Sing You Home by Ava Hunter
There are two things Seth Kincaid wants most as he sits in the neon-lit diner.
The first is a hot meal and an hour away from the asshole antics of Griff Greyson. He can’t believe he and Jace are helping out the guy, who last night started waving his ankle pistol around on stage. Apparently, Mort still thinks they’re his to loan out. They should be playing their own shows. They should be playing their own shows with Luke, but his older brother has made it crystal clear he’s done. Seth wishes Luke would clean himself up and get back on the road, but Seth isn’t so sure he could do it. Losing the love of his life has wrecked Luke.
The second thing he wants is the fuck out of Florida. It’s hot, the mosquitoes are vicious, and the memories of the failed search and rescue painful. But with two more gigs left on tour, one tonight down the road in some Podunk redneck bar and the next tomorrow in Gulf Shores, he’s stuck.
“I ain’t playin’,” Seth suddenly announces. “I don’t care what Mort says. If Griff pulls this shit again, I’m walkin’ offstage.”
A low chuckle.
Seth’s gaze slides to Jace Taylor, the upright bassist of the Brothers Kincaid.
“Yeah, well, you do that,” Jace says with a wry roll of his eyes. “Unfortunately, I need every goddamn gig I can get.”
Seth scowls at Jace’s holier-than-thou tone.
Jace’s been like a brother to Luke nearly all their lives. Best friends since they were kids. But Seth’s always seen Jace as a competitor for his brother’s friendship. And Jace always saw Seth as a screw-up, a hothead, someone with a bad past who could tank the band. Seth was night-and-day different from straight-arrow Jace, who never made a mistake. So, sure, they played together alright, but it was Jace and Luke who were close. It wasn’t until after Sal that he and Jace had to come together to wrangle Luke. Now, they’ve become more and more like partners in crime in Luke’s recovery.
But he still, on occasion, pisses Seth off.
“I talked to Luke this mornin’,” Jace says after a sip of coffee.
“How is he?”
“In a damn mood.”
Seth snorts. “When is he not?”
“So listen, I wanted to talk to you about it before I talk to Luke . . .” Jace briefly swivels his head as the door opens and the chimes sound. Then his hazel eyes pin Seth down. “Emmy Lou and I were thinkin’ of askin’ Luke to move in with us.”
The news makes Seth frown in distaste. Luke living with Jace and his wife? Seth knows Jace wants to help, but he’s not sure Luke will be receptive to the idea. Hell, he’s not receptive to the idea. It’s like admitting Luke will never pull himself back together.
“He’ll hate that.” Seth scoffs. “He’ll never do it either.”
Jace eyes him with an infuriatingly level-headed seriousness. “He has to move forward, Seth, and he ain’t doin’ it cooped up in that house.” His voice turns low and soft. “There’s too much of her there, and you know it.”
Seth bristles at the truth of Jace’s words, wondering how in the hell they got here.
Looking after Luke.
For years, Seth was the troublemaker. Picking up girls, picking up bad habits, now he’s picking up after his brother. Which he’d do in a heartbeat. Lord knows Luke always had his back. Ready to defend or put a swift boot up his ass. Seth just never thought it’d be this hard to watch Luke sink.
His brother’s been broken over and over this last year. So many tragedies—all within months of each other. How much trauma can one man take? Seth doesn’t know. He doesn’t want to know. All he wants is his brother back.
Jace lets out a long breath, sits back in the booth. “Luke ain’t been right since she died.”
Annoyed, Seth throws his fork down with a clatter. “You piss me off when you use that word, Jace.”
Jace, his mouth a grim line, opens his menu. The pages stick together like super glue. He leans in, his voice taking on a no-bullshit tone. “It’ll be her birthday in a month. It’ll be a year since she’s been gone in three. How’s he gonna cope then, huh? What’ll he do then?”
Seth opens his mouth to tell Jace his brother doesn’t need a keeper, but then he thinks back to four months ago and swallows hard. Swallows down the rock in his throat.
The sight of the waitress at their table cuts off any further conversation between them.
“What’ll it be, boys?” She cocks her hip, preps her pen.
As Jace rambles off his order, Seth’s eyes rove the diner: tin Coca-Cola signs scattered across the walls, huge bay windows offering indescribable views of the ocean. The lone customer, a petite brunette, sits in the booth behind Jace. Her head is bowed, her face hidden by a long curtain of disheveled hair. She looks like she’s in pain, but Seth isn’t sure. Then the woman looks up, glancing out the window to stare at the ocean, and Seth’s heart stops.
Sal.
Her name tears into his jugular, a shot of adrenaline to his bloodstream. Seth starts and turns to the waitress, who’s waiting to take his order.
“Who’s that?” he blurts abruptly.
The waitress, not fond of having her daily special spiel interrupted, frowns. “Who?”
“Her.”
