath and knocked herself out. Hell, she very nearly did.

“How about I get you out of there?” he asks quietly, one hand reaching for a towel, the other for her. “I won’t look, okay?”

Sal nods and lifts her arms, giving him the all clear.

Luke turns off the water and stands. Hovering over her, he cocoons Sal in a towel, then slides an arm beneath her legs, keeping one wrapped tight around her waist. Then Sal’s in his arms, featherlight and frail. He carries her to the sink, easing her gently down to sit on top of the counter.

He settles in front of her, curling the towel up around the nape of her neck to keep her warm.

Sal’s clutches the towel to her chest. Her teeth chatter as she fights off a shiver.

Again, his gaze lingers on Sal. Checking, double-checking to make sure she’s okay. He used to be able to read her so easily. After eight years of marriage, wordless conversations, sunny smiles were their language. And now . . . now . . .

His hand automatically goes to her temple, where a snaky trail of blood trickles. The nick is deep but won’t need stitches. “Looks like you clocked yourself pretty bad. Let’s get you fixed up, alright?”

Sal juts her chin forward. “I’m fine, Luke.”

He sighs, placing bets he’ll be hearing those words a lot from now on. It’s just like Sal to play it down, to care for others, to never let anyone care for her.

“Yeah, well, how ’bout you let me decide that?”

Digging out Sal’s first aid kit, Luke pulls a bottle of hydrogen peroxide and a clean cloth from the pack. Without words, Luke works to clean Sal up. She takes the sting of peroxide without so much as a flinch, content to let Luke work, her eyes heavy with fatigue.

“Baths,” he says as he gently dabs at Sal’s hairline. “From now on you take baths. They’re safer. Much, much safer.”

Sal smiles. “Mmm, I happen to agree with you,” she says, shifting position so she’s on the corner of the countertop, the pads of her bare feet pressed back against the vanity doors. A slice of lean runner’s leg peeking through the towel.

A memory of Sal comes to Luke. The last photo she sent him via text. Sitting on the corner of the bathroom sink, mugging for the camera as she flashed a goofy face and the bump on her belly. She had that twinkle in her eye, that quiet confidence Luke’s always found so damn sexy.

Stung by the memory, the sadness, he moves away from Sal to replace the first aid kit.

But Sal’s soft voice drifts. “Luke? Are you okay?”

Is he okay? He should be asking her that.

When he turns back around, he sees Sal freeing herself from the straitjacket of a towel Luke’s swaddled her in. Carefully, she keeps covered. Only the side’s fallen open to expose her torso.

He isn’t quick enough to stop the hitch of his breath. Or the faint expression of shock that’s passed over his face.

Sal stares up at him. She’s caught him looking.

Her lips thin, part. “This is from the crash.” She points at the scar tissue on her bony rib cage. Her face, contorted into a pretty frown, says she thinks it’s ugly.

To Luke, it’s anything but ugly. All he can think about is how beautiful it is. How it means Sal is alive.

Before he can form a response, Sal asks, “Do you have any scars? From that night?”

Not physical, Luke wants to say.

“No,” he answers hoarsely. Feeling bad about the fact, feeling like the shittiest person to walk the planet. It should have been him, he thinks. A mantra tattooed inside his brain.

Sal draws the towel tight around herself. “Roy told me I was mugged.” Disgust stains her voice. “It’s nice to finally know the truth behind my scar. Even if I can’t remember it. I always knew something was off, but I never imagined this. I never thought it was this . . .” Sal breaks off, overwhelmed.

Luke moves in front of her, desperate to take her in his arms.

Sal squeezes her eyes shut tight and shakes her head. “I hate him so much, Luke. I hate him.”

“Did he hurt you?” Luke asks with lethal softness. He can’t help it. Some primal instinct in him has him crying out for an answer.

The question makes her wince. She sags forward a little and Luke reaches out to steady her. She places both palms against his chest. Raises her weary gaze to his.

For several long seconds, silence. Luke steels himself. It’s agony waiting for her to speak, to utter words no woman should have to, words that threaten to undo him. Then—

“He never raped me.” Sal’s voice is hard. “Never tried. I don’t think he could get it up.” Her laugh is dark, caustic. A sudden sadness flickers in her eye, a remembrance of something painful, and Sal hangs her head, her voice a grim whisper. “But yeah. He hurt me. In other ways, he did.”

Tears spill from her eyes, but then she exhales roughly, angry with herself. “I should have been braver, left sooner. Maybe if I had—”

“Hey.” His voice is firm. He’ll never push her, but damn if he’ll let her blame herself. “I don’t want you doin’ that. What he did—that ain’t on you.” Luke holds her eyes in his. “Do you understand me?”

She nods, nods, nods. Not trusting herself to speak. She’s a dam ready to burst.

