Sing You Home by Ava Hunter

Seth watches as Sal pulls a tray of charred-black cookies from the oven. Fanning smoke away from her face, she curses violently under her breath. As she transfers the tray to the counter, she moves too fast. The cookies slide off the slick tray to the floor.

Another curse.

Seth chuckles.

Tensing, Sal glances over her shoulder to see Seth lounging in the kitchen doorway, his eyes aglow with laughter. “Man, if that ain’t a culinary bummer I don’t know what is.”

She fixes him with a wry look. “If you’re gonna stare, smart-ass, come help me clean up.”

Together, they kneel.

Seth collects cookies, stacking them in his hand. He side-eyes Sal. “Don’t worry. You never could cook worth a damn.”

Sal bristles in frustration. Her face scrunches up as she searches her memory bank. “I thought you said we did Sunday suppers.”

“We did. Potluck. You brought wine.”

Sal busts out a gut-splitting laugh that has her holding her ribs. She plops on the floor beside Seth, resting her back against the cabinets. Seth watches her face, the crinkle of her eyes, the way her shoulders relax and fall.

God, that laugh could put him in a coffin.

That laugh also fills him with relief. For the last week, Sal’s been walking on eggshells. Though she’s put up a brave front, everyone can see it’s taken a toll on her. Worrying about Roy, worrying about her memory. Seth wants to tell her to relax but knows Sal’s never taken kindly to orders.

She puffs a lock of hair from her face, her eyes keeping watch on Seth. “Quick. Tell me something I could do. Something I was good at.” She sounds resigned, desperate for insight into herself.

“Swearin’.”

She swats his arm. “I’m serious, goddamnit.”

“So am I.”

She tilts her head back and rubs her brow. “I just . . . I have to meet all these people today and I don’t even know who the hell I am.”

Seth thinks on it. Then he says, “You’re late for everything. You can make anyone laugh, even me. You try to fight anyone who crosses your family. You like margaritas. You love Elvis cover bands.” He raises an eyebrow. “There. Does that help you?”

“No.”

“That’s because all that shit ain’t you. It’s in you, Sal. Everything you’ve been doin’ since you’ve been back is you. It don’t matter if you like whiskey or wine.”

“That’s what my therapist says.” She kicks his boot with her bare foot, but she’s smiling. “Thanks, Freud.”

With a grunt, Seth stands and dumps the cookies into the sink. He reaches down to grip Sal’s hands and pull her to her feet.

“Look. You’re at a birthday party.” He gives her a pointed look. “Your birthday party. Try to have fun.”

At the clatter of the screen door, his eyes brush to Lacey, who’s carrying a stack of white pastry boxes. “Let your sister handle it.”

Sal laughs at the vision of Lacey struggling to balance the tower of boxes in her arms. “You’re going overboard, Lace,” Sal says, moving to help her set the boxes on the table.

Lacey scoffs. “Who doesn’t like sweets?” Her critical gaze sweeps over Sal. Her lips purse. “Is that what you’re wearing?”

Sal glances down at her tank top and cut-off shorts and bare feet.

“What about a dress?” Lacey offers.

Seth hides a smirk. Sal wears her fuck-that face.

In the most exasperated voice, he says, “It ain’t some debutante ball, Lacey.”

“I’m not in the mood, Seth,” she fires back.

“Sal looks fine,” Luke says, coming around the corner, chairs stacked under his arms. He smiles at Sal and she perks up, instantly looking a thousand times lighter. “No fightin’. In fact, the only person allowed to start fights today is Sal.”

Sal props her hands on her hips, a smile playing on her lips. “Fisticuffs or sucker punches?”

“I’ll let you decide, darlin’.”

Sal laughs. “Special treatment.”

Luke gives her a warm look. “Damn right.”

Seth groans. His brother and Sal are even crazier about each other than when they first met. It’s exhausting is what it is.

“Outside,” Lacey commands, switching into party planner mode. She marches Luke down the porch steps, where they start setting up chairs in the field beside the house.