The waitress follows Seth’s eyeline. Jace moves his body to glance briefly over his shoulder. He’s too polite, he won’t stare. “Never seen her before. Ain’t a local, that’s for sure.” The waitress tsks and presses a hand against her heart. She leans in, but not out of conspiracy to gossip, out of concern. “Poor girl. Think she’s a bit hard up. Looks about half-starved.”
“Give her whatever she wants,” Seth says quickly. He’s itching to feed her. To keep her here as long as he can. “It’s on us. Anything.”
The waitress’s eyes sparkle. She reaches out to squeeze his arm in solidarity. “You sweet thing.”
Jace is grinning. “What? You got a crush?” Getting no reply, he kicks Seth beneath the table. “Dude, you’re starin’.”
“It’s her, man.”
“Who?”
“It’s Sal,” he rasps out.
Jace’s expression darkens. “What the fuck, Seth?”
Before Jace can say another word, Seth leans in, resisting the urge to grab Jace’s head and spin it around Exorcist-style. “Look. Take a goddamn look at her.”
Jace pretends to stretch in the booth, turning his head to check her out. Seth rolls his eyes. Real smooth, asshole. When Jace turns back to Seth, he swallows thickly. Denial clouds his ruddy features. “Sure looks like her.”
“It is her.”
“You want it to be her,” Jace says, overly cautious. “You’re seein’ things.”
Seth tunes Jace out, tunes back into the world when he realizes the woman in the booth is shaking her head at the waitress. Then the woman in the booth is speaking to him. “That’s super nice of you guys. But you seriously don’t have to do that.”
Seth stares at her; her voice, a husky timbre, is distinctively Sal.
She’s frowning.
He’s gawking.
Nice, man. Pull it the fuck together.
“Yeah, we seriously do.” Seth’s throat finally works and he floats her a smile. “Please. It’s on us.”
The waitress gives the woman a stern glare. “Order something quick, honey, else I’m gonna bring you liver and onions.”
The woman wrinkles her nose, looking so much like Sal that Seth’s stomach takes a nosedive.
Seth listens as the woman rattles off an order for a cheeseburger, fries, and a milkshake.
Seth wants—no, craves—a better look at the woman. He needs to get up close and personal. Though his mind screams this is crazy, this is a dream, this is im-fucking-possible, his gut is telling him to pick up the pieces and follow the thread.
When the waitress disappears into the kitchen, Seth decides to make a move.
“You want to join us?” he offers. His voice sounds overly loud in the empty diner. He wipes sweaty palms on the thighs of his jeans as he waits for her answer.
She looks startled. Uncomfortable, even. Like she’s bracing her body for a blow, she shrinks back into the booth, her thin arms crossing across her midsection.
“You don’t have to,” Jace says kindly, seeing her distress. He smiles at her. “Sometimes it’s no fun to eat alone, though.”
She looks at them closely, her eyes softening as they land on Seth. The wary frown in her forehead smooths out. Finally, she gives a determined nod. “Yeah, you know what? I’d love that.”
Seth leans forward.
Jace holds up a hand and mouths easy at Seth. Like Seth’s planning to full-on tackle her then and there.
Seth scowls, turns his attention to the woman. She slides out of the booth, bag in her hands, and slips in beside Jace.
Jace gives her space so as not to crowd her. With an extended hand, palm up, he makes introductions. “I’m Jace and this is Seth.”
“Jenny,” she says, pulling the sleeves of her cardigan down around her hands.
“Jenny, huh?” That earns Seth another kick under the table from Jace, who shoots him an act-normal glare.
“Well, Jenny.” Jace crosses his arms behind his head. “What brings you here today to this lovely culinary establishment?”
“A bus,” she quips, and Jace throws his head back and belly-laughs, causing a bright beam of a smile to grace Jenny’s face. “Honestly, a burger, fries and a Coke. I’m so hungry I could eat a horse. Is that wrong?”
Jace nods in agreement. “Not at all. I mean, go big with the lunch order or go home, right?”
Seth lets Jace make the conversation, taking the opportunity to clock the woman’s face. In his head, he conjures up the ghost of Sal. His best friend; his brother’s everything.
It’s like looking into a time machine.
The woman’s hair is a dark brown like Sal’s used to be. And it’s long, waterfalling down to the middle of her waist, like she hasn’t had a trim in a good few months. The dress she wears is frayed and thin. Like the woman herself. While Sal was always slight, she was never this, never skin and bones. But her eyes, man. They’re the same eyes. Big green bottomless pools. Sal had eyes that could see right through you. See your soul, see your bullshit. The only thing missing is the feisty sparkle that lit her up inside. The happy that held Luke’s heart so hard.
Seth’s eyes move to the wedding ring on her hand. It’s big and clunky. Fake as shit.
The ring Luke had given her was a thin silver band studded with diamonds. Back when they were young, when they married, his brother had felt bad, felt that it was too small even if it was all he could afford at the time, but Sal had loved that ring.
