Sing You Home by Ava Hunter

Fresh from the shower, Sal towels herself dry and slips on an oversized T-shirt and a pair of underwear. Stifling a yawn, she curls up on top of the already-made bed, wishing Luke were beside her. She glances at the clock. It’s been five hours since he left. In those hours, she’s fielded two calls from her sister, watched three reruns of Grey’s Anatomy and received a text from Luke telling her practice was perfect, they’re on their way home.

As Sal lies on the bed, she turns her gaze toward the open window. Late afternoon has the room bathed in a honeyed glow. She stretches in the sunlight, lazy, like a cat basking in the sun.

A moment later, Sal’s eyes begin to droop. She drifts off and memory licks, like the flicker of a flame.

An image of Seth, his arm held out, stretching, reaching for—

An image of Luke’s stricken face, of him on his knees by her bedside, swearing he loved her. Swearing—

The memory shifts.

An image of a redheaded woman. Sal frowns. The woman from the party. Alabama Forester. Talking about Luke. Saying sorry, telling Sal—

Somewhere, in the distance, a door opens and closes.

But not in her memory. In her reality.

Climbing out from half-consciousness, Sal opens her eye to find the bedroom dim and gray. She must have dozed off. Gone is the high in the sky sunshine; it’s moved across the horizon to dip low below the clouds. Now, there are only shadows.

Sal sits up and the world sways around her. Her gaze settles on a far corner of the room. Rubbing her eyes, she tries to focus, to shake herself from drowsy sleep. As she gets her bearings, unease steals over her. Goose bumps chase their way up her arms.

The shadow moves.

Sal’s eyes widen.

The shadow is breathing. Running.

Faster. A man.

Roy.

Sal opens her mouth to scream, but he’s on top of her, smothering her mouth with a doughy hand. Roughly, she’s shoved back against the pillows.

It’s the worst kind of déjà vu. Sal’s eyes fill with tears. Images of the cruel confines of the shack, of Roy tossing her against the wall, of his hands on her throat assail her every thought.

“Jenny, oh, my precious Jenny,” Roy whispers in her ear. So close his hot breath sears her face. “I finally found you.”

Sal struggles on the bed, letting out a desperate, muffled cry. Her brain screams at her to do something, even as her body bucks like a wild bronco to be free.

But Roy’s big. Strong. And angry.

“You shouldn’t have left me, Jenny. You were the best one. My only one. I have to bring you back. I have to take you home.”

“Noooo,” Sal gurgles.

Her wild eyes take in the room. She sees the locked door, the open window, and with growing panic she realizes Roy means to take her with him, or kill her. She doesn’t know which is worse.

She has to be strong. She has to be smart and save herself.

The hand smothering her mouth moves to her throat.

And clamps down. Squeezes. “Did you miss me? Tell me you missed me, Jenny.”

She claws helplessly at his hand. “Please . . .” Her throat’s on fire. Black lights pulse in her vision. Still, Sal fights to stay conscious, fights for a plan.

“Can’t . . . breathe . . . please, Roy . . .”

Fluttering her eyelids, Sal feigns unconsciousness. Her body goes slack and her head hangs limply off the pillows.

Roy’s grip loosens.

Through slitted eyes, Sal watches. Breathes shallowly.

As Roy swings himself off her body, Sal kicks.

And lands a sharp knee to his nuts.

Roy bellows in pain. He doubles over onto himself. Sal kicks again. Blindly. This time she hits him square in the jaw with her heel, sending him to the floor.

He’s hurt.

Down.

Sal doesn’t even stop to think. Heart thundering in her chest, she lurches for the open window. Her closest escape route.

She fumbles with the locked door—she’s done.

Sal hits her stomach on the windowsill, hard, driving the air from her lungs.

Her body’s halfway through when she’s yanked back.

Roy has her ankle.

She screams and kicks, jerking herself loose. On blind faith alone, she flings herself out the window. She doesn’t care if there’s nothing to hold her up if she plummets to the ground—all she cares about is getting away from Roy. Escape is the only thing that matters.

Luckily, she lands on a thin, slanted eave.

She looks up, certain he’s coming after her, but all she sees is his angry, piggish face glaring at her through the window.

Sal lets out a wild cry of relief when she sees what’s coming. Luke’s jacked-up Ford barreling down the thin dirt road. Plumes of dust billowing up behind it like a smoke signal.

Breathing hard, she glances back once more at the window.

Roy’s round moon face is gone.

Sal takes a breath. Takes a leap of faith. She lets go of the eave and falls.

When she lands, she runs for the boys.

The truck rips into the driveway and Luke slams on the brakes.

Sal’s barreling toward them across the grass. Barefoot, in underwear and a white T-shirt, the muscles in her slender legs trembling.

Seth looks up at the open window. Looks at Luke. “Did she just—”

But Luke’s already out of the truck and running. His heart punching itself out of his chest at the sight of a fear-stricken Sal scrambling across the dirt.

“Sal!” Luke shouts.