Sal goes to the window. Her hands flutter to her stomach. “I’m nervous,” she says, and Seth knows she’s not talking about meeting people at the party.

Seth’s heart gives a tug. Her expression—forlorn and lost. He feels for her.

Seth moves to stand beside her, looping an arm around her shoulder. “It’ll be fine.”

“You promise?”

“I promise.”

Whiskey and champagne. Sweet tea and ice-cold beer. Lawn chairs and lanterns. The house is decked out beyond belief thanks to Lacey and Luke. Music blasts from the stereo system installed around the house. The late afternoon is warm, the hot sun blazing like a fever. Seth tumbles beer into a Yeti cooler; Lacey follows the caterer around, barking orders and swatting at mosquitoes.

Sal, standing at the front of the house, smiles at the lovely mess of it all. It’s like a bona fide country hoedown right before her eyes. According to Seth, every year her birthday celebration is held at the house. She missed it once; she wasn’t going to miss it again.

Her gaze drifts to the horizon. Sal wonders where the policemen have staked out. She knows it’s crazy to have a party with all this madness, but normality is the only thing keeping her sane.

Though the police are still looking for Roy, Sal can’t help but hope. Maybe he gave up. Maybe he got hit by a bus.

The first people have arrived. A cherry-red pickup eases its way down the drive. At the wheel, an older gentleman. Beside him, a woman with long silver hair. Sal hears the thump of Luke’s boots as he starts down the steps. He stands tall beside her, lacing his fingers with hers. “My parents.” He points at the truck with his beer.

She looks up at him. Turns her voice teasing. “The dreaded in-laws.”

He laughs before his expression turns serious. “You sure you’re okay with this?”

“Great,” she says, with more bravado than she feels. She can’t hide out here forever. Although it’d be tempting to. Take her hot-as-hell husband upstairs to bed and do very sweaty and inappropriate things with him.

Shaking off the image, Sal squeezes his hand. “Let’s do it.”

Luke’s eyes flash with pride. Turning his body toward her, he pulls Sal tightly into his arms, molding her to him. “You amaze me, Sal,” he says fiercely. “And I promise it’s all gonna be alright.”

His words have Sal going molten. “I know it will.”

She stands on tiptoes to press a kiss to his lips. Luke slips an arm around her waist, his other hand cups her cheek to tangle in her hair.

The slam of car doors, the crunch of sand and grit, pull her and Luke apart. Standing in front of Sal are two teary-eyed parents.

Luke’s father, Vaughn, red-faced and barrel-chested, crosses his arms to stare at Sal with a watery smile. “Now ain’t this a sight for sore eyes.”

“Pop,” Luke says with a nod to his father. Then, “Hey, Ma.”

“Hush now.” Diane Kincaid waves him off, her eyes on Sal. “I’m here to see this sweet thing.”

Nerves eat at her, and Sal smooths the front of her shirt. “Hi, Mrs. Kincaid. I—”

Her eyes shiny, the woman steps forward to embrace Sal. The hug is warm and familiar and Sal lets herself sink into the calming touch. “Oh, Sal, sweetheart . . . you’ve never called me Mrs. Kincaid your entire life, so don’t you start now. Diane, you hear?”

Sal leans back and smiles. “Diane.”

Diane holds Sal tight by the shoulders, her soft blue eyes evaluating her. “There are no words for this. To see you again . . .” She turns her teary smile to her son. “Oh, Luke. You have your precious girl back.”

“Okay, Diane,” a gruff voice interjects. “You’re hogging her.” Vaughn steps up to pull Sal into a crushing bear hug. When she’s released, Vaughn turns a wry eye toward Luke. “Our son’s been keeping you all to himself.”

Luke’s lips tighten. “I told you, Pop, she wasn’t ready.”

Diane’s smile is bright. “Completely understandable.”

Vaughn grunts.

Sal presses a steady hand against Luke’s chest, telling him it’s okay. Luke catches her hand up, kisses it, and then cups it against his heart.

