Sing You Home by Ava Hunter

Seth pulls up a stool at the bar, ignoring Lacey’s exasperated sigh as she grudgingly sits beside him. The darkening sky’s followed them inside Tonk’s. The grungy dive bar, one of Luke and Sal and Seth’s favorites, is tucked into a little nook in East Nashville. Lit by neon lights, Tonk’s is a low-key musician hangout. Never recognized, always welcome. Red Dog on tap. Darts on the wall. Waylon Jennings on the jukebox.

The bartender, mustachioed and impatient, looks up from the tap. “What do ya want?”

Before Seth can order, Lacey says, “Is tap water all you have?” She eyes the faucet doubtfully. “I like, need, Pellegrino.”

Seth groans. A nice, normal person is all he wants tonight. The Lacey from the good old days. The same lanky girl who lived with Sal and Luke for a couple of years when they first got married. The Lacey who could surf a killer wave. The Lacey who laughed with abandon and loved bad horror movies.

She’s grown colder since Sal’s accident. Since she moved to LA.

“Two Johnnie Walkers, neat,” Seth tells the waiting bartender. “Tap water is fine.”

The bartender looks relieved and moves off.

Lacey’s glare is thunderous.

Seth swivels his seat to face her. “You know, you could’ve left the high maintenance attitude back in Los Angeles.”

“Nashville is LA,” Lacey volleys. “Just with mullets and rhinestones.”

Seth’s got to hand it to her. “That’d be a good album name.”

For that, he earns a smile. A glowering smile, but a smile nonetheless.

A long silence descends. The drinks are set down. The bartender gives Seth a sympathetic good-luck glance.

Lacey’s sigh is long and loud. Her manicured nails tap on the bar top, drilling the sound into Seth’s skull. She’s antsy. Her mind back at the house. On her sister. On her sister and Luke.

Sal’s gonna owe him. Big-time. He doesn’t know how he became the keeper of Lacey. Although, he doesn’t blame Sal. He knows he and Lacey are cramping Sal and Luke’s alone time.

And after everything they’ve been through, finally making their way back to each other, Seth doesn’t want anything to come between that. Especially now. Especially him and Lacey.

“So.” Lacey’s wispy voice floats between them. She side-eyes Seth. “Sal and Luke. Do you think they’re . . . ?”

Chuckling, Seth sips his whiskey. He’d have to be deaf, dumb and blind not to have noticed the hangdog look on his brother’s face as Sal watched them play. Luke’s so full-tilt in love he can’t see straight.

“Oh, yeah. No doubt.”

Lacey scowls.

Seth slams his drink down, causing Lacey to jump. “Chrissakes. They’re married, Lacey. What do you want from them?”

When she says nothing, Seth nudges the whiskey toward her. Maybe it’ll unclench that stick she’s got up her ass.

Lacey wrinkles her nose at the smell. Seth rolls his eyes. “Quit pretendin’ like you don’t drink. We both know your veins bleed champagne. Man up and take the shot.”

Lacey, looking like she wants to stab Seth with an ice pick, snatches it up, then shoots it back like a pro. She sputters a small cough, resting the back of her hand against her lips.

Smirking, Seth swirls a finger. “Doubles,” he calls to the bartender. Turning toward Lacey, he fixes her with a look. He ain’t letting her blame his brother any longer. “Let’s get somethin’ straight. Here and now. Luke never cheated on Sal. End of story.” When she says nothing, he hisses, “You’re givin’ Luke hell when he don’t deserve it. He’s been lost without her.”

“We all have.”

Lacey pulls her whiskey close. Her face expressionless, she stares into the empty glass. Seth continues. “All the time he’s been on the road, he’s never touched no one else. Never even thought about it. You wanna talk lovesick—that’s Luke.”

It was true.

Back in the day, Seth and Jace used to give Luke shit about the fact that he got married so young. That he was practically on a leash when it came to Sal. Even Mort would lament the fact that Luke, their leading man, was off the market. But Seth’s seen it from the first time Luke laid eyes on Sal. Those two—meant to be. Sal was the buzz to Luke’s neon. There was no one else. For either of them.

Lacey’s green eyes flick to him briefly. Sadness lines her face. Guilt too.

The bartender sloshes down the drinks.

Seth leans in. “Besides, I’d kill him if he ever touched anyone else. Not like I’d have to, though. Sal’s it for him. She’s his fuckin’ church, Lace.”

Silence.

Then—

“Ugh, I know,” Lacey blurts, surprising Seth. “You’re right. They’re perfect for each other. It’s disgusting.”

At the confession, she buries her face in her hands. She bows her head to the bar top and groans.

Sitting back, Seth stares at her, confused as hell. “Then why? Why are you busting my brother’s balls? You always liked Luke,” he adds softly. “Me, not so much.”

Lacey laughs, though it sounds more like a sob.

She removes her hands from her face.

Seth waits for her icy voice to cut him down. Instead, he’s stunned when Lacey utters a soft, “I’ve been horrible.”

As if in penance, she shoots back her whiskey. Too fast. Instantly, she erupts into harsh, ragged coughs that have Seth wincing.