Something happened. Something bad.

And Luke wasn’t there.

Sal throws herself into his arms. He catches her like she knew he would. Because she can’t stay standing much longer. Sagging in relief, she pitches forward. The only thing keeping her upright is Luke’s arm, hooked around her waist to keep her steady.

“Roy,” Sal rasps. She’s pale and shaking. “He’s in the house.”

Rage electrifies Luke. He cups her face, his gaze sweeping over her as fast as it can. “Are you hurt? Did he hurt you? Sal?”

Her hands go to her throat.

That’s all he needs.

Tightening his hold, he grabs his wife around the waist. He spins her around to set her next to Seth, who’s suddenly appeared.

“Stay here,” he tells Sal. To his brother, he says, “Keep her safe.”

Her eyes widen. “Luke, no.”

As he turns on his heel, she makes a grab for him, but Seth holds her tightly against him. She calls Luke’s name again, her voice faint and far away as he hurtles toward the house.

Luke barely hears her. And hell, normally, he’d always hear his wife. But not now, not today. Not when he’s existing on lethal rage. Not when he’s let Sal down.

Again.

Guilt lashes him like a whip.

Sprinting up the porch steps, he slips into the house. He hopes Roy’s stuck around for him because he’s gonna kill the motherfucker that’s hell-bent on taking a piece of his wife.

And he won’t feel bad about it.

Inside, it’s dim and quiet. Only the squeak of the old wood floors beneath Luke’s feet. No noise from any direction. Endless, eerie silence.

The thought of Sal alone, terrified as Roy cornered and attacked her, fills Luke with such fury and sorrow he can’t see straight.

Roy came here. Here. To their home. To do what to Sal—the thought has Luke spiraling.

Luke’s hands turn to fists. To hammers. He aches to crack a fist against something. Roy’s skull, preferably.

He’s furious.

Heart racing, he reaches into the closet for his shotgun.

There’s no doubt in Luke’s mind. He’s gonna shoot Roy and stand over him as he finishes dying.

He turns down the hallway. He yanks open door after door. Blood pumps loudly through his head, and Luke steels himself for what he might find.

Footsteps behind him.

He wheels around, finger on the trigger, leveling the shotgun.

“Goddamnit.” Luke sucks in a hard, deep breath. Lowers the barrel.

Sal and Seth.

The two of them hover in the foyer.

Luke exhales. He eyes Sal with frustration. “Sal, I told you to stay put.”

It’s taking all he has not to get pissed at his stubborn-as-hell wife who just walked into the barrel of a shotgun. He gives Seth a hard look. “You had one job, man.”

Seth’s expression is all apologies. “What can I say? She’s convincin’.” His eyes move past Luke, move to the shotgun. “Anyone here?”

“No.”

Sal goes to him, slipping her arm through his. “If you found him you’d kill him.” She lays a hand on his arm. “I can’t let you do that.” Her pretty face turns mean. “That’s my job.”

The cops stay at the house for hours, questioning Sal, searching the edge of the woods. They found tracks leading down to the old logging road. An enraged Luke ripped the cops a new one for leaving Sal alone and unprotected. They had left to switch shifts, but due to a miscommunication, a new surveillance team never arrived.

That gave Roy what he needed. That nearly gave him Sal.

Sal knew it.

Luke knew it too.

Her husband’s dangerous, but not to her. To Roy. She sees it in his eyes. He’ll tear him apart. Kill. For her. Sal shudders, though the thought warms her.

Now, the house has calmed down and cleared out, Seth and Lacey the only stragglers. Her sister came over as soon as Sal called.

Sal sits on a chair, curled into herself, a quilt draped around her shoulders. The kitchen is lit up with light, with noise, as if that can chase away the darkness outside. Glasses clink as whiskey is poured. Luke and Seth huddle together over the breakfast bar making plans, while Lacey frets next to Sal at the kitchen table.

“We hire someone else,” Luke says, his jaw set in that hard angle Sal has learned means business. Seth nods. “Our own security. I ain’t trustin’ these fuckin’ cops. Not with Sal. Not no more.”

“No, no, no.” Lacey crosses her arms. “That’s not good enough.”

Luke smears his face in his hands. He looks bone-tired. Wrecked.

“Hell, what do you wanna do?” Seth fires back.

Lacey glances at Sal, quick. Bites her lip. “I want to take Sal back to California.”

The room goes silent. Luke ramrod stiff.

Seth swears. “God—for once, give it a rest.”

Ignoring Seth, Lacey steps close to Luke. “Please,” she begs. “You know I’m right. Let me. She’ll be safe there. Just until they catch him. Please.”

Sal smears her face. She’s exhausted by this. Everyone standing around trying to take care of her. Only when she glances at her husband, she’s horrified to see him relenting.

“Don’t be selfish,” Lacey needles. “Don’t get her hurt again.”

Luke looks down at Sal, his face etched with pain. Though he looks heartbroken to do it, Luke will. For her. Because he loves her that damn much. Because he thinks he should have protected her better.