“He was a monster of a man. A liar. A thief.” Her breath is a shudder. Racking her small frame like an aftershock. “Why? Why would someone do this?”

Sal’s fraught question scorches Luke’s soul.

She’s not asking for pity, she’s asking for an answer.

Though Luke aches to give her the truth, all he can say is, “I don’t know.” He looks down at Sal’s small hand pressed against his chest and covers it with his own. “What I do know is that he’ll never hurt you again. I swear it,” he vows, his fingers curling around her.

The vow is primal and protective, and it has Sal staring back at him, her green eyes unreadable.

“I’ll never hurt you.” Luke swears it like his dying breath. “I want you to know that. Even if you don’t believe it right now—I will always protect you.”

Sal studies Luke for a long minute. Then her lips part. “I believe you. I do.”

His heart clenches.

Her belief, her trust in him—it means everything to Luke. It means he can’t let her down again.

“I want you to help me remember.” Her voice soft. A plea. “Please. Can you do that?”

“I will.” Luke searches her eyes. “People love and support you. You’re not alone. We’ll get through this. Together.”

“Thank you, Luke,” Sal says fiercely. Her lips tremble. She leans forward and holds on to his arm.

Her touch is cold. Ice.

“Jesus, you’re freezin’.” Luke grimaces. “And I’m an asshole for lettin’ you sit here and shiver.” He scoops her up in his arms. “C’mon, let’s get you to bed.”

Sal sits in the middle of the bed, wearing a spare T-shirt of Luke’s. He turned away as she changed but stayed nearby in case she needed a hand. It was a kind gesture. One that touched her to her core.

Now, she watches as Luke fans a heavy quilt out on the bed. Inside, she’s trembling, though she forces herself to keep a stiff upper lip. She doesn’t want Luke to worry. That’s all he’s done since she met him.

As Sal relaxes back into the pillows, her eyes fight to stay open. Her limbs are so heavy she could melt into the mattress. The scene in the bathroom drained her. Her entire body spent. Exhausted. But the soul-baring words she spoke to Luke were cleansing. Voicing what Roy did—aloud—was like a weight lifted. Like a life changed.

And she has Luke to thank.

She wasn’t planning to tell him, but he asked, his gruff voice swollen with anger and pain, and she found herself yearning to tell him. Found herself somehow knowing that she could be slipping off the edge of the world, and Luke would still be reaching out. He’d still come for her. He wouldn’t walk away.

It wasn’t the talk of strangers. It was the talk of two people who’d built trust with each other. A life with each other.

She peers close at Luke. A warm rush of something floods her veins. Luke offered to take what she was holding without fear or flinch. Sal appreciated that.

She trusts him.

The bed shifts and Sal glances up, pulling herself from her thoughts. Pulling her heavy-lidded gaze to Luke. He sits on the edge of the bed, evaluating her.

“You want some dinner?” he asks softly.

A shake of her head. “I’m beat. I really just want to curl up and sleep.”

Luke’s mouth pulls down into a frown of disapproval. She knows he wants her to eat, but all Sal knows is that she doesn’t have the energy to carry on a conversation, lift a fork to her lips, and worry about remembering. Tonight, all she wants to do is power down her brain, become a lazy lump in the middle of this great gorgeous bed.

“Big breakfast,” Sal says, giving him a placating smile. “I promise.”

He sighs. “Seth’s gonna be disappointed. He worked hard to put that casserole in the oven.”

She brightens. “He’s staying?”

“He is,” Luke says, scratching his beard. “He missed you.”

Sal fiddles with the edge of the sheet. “He told me why we’re so close.”

Luke swears.

He’s pissed as hell at his brother. Sal knows they’ve been trying to keep the stream of information she gets to a trickle.

Finally, he lets out a breath. “So do I kick his ass now or later?”

“You don’t.” Sal frowns. “I practically arm-wrestled him for the information.”

Luke lets out a slow roll of a chuckle. “Darlin’, the day you beat Seth in arm wrestling is the day I stop drinkin’ whiskey.”

Sal laughs. Then, overcome with a desire to touch him, she leans in to graze his arm. “Thank you for tonight. For listening to me. For scraping me up off the bottom of the bathtub.”

Luke’s lean forearms, corded with muscle, tense. “Anytime.” The mattress shifts as he stands. He slaps his palms on the thighs of his blue jeans, stares down at her. “I’m gonna let you rest,” he says, looking like he wants to do anything but that.

“Where will you be?”

“The couch.”

“The couch, huh?” Sal smiles slightly, brushing damp hair from her face. “I might be wrong, but I did notice a few empty spare rooms.”

“I like the couch.” Luke pretends to stretch. “Makes my back feel good.”

Sal rolls her eyes and lets out a soft chuckle. “Uh-huh.”

Fixing her with a look that means business, Luke says, “I’ll be right downstairs. Holler if you need anything, you hear me?”