“What am I? Chopped liver?”

The sound of Seth’s deep rumble sends a rush of relief through Sal as some of the attention is taken from her. Hearty hugs and handshakes are exchanged with his mom and dad. Bullshit banter with his brother. Seth presses a beer into Sal’s hands, gives her a get-out-of-here glance.

A flash of fuchsia. Lacey linking her arm through Sal’s. So quick, Sal’s beginning to think Lacey and Seth are working in unison. “I’m stealing her away,” Lacey says, breaking Sal and Luke’s touch.

As Sal’s pulled through the party, she waves at Mort and Jace, who are filling up red Solo cups with beer. She floats between people, between friends and family who all hug and kiss her happily. And she finds herself wishing she were as confident about herself as all these people who know her are.

Lacey introduces her to a group of paramedics Sal used to work with. An all-female team: Tawny, Eleanor and Kendall.

“We were like Charlie’s Angels,” Tawny says, her lion’s mane of golden hair swirling around her head.

“Only suturing instead of sexing,” Kendall says dryly. She’s drinking straight vodka, her arms all lean biceps and tattoos.

“Only with four instead of three,” Lacey mutters.

“Irrelevant,” Sal says, liking the camaraderie she already feels.

From her spot across from Sal, Eleanor asks, “Do you think you’ll come back to work soon?”

“Eleanor,” Kendall chides.

Sal lifts a hand. “It’s okay.” She keeps her shrug lighthearted. “I hope to. One day.”

Tawny leans in, her brown eyes wide. “And you don’t remember anything?”

Stomach roiling, Sal shakes her head. “Nothing.”

The women exchange looks, making Sal feel as if she’s always the last one to know.

She snatches a glass of champagne from a tray and drinks it fast, wanting to blur the boundaries of the dizzying conversation. Wanting to feel like she belongs, even though she feels a million miles away from herself. Especially today. Of all days.

“And what about Luke?” Eleanor wiggles her brows roguishly.

Tawny and Kendall smirk.

Sal looks up, unable to stop the bright smile that spreads across her face. “What about Luke?”

Tawny claps her hands together, crows, “I knew it! Look at that face!”

Eleanor’s sigh is practically a swoon. “Oh, it’s so perfect. Long-lost lovers getting reacquainted. I die.”

Lacey rolls her eyes.

Sal laughs.

Soon, the circle expands. They’re joined by Emmy Lou and Mort’s wife, Martha. Every five minutes, Sal can’t help glancing over her shoulder to make eye contact with Luke, who’s surrounded by Mort and the boys. When he meets her eyes, she can’t stop the goopy smile that spreads across her face. She misses him. It’s stupid, but she does. They’re only feet from each other, and yet she can’t bear to be apart.

He’s been her rock since this all happened. She doesn’t know what she’d do without him.

Needing another glass of champagne, Sal steps away to the bar. It’s at the edge of the party, beneath a cool sycamore tree.

“Sal?”

She glances over.

A woman with cascading red hair is approaching her. Sal gives her a smile, and nervously, the redhead steps forward. “Hi, Sal. I’m Alabama Forester.”

Sal’s ears perk at the name. She recognizes it from the Nashville Star magazines she’s read in her therapist’s office. The tabloid bills her Nashville’s pop-country princess, and she sure as hell looks it. The country singer’s stunning. Tall and leggy with sky-high heels and a breezy drawl.

“Hi.” Sal angles her head. “I’m sorry. Are we friends?” She taps her temple. “As you’ve probably heard, I’m a little fuzzy in that department.”

Alabama’s smile is sympathetic. “No. Not exactly.” Her gray eyes dart around the party before settling back on Sal. “Luke and I did a song together a while back . . .”

“You did?” Sal says, slightly bewildered. “He didn’t tell me that.”

“That’s because he hated the song.” Alabama chuckles. “And he was right. It wasn’t exactly great. Or good. Everything we did wasn’t good,” she adds dryly.