His voice cracks as he says, “Darlin’ . . . maybe she has a point—”

Sal sits up straight, the blanket falling from her shoulders. “I won’t do it. So don’t ask.”

He sighs. “Sal.”

There in the kitchen, she stands tall. A fierce determination fills her soul. She will not let Roy trap her again.

Sal frowns at him. “I can make my own damn decisions, Luke.”

He holds his hands up in a surrender gesture. “Okay, okay.” Despite the seriousness of the situation, Luke smothers a smile at the fire in her eyes.

Turning to Lacey, Sal asks gently, “Why are you being like this?”

“I just want to protect you,” her sister says in a small voice.

“I know you do, and I love that about you, but you don’t have to protect me from Luke. I’m not leaving, Lacey. And that’s the end of it.” She turns her gaze to Seth and Luke. Her voice strong, sharp as an arrow and unafraid, she says, “I’m not living scared. I’m not letting Roy chase me away from the people I love.”

Sal moves away from Lacey to link her fingers with Luke’s, his touch grounding her like gravity. “I learned what fear and anger and deception were inside that shack, and I won’t bring it here. I won’t do it anymore.”

Luke brings her hand up to kiss her palm. His voice is hoarse, a guttural growl of affirmation. “You’re right. I won’t ask you to.”

Sal stares up at him, loving him fiercely. “Thank you.”

Lacey’s lower lip trembles. She clasps her hands to her heart. “I have to tell her.”

“Lacey, don’t you fuckin’ dare,” Seth says through clenched teeth.

Sal frowns, confused.

Because both Lacey’s and Seth’s eyes are pinned on Luke.

Luke, who looks like he’s going up against the firing squad. Luke, who’s squeezing her hand so tight, gripping her closer, like she’s a balloon about to float away.

Sal glances up at Luke. She wants to ask what’s wrong. Why he’s suddenly gone so still and so pale. “Tell me what?”

Lacey’s mouth opens and closes like a fish on dry land.

Half-amused, half-exasperated, Sal almost stamps her foot. She lifts a hand. “I’m sick of everyone treating me like I’m going to break. I’m not some fragile creature. I’m sick of secrets. Whatever it is, I can handle it.”

Beside her, Luke’s voice comes broken. “Sal, I—”

“I had a funeral for you.”

The outburst comes from Lacey, who yelps and claps a hand across her mouth.

“Fuck.” Seth braces himself on the counter, a look of relief on his face, his eyes on Luke.

But Sal’s eyes are on Lacey.

Perplexed, she tilts her head. “What’re you talking about?”

Lacey’s lower lip trembles. “I buried you. I had a funeral for you.”

“When?” Sal asks, feeling an odd combination of confusion and amusement.

“Six months after the plane crash. We all thought you were dead. And I mean, who wouldn’t, right? You were in a plane crash.” Green eyes filling with tears, Lacey whispers, “I’m so sorry, Sal. I had to. I just had to. After Mom—” She breaks off as her body’s wracked by a sob. “I couldn’t bear it. I couldn’t bear it without you.”

Lacey buries her face in her hands, causing Seth to take an inadvertent step toward her.

Only Sal makes it there first.

She gathers Lacey in her arms. “It’s okay. Lace, it’s okay, you hear me?” When Lacey glances up, her face tear-streaked and swollen, Sal smooths her hair back. “At least tell me people came.”

Lacey chokes on a laugh. “You don’t hate me, do you?”

“Of course I don’t hate you.” She laughs gently. “Is this why you’ve been acting so weird?”

She nods. “I was mad at myself. I was mad you were gone. And I took it out on Luke.” Taking a shuddery breath, she stares up past Sal’s shoulder. Shame reddens her cheeks. “I’m so sorry, Luke. I’ve been awful when you’ve been nothing but nice to me. And I’ve done—believed—awful things.”

A flicker of forgiveness passes between Luke and Lacey.

Luke, swallowing hard, nods. “Don’t worry about it, Lace.”

“Hey, what about me?” Seth says.

“You’re an asshole,” Lacey shoots back. To Sal, she says, “And so am I.”

“But you’re my asshole.” Sal hugs her sister. When she pulls back, she gives Lacey a little shake. “I love you. And I love Luke. And you have to get along. Otherwise it’s just going to be like the Christmas Incident of 2015 all over again.”

Everyone in the kitchen freezes.

Then, straightening up, Seth lets out a long exhale. “Ho-ly shit.”

Sal’s vaguely aware everyone’s staring at her.

“What?” she asks.

“Darlin’!” Luke grabs her up and swings her around the kitchen. His voice rings rapturous. “You remembered! You goddamn remembered!”

When he sets her on his feet, he kisses her hard and triumphant.

When he’s finished, Lacey and Seth nearly tackle her. Together, all of them jump around the kitchen, hugging and screaming.

Sal’s heart is in the clouds.

She remembered. She remembered something.

For once, she feels like it’ll all be okay. It has to be.