With a smile, Sal watches him exit, closing the door behind him. She nestles down into the pillows, stretching her legs in the cool sheets. Sleep beckons, a sleep as dark as her memory, and soon Sal’s consciousness dims.

A ragged scream pierces the night air.

Luke sits bolt upright on the couch. Chest heaving, he listens close.

The scream sounds again.

Sal.

Sal’s screaming.

Adrenaline thundering through his veins, Luke vaults over the couch and bolts. At the foot of the stairs, he meets a wild-eyed Seth. Bypassing his brother, Luke takes the stairs two at a time, Seth on his heels, until he’s slamming into Sal’s bedroom.

The room’s cast in a pale-yellow glow as Luke flicks on the light.

Sal writhes on the bed, violently. Her face twisted in pain, she moans and whimpers as ragged gasps wrench their way out of her mouth.

Nightmare, Luke thinks.

He’s by her side in an instant. He tries to take her in his arms, but she punches up and down and across. She clocks Luke in the temple, and he wants to laugh, to cry out, “That’s my girl.”

Crawling onto the bed, Luke manages to get a firm yet gentle hold on her. Carefully, he slips her into his arms, cradling her against his bare chest. She tenses, then goes boneless. Her bloodless lips part in a cavern of a scream, her anguished whimpers pricking Luke’s heart like darts.

“Sal, darlin’, wake up,” Luke soothes, running a thumb across her delicate cheekbone. He cups the curve of her pale cheek. Feverish. Her hairline’s damp with sweat. Luke looks at Seth, hovering worriedly in the doorway. “Get her some water, will you?”

Seth disappears with a nod.

Luke rocks Sal until she calms, quiets. Her lashes flutter, dark against her pale cheek, then her green eyes are blinking, staring up at him.

Confusion slurs her words. “What happened?”

“You were having a nightmare,” he says softly.

She shifts in his arms but lets him hold her as she fully comes to.

“A split-apart,” she whispers.

Luke dips his head to hear her better. “A what?”

“It’s where the world peels away. Bit by bit. First the sides, then the floor, the ceiling. They all disappear. Then there’s fire, breaking glass . . .”

“The plane crash,” Luke murmurs, and Sal’s eyes lock on his face. “You’re describing the plane crash, darlin’.”

He’d never forget the change in pressure, the slow death of the engine, the ground getting closer and closer, the flames swallowing up the plane like an inferno.

Sal’s voice comes disjointed and dreamlike. “I always wondered what it was . . . sometimes it happens when I’m awake . . . sometimes it’s so real.” She smiles faintly. “Funny. I guess I do remember something after all.”

The sadness in her voice cracks open Luke’s heart. He lays Sal back into the bed, wanting to keep her close and protected in his arms. He’d give anything to chase away all her bad dreams. To take away every ounce of agony she’s ever felt, all because he’s the one who put her on that plane.

He’s the one who couldn’t save her.

“Do you dream about the crash too?”

Sal’s soft question catches him off guard. He looks down to see her staring up at him. Her eyes are drowsy with sleep, but her expression is curious, watchful. Waiting on him.

Luke doesn’t know how to tell her. That he dreams of her. That her screams play in his head every fucking night. Over and over and over. Her mouth saying his name while he sat helpless to do anything but reach for her hand. And even then, when he tried to take it, he kept missing. He just couldn’t hold on. That he wakes every night with a jolt, his heart on fire because it remembers how bad it needs her.

Luke’s honest. Sal’s asking him for the truth, and he owes her that.

“All the time.” Tucking a blanket around her, he chokes out, “I dream of you, Sal. It’s all I ever do. I watch you die, again and again.”

“Oh, Luke,” Sal says in her quiet way. “That sounds awful.”

“It is.” After a second hesitation, Luke reaches out to cup her cheek. “It was,” he amends.

The moment’s broken by the appearance of Seth, setting a glass of water on the nightstand. Startled, Sal raises herself up on her elbows, pressing a hand to her lips. “I woke you up. Shit. I’m sorry.”

Seth smiles indulgently at her. “Don’t worry about it. I’m barely getting any sleep down there as it is with Luke snoring.”

Luke rolls his eyes. “I’m right here, dumbass.”

Sal laughs. She burrows down into the sheets, her hands pulling the sheet up to her chin. Her eyes brush to Luke, then Seth. “I’m okay. Really. Thanks for looking out for me.”

“Anytime,” Seth says. After a last look at Sal, surveying her condition, he gives a rap on the side of the door and exits the room.

“Do you want me to stay?” Luke asks as he rises from the bed, keeping his eyes steady on Sal.

The last thing he wants to do is leave Sal alone like this. He’d sleep in a chair beside her bed, post a lookout next to her door, stand sentry over her, anything to be near Sal, to make sure she’s okay.

After a second of hesitation, Sal says quietly, “No, I’ll be fine.”