Sal frowns. “Are you talking about you and Luke?”

“I’m sorry.” Alabama shakes her head, violently, as if she’s angry with herself. She extends a hand. “I’m not doing this right. I just wanted to see how you were copin’ with everything.”

Confusion washes over Sal. Her stomach burbles with anger and anxiety. It’s too much. Dozens of strange faces, their eyes all asking if she remembers, if her brain works.

Is that why they’re all here?she thinks, suddenly feeling very small and very lost. They’ve come to gawk at the medical anomaly that is Sal Kincaid?

Still, she draws herself up and crosses her arms, refusing to give this woman what she wants. “I’m not sure what you mean. Everything?”

Out of the corner of her eye, Sal sees Seth making a break for them. Hustling over like a linebacker ready to intercept.

Then Lacey, her face red, steps in. “She means to mind her own business is what.” The glare she gives Alabama could rival a nuclear blast. “You need to go. Who invited you anyway?” she snaps, her words icy.

Alabama flushes and draws back.

Sal shakes her head. “Lace. It’s fine.” Though she’s riled up, she’s not angry enough to sic Lacey on the woman.

Lacey grabs her hand. “It’s not fine, Sal. C’mon.”

As Lacey drags Sal away, she mutters “stupid bitch” under her breath. The closest Sal’s ever heard her come to breaking her prim and proper facade.

When they’re out of earshot, Sal asks, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. It’s nothing.”

Sal rubs her temple as silence falls over them. The smallest twinge of a migraine brews on the horizon.

“Are you alright?” Lacey bites her lip. “You look pale.”

Sal arches a brow. “Pale means tired, and as the birthday girl, I take that as a personal affront.”

Lacey laughs, but it’s more of a grimace. She steps close to Sal, as close as she can get in her puff of a party dress, and tucks a lock of hair behind Sal’s ear. “I know you’re sick of all the love and obsessive worry, and you can get as cranky as you want, but I hate to tell you we will not be stopping anytime soon.”

Sal hugs her sister, loving her. Loving what they have even though Sal has only known her for a month. Lacey isn’t easy, but it’s easy with Lacey.

“I’ve met so many people I’m dizzy, Lace.” She gives Lacey a gracious smile. “I just need a minute by myself. Really. I’ll be okay.”

Ignoring Lacey’s crestfallen face, Sal sighs and walks fast for the back of the house.

She should be having fun, but she isn’t. If anything, the party’s made her feel less confident, overwhelming her with so much she still doesn’t remember.

She hates standing around feeling helpless, waiting for the world to drop around her. Today’s her birthday. She’s thirty-two, damnit. She survived Roy, she can survive this. At least that’s what she keeps telling herself.

“You ain’t serious?” Luke asks Mort. They’re standing in the field, next to Jace’s dropped tailgate. Mort’s just finished telling the Brothers Kincaid about an intimate showcase he’s arranged for next week to prep for their Opry performance. A gig Luke knew nothing about.

“You better believe it,” Mort says. “Seven days, you’ll be playin’ the Station Inn.”

“Practice makes perfect,” Jace quips doubtfully.

Seth appears, red-faced and panting. Luke frowns. “Where’ve you been?”

“You don’t wanna know,” Seth mutters.

After side-eyeing his brother carefully, Luke turns back to his manager. “You don’t trust me, Mort?”

“I trust you, son,” Mort chuckles. “I just trust myself more. Consider it a trial run before the Opry.”

Fuck the Opry, Luke thinks and turns to look for Sal.

Sipping his beer, he scans the crowd. He’s been trying to keep Sal in his sightline. Even though the house is surrounded by plainclothes detectives, Luke doesn’t trust the cops. They fucked it up once, they’ll fuck it up again.

He frowns, worry needling him.

“What’s wrong?” Jace asks.

Luke cranes his head. “I don’t see my wife.”

He pushes past Mort, leaving him with Jace and Seth to find Sal.