His eyes still on her hands, it hits him then how he can ID her. She and Luke had matching tattoos on their palms. But Jenny sits with her palms clasped like she’s waiting for a church sermon.
Frustrated, Seth’s attention drifts back to her face.
What he sees next boils his blood. On the inside of her pale throat, finger-sized bruises stand at attention. Seth’s fists curl beneath the table. Someone hurt her. Even worse, if this is who he thinks it is, someone hurt Sal.
Their Sal.
Trying to talk himself down, Seth releases his fists. As he comes back to the present, he’s aware the woman’s speaking to him. He’s also aware Jace is silent, his eyes serious once again, and Seth wonders if he believes him now.
Jenny gives him a curious smile. “So, Jace was saying you two are musicians?” She nods at the fiddle case in the booth next to Seth and reaches for her coffee. It’s black. The way Sal liked it. Sal drank coffee like a fish. It was the fuel to her fire.
Seth nods. “We are.”
Tilting her head, Jenny spins her butter knife around on the tabletop. “Are you famous?”
“God help us.” Jace chuckles.
“Once upon a time,” Seth mutters, damn near ready to jump out of his skin. He keeps trying to get a look at her palm and the tattoo that lives there, but she keeps drawing the cardigan sleeves down over her hands.
Drumming her thin fingers on the sticky tabletop, she asks, “Where’s your next gig?”
Beside her, Jace stiffens. The look he shoots Seth says he’s buying it—he’s all in.
Seth’s grip on the edge of the table is viselike. It’s Sal. It’s got to be. Gig. It’s a word people in the business use. Newbies call them shows, concerts. Gig is industry lingo. Sal knew that.
Seth’s head’s on a fucking swivel. The woman’s off, confused, but looks-talks-walks like Sal. A thousand questions zip through his head. If she’s Sal, then why is she here? How in the hell has she been surviving all this time? Why is she miles from Nashville, calling herself by another name, with a different ring on her hand, seeming so unlike herself, so very lost?
Something’s wrong. Really goddamn wrong.
Seth opens his mouth, unsure of his next words.
Then Jenny’s blinking, glancing up, her full lips pulling into a sweet smile, as the waitress appears with their food.
Grease. God, it tastes good.
Jenny shovels food into her mouth like her life depends on it. Which, if she wants to get all technical about it, it actually does. Last meal, last conversation. Might as well make the most of it.
She listens as the men she’s sitting with tell her about their musical ambitions. Country boys, really. They amuse her. Plaid shirts, silver belt buckles, southern drawls. Though they make the small talk of strangers, it’s a comfort, not to mention a welcome distraction from what she’s about to do.
But small talk wasn’t what made her take them up on their offer to buy her a meal. It was the man. The sandy-haired cowboy with the rumbling voice.
Seth.
She’s seen him before. She just doesn’t know where.
As she licks ketchup from her fingers, finishing up the last of her fries, Jenny studies Seth. There’s a kindness, a familiarity in his eyes. There’s something about him that feels like a friend. She wants to reach out and take his hand and squeeze it and have him squeeze back. An SOS signal of hope. Of help.
The thought comes sudden and fierce: He saved me once, he can do it again.
You’re coming unglued, Jenny. You’re looking for a way out.
Her eyes bead with hot tears and she glances fast out the window. She’s spent too long here at this table with these men. The ocean calls her. She’ll be free there. No more will Roy have his fists around her throat.
“Hey,” a soft voice says. “You okay?”
Looking up, she meets Seth’s worried gaze.
She forces a shaky smile. “I’m fine.” She rubs her temple, where a migraine threatens to detonate, and pushes her plate away. “I should go.”
Seth’s crystal-blue eyes go wide. “What?”
Her heart gives a twinge at the strange way he’s looking at her. Anguish and pain etched across his face. It’s almost enough to make her stay.
Almost.
Jenny takes a deep breath, wanting to get away from the strange emotions that have welled up. They’re not helping her any. Nothing can.
Seth shakes his head as she gathers up her bag, a slow swing of a denial. “Wait. You can’t go—”
“Pie,” Jace interrupts, and she blinks. Hastily, he signals the waitress. “You can’t go because you should have pie. I hear they make a mean lemon meringue.”
She watches the way the men look at each other. Fearful and intent. Seth’s leaning so far forward in the booth she’s worried he’ll topple over.
Liquid heat sears her temple. Jenny sucks in a hiss, refusing to let the pain take its toll.
“I can’t,” she says, sliding out of the booth. “I have an appointment.” The thought is so morbid, she has to swallow a laugh. Hell, if that isn’t the understatement of the century. How she can be so cavalier about her impending death baffles her. But it also bolsters her. It’s the most strength she’s had in ages.
She stares down at Jace and Seth, her heart full of gratefulness for the kindness they’ve shown. “Thank you.” She means it with every bone in her body. “For everything.”
Before they can say another word, she’s gone.