He slides the tap water toward her. “I realize you hate my guts, but you can talk to me. What’s goin’ on with you? Why’re you actin’ like some uptight bitch?”

No reprimand at the insult. Her pained face goes slack. When she looks at Seth, he’s surprised to see tears in her eyes.

He shifts uncomfortably on the barstool. The sight of tears—of Lacey’s tears—has him panicking. If she cries, he’s done for.

“Because I’m mad, Seth.” Her lips tremble. “I was so mad at Luke. For everything, even though it didn’t matter, even if it wasn’t his fault. For taking my sister away when they got married. Not being there when she lost the baby. For that picture that ruined everything. She called me crying that night, Seth. Sobbing on the phone right before . . .”

Lacey breaks off, shakes her head.

Seth’s stomach dips, and he closes his eyes. He knows what comes next. The car accident. Sal bleeding out in his arms, the shriek of the ambulance, trying to keep his sister-in-law’s blood in her body so he could save his brother’s life.

“Then the plane crash.”

Seth opens his eyes.

Lacey shudders. She hugs herself. “When Sal disappeared, I couldn’t handle it. I took my pain out on Luke. He wouldn’t declare her dead . . . and I—I was so mad. I was so mad at him for not giving me that.”

An empty sadness enters her eyes. Endless.

He waits for her to go on.

“I know you don’t understand, but I had to have a funeral for her. I had to say goodbye. I never got that with my mom.”

Seth sighs, feeling like a grade-A asshole.

He never even thought about Lacey having a different way to cope with Sal’s death. She was Lacey’s mother for a long time. Her lifeline. Her best friend. Her protector.

He should have seen it. Luke shut down when Sal died. Lacey, wound tighter than a fucking top, exploded.

“I know Luke didn’t cheat,” Lacey says. “I know he’s not like our father. It was just easier to blame him, to pretend he was wrong, than face Sal being gone. Oh God,” she moans, thrashing her blond head. “I’ve been horrible.” The pleading look she gives Seth cracks open his heart. “If Sal knew what type of sister I’ve been. That I gave her a funeral. That I’ve been so cruel to Luke. She’ll never forgive me. She’ll think I’m awful.”

She hangs her head.

“You’re not awful, Lace. Confusin’ as fuck, yes, but not awful.” Seth reaches out to squeeze her shoulder. And for once in her life, she doesn’t pull away or bristle. “I get it. Sal will get it. That was a hard time. For all of us.”

Lacey, her eyes far away, fiddles with the end of her braid. A few strands of golden hair have fallen around her face, making her look softer, less ice bitch. He hasn’t seen her look this heartbroken and vulnerable. Not since the search for Sal.

Seth wants to tuck her hair behind her ear, to tell her everything’s gonna be okay.

And he’s about to do just that when Lacey opens her mouth.

“There’s something else you should know.”

He frowns. She’s biting her lip, which means whatever she’s about to say can’t be good.

“Spill it,” he says. To the bartender: “Leave the bottle.”

“Okay, but you can’t be mad.”

“Lacey.”

“Fine.” She exhales sharply, gathering steam, strength. Then, in one long breath, she says: “Sal called me before she and Luke left for Pensacola. Pissed as hell. She said the photo was staged. That Luke didn’t do it. That she believed him.”

Seth shakes his head. Lacey’s reveal is like a bucket of cold water to his face. “Wait. You’ve been sittin’ on this?”

It’s been Luke’s greatest pain. Agonizing over whether or not Sal believed him. Thinking she was going to walk, to ask for a divorce.

This news—it’s what his brother needs. It would clear up those weeks before the plane crash. Would calm his ass down when it came to his wife. His guilt.

Lacey bristles. Her nostrils flare in warning. “It wasn’t exactly like it was in the forefront of my mind, Seth. My sister was dead. I was grieving.” Her eyes turn downcast. “It came back to me after I got here.”

Waving away her excuses, Seth asks, “What else?”

“She knew who had sent her the photo. It wasn’t Jasper,” Lacey says, beating Seth to it. “He took it, but he didn’t send it.”

His eyes widen. “Someone hired him to take it.”

“That’s right.”

“Fuck. Who?”

“She wouldn’t tell me. All she said was she wasn’t going to let anyone fuck with her husband. Family or not. She was going to handle it after the Pensacola trip . . . only she didn’t get that far.”

Family. Family. Seth’s mind seizes on the word.

It could be anyone they’re close to.

Fury snakes its way through Seth’s veins. His hands pull into fists and he notes Lacey’s have done the same.

Someone they trust tried to ruin Luke with that photo.

And they very nearly did.

Lacey’s soft voice. “Who could it be, Seth?”

“I don’t know,” he says grimly. “And Sal doesn’t either.”

“Are you going to tell Luke?”

“Hell no. He’d go fucking ballistic.” Seth gives a swift shake of his head. “Besides, he doesn’t need another thing on his plate to deal with. He’s got enough goin’ on worryin’ about Sal.”

Lacey’s gaze narrows, her expression a mixture of amusement and suspicion. “So what? You’re going to figure it out?”

“Damn right I am.”