As he searches the crowd, voices swell around him, familiar friends and faces saying hello, but all Luke can focus on is Sal.

She’s not here.

She’s not anywhere.

He curses himself for not keeping her close.

His heart in his throat, he strides fast for the backyard.

The roaring in Luke’s head stills when he sees her.

Sal, looking lonely as all hell, sits on the back porch. Her bare feet stretched out in the grass, a beer in her hand, she gazes out at the woods.

Luke slows his pace.

She doesn’t even glance up as he approaches, she’s so lost in thought. “I’ve been lookin’ for you,” he says softly.

Her gaze drifts upwards, then she chuckles. As usual, Sal’s eagle eyes have him pegged. “You were ready to call in a search party.”

Luke exhales. “Something like that.”

“I didn’t want to bother you.” Her tone is easy. No hint of worry or upset.

“Ain’t no bother. Mort was talkin’ my ear off as usual.”

“What about?”

“Just a gig. That’s it.”

Sal’s smile is quivery.

He evaluates her close. The soft sadness in her eyes. Dark circles. The hunch of her shoulders. Today’s been hard for her. Too hard.

The thought slams him in the gut. He should have done better by Sal. He should have been there for her, beside her.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “It was too soon for a party. I should’ve known that.”

Her eyes widen. “No, it’s not.” At his doubtful stare, she pins him with a look. “I love it. I do. I love that you did this for me.” She gestures around her. “It’s just . . . it’s a lot. Damn depressing, you know?” A droll laugh tinged with a sob escapes her lips. “All these folks telling me happy birthday and I can’t even put a name to the face. I mean, fuck. It’s so fucking hard.”

Her bottom lip pushes out as she fights the urge to cry.

Luke kneels in front of her and cups her cheek. When he grazes a thumb across her cheekbone, Sal closes her eyes at his calloused touch. “Want to get out of here and go have some fun?”

Her eyes pop open. A playful smile curves her lips. “What do you have in mind?”

He hands her his beer. “Hang tight.”

Luke pounds up the steps to the back door and ducks into a small entryway. When he returns, Sal’s standing, smiling, beer clasped to her chest. In his hands, he carries two fishing poles and a bucket of beers and bait.

Luke tosses her a cavalier grin. “C’mon.”

Sal slips her hand in his. “Where are we going?”

“To your happy place.”

Ten minutes later, they’re standing on the dock of the river.

Sal looks around, ambling to the end of the dock. Her green eyes drift to the man-made beach, to the tire swing hanging over the muddy water, to the small shanty where their boat is stored.

Luke baits a hook while Sal strings a broken line. He watches her hands move. Deftly. Expertly.

Luke watches as she casts into the water, impressed. “Like a pro.” He cracks a beer, takes a long sip, then passes it to Sal.

“I outfish you,” she says, smug. “Every damn time.”

Luke eyes her quick. She’s right. A hopeful breath’s held in his chest as he asks, “You remember?”

“Nope.” Sal elbows him in the side and tosses him a flirty smile. “I just know, country boy.”

Luke laughs.

They sit side by side at the end of the dock, sharing a beer, dipping their toes into the water. Sal tans her long, taut legs. Her hair rustles with the light afternoon wind. She’s gorgeous in a white tank and cut-off shorts. She’s put on weight in the last couple of weeks and looks healthy as hell.

Luke has to drag his eyes away from her before his mind runs away from him. The way he wants her should be criminal.

“It’s so peaceful out here,” Sal murmurs. “I can’t believe this was mine.”

“Is. Is yours, Sal.”

Her smile falters, as does Luke’s heart.

“This entire day I’ve been thinking I’d conjure memories from what? From thin air? From the faces of people I don’t even recognize? I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I keep feeling like everyone’s in on a secret I don’t know about, and that secret’s my life.”

Luke’s stomach bottoms out at the words. The dejection in her voice. He hates what this is doing to her. Hates that he’s the one keeping the past that she’s trying so damn hard to remember.

“Nothin’s wrong with you, Sal.”

“Face it, Luke. My brain is broken.” Without warning, Sal slaps her temple. “Work. Work. I just want it to work, Luke.” Her voice turns pleading. “Why won’t it work?”

Luke pries her hand away from her head, keeping her wrist still. “Stop. Stop it,” he says, his voice coming out rough. He grabs Sal to his chest, holding her tight so she can’t hurt herself. She shakes against him. But she’s not crying, her entire body livid with rage and fury.

She leans back to look at him, her eyes shiny, her lips flat and white.

“What if I never remember anything?” She extends a hand. “How is all this fair to you? Everything we’ve shared is gone. Every memory between us. I can’t remember our wedding, or your first tour, or our first date. And you have to live with that.” She lets out a disgusted growl. “I’ve been selfish only thinking of myself.”

He chuckles. “Sal, that’s the last thing you are.”

“Maybe so, but . . .” She gives him a doubtful look. “Doesn’t it make you sad? All our little moments . . .” Her eyes go shiny, her voice turns soft. “We lost so much.”

Luke’s throat constricts.

“It ain’t easy,” he admits, grazing a thumb against the delicate arch of her cheekbone. “It’s hard as hell and I hate it. The thought of you not rememberin’ our life together, it tears me up inside. But . . .” He gathers Sal’s hand in his. “I didn’t lose you, Sal. That’d be my greatest pain.”

A tear slips down her cheek.

His hand trembles as he brushes it away. He leans close. “Besides, your brain is really, really beautiful, and I love it, and you, and I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”

A small laugh escapes Sal. She bumps her shoulder to his. “Why are you so good at this? Cheering me up?”

“Darlin’, I’ll make you happy for the rest of your life if you let me.”

“I will.” She turns her body into his. Puts a hand over her heart and whispers, “I really will, Luke.”

Then, his lips are on hers, desperate for her touch, her taste.

Sal grabs at his shirt, a willowy gasp of air escaping her before she inhales his mouth. His hands knot in her hair as he hauls her against his chest. All of Sal’s warm curves pressed tight against him.

The kiss is relentless, insistent. Finally, they withdraw, panting.

Heavy-lidded, breathless, Sal stares at him. “I’ve been wanting to do that all day.”

Luke dips his head to nip the top of her shoulder. It’s red from the sun and hot on his lips. He nuzzles his nose against her neck, feeling Sal’s arms wrapping around his waist. The curve of her hip, the caress of her gentle hands, is enough to send him into oblivion. Is enough to have him thanking God he can call her his.

“You’re getting burned.” His voice is a husky murmur.

“We could cool off?”

He grins. “What do you have in m—”

Luke’s next word is cut off abruptly as Sal shoves him into the river. She leaps to her feet, howling with laughter, and then jumps in after him.

Luke pops out of the water, sputtering, followed shortly by Sal. All he can do is stare, watching the water roll down her velvet skin as she laughs and laughs. The most beautiful sound in the world.

With a wild holler, he grabs Sal up in his arms. She squeals in delight as his hands wrap around her slim waist to lift her in the air.

“You done me wrong, darlin’! Now you pay!”

He tosses her high, watching as she splashes into the water.

When Sal emerges, shooting up like a rocket, she gracefully flips herself onto her back to float. She tilts her face to the sun, to the sky.

And then she screams. Joyfully. A release.

They swim until the sun sinks below the horizon. Until a small tendril of smoke gets Luke’s attention.

Luke swims over to Sal, catching her up in his arms to kiss her. “Let’s get back. I gotta surprise for you.”

Her eyebrows rise but she says nothing. Only lets Luke carry her back onto the muddy bank.

When he sets her down, she looks up at him. “Thank you,” she says. “For being honest with me. For making me feel a million times better.”

His gut twists.

But he steels himself, watching as Sal walks away, barefoot, dancing up the muddy bank to the grass.

Tonight. He has to tell her everything tonight.