Sing You Home by Ava Hunter

The venue’s small. Perfect. Under the radar. A teaser of a performance Mort’s arranged. A way to get the Brothers Kincaid some practice in front of a live audience. Shit, the Opry’s in one week—they need all the help they can get.

Luke exits the Escalade first, blocking the doorway with his body to make sure there’s no press around.

“I can handle a little picture in the paper, Luke.”

Sal’s silvery voice, whispering in his ear, has every muscle in Luke’s body tensing. Leaning into him, Sal wraps an arm around his waist. Her breasts press up against his back. A long curtain of hair falls over his shoulder as she kisses his scruffy cheek.

Twisting around to meet her lips, Luke says, “I know you can. I don’t know if I can.”

“You my personal bodyguard now?” Sal teases. She’s hanging in the doorway of the SUV. “I thought we have guys for that.” She gestures at the barrage of personal protection lurking in the shadows that Luke’s hired.

“We do,” Luke grunts. What he isn’t telling Sal is that he doesn’t trust her to anyone. That he ain’t leaving her again. That he’ll do everything in his power to protect her. Anyone gets within an inch of his wife, he’ll drag them down to hell himself.

As she slips out of the SUV, Sal’s shirt rides up, exposing a flash of slender, bronze stomach.

God, she aims to kill him. Luke has to stifle a groan at the way she looks. Sal’s jeans fit her just right. The curve of her hip, pressed up against him, already has him hardening.

Tonight was a bad idea. A terrible idea. His wife’s gonna drive him to distraction and then some. Every chord, every lyric is already forgotten.

Screw the gig. He’ll take Sal home and screw her.

Then, like she’s read his mind, Sal wraps an arm around his neck and brings him in for a sweet kiss. His fingertips skim the waistband of her jeans, dip down below, and Sal lets out a needy gasp.

“Instruments ain’t gonna unload themselves,” Mort barks impatiently from stage right.

“Yeah, yeah, we got it,” Seth grunts from somewhere up ahead.

Luke groans but doesn’t pull away, instead pulling Sal in closer.

“Mmm.” She smiles against his cheek. “Better listen to your boss.”

“C’mon, honey,” Emmy Lou chirps, popping up beside Luke, her blond bob swinging. “We got the best seat in the house.”

Tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, Luke cups Sal’s face, asks, “You’ll be okay?”

“I’ll be fine, Luke.” She kisses him again. “You just play like hell.”

As he watches Sal disappear, arm in arm with Emmy Lou, the security team surrounding them in tight circles, Luke’s not sure if he’ll be okay.

He came close to losing her the other day.

The thought’s like a brick in his stomach, settling, weighing him down.

Then Mort’s hand is on his shoulder. “Let’s go, son.”

Luke and Jace follow behind Seth and Mort as they head into the backstage dressing room where they’ll wait until the show starts. Buckets of beer on the table. Chipped paint. A couch that looks like it’s seen better days.

Mort tosses the set list down. He’s already got a cigar between his fingers, his signature move that tells Luke he’s ready to go schmooze. “It’s a sold-out show, boys, so do me proud.”

“Don’t we fuckin’ always?” Seth grumbles as Mort exits.

Luke pulls his brother aside in the cramped dressing room. “What’s goin’ on with you?” Seth’s had a pissy scowl on his face all night. “Usually I’m the one arguin’ with Mort.”

The deep frown on Seth’s face smooths out. “Yeah, well, you got more important things to worry about.” He grins. “You nervous?”

Luke glances sharply at Seth, smiles. “If I’m nervous, you’re nervous.”

Sure, he’s nervous. Tonight marks the first time the Brothers Kincaid have played live since Sal went missing.

But there’s also something else. An energy to the room. An excitement. About the band.

About where they’re going. Without a doubt, this is the fire Luke’s been missing. It’s burning. The stage calling to him like nothing he’s ever known.

Pacing around the room, Jace gives the wall his typical good-luck knock. The old drywall crumbles instantly, leaving behind a noticeable hole. Jace backs away, hands out. “Man, what’d I do?”

But Luke’s grinning. He likes it. They all do. This run-down shitty dressing room reminds them where they came from. Rowdy honky-tonks. Street corners. Suitcases.

This was why they started. Not the Opry. Not the money. This.

The music.

“Shit,” Seth laughs. “If this don’t feel like we’re startin’ out all over again, nothing does.”

As he takes in the room, relief and joy hit Luke like a shot of whiskey. He’s heady with the knowledge that he is here. Back. Ready to take the stage with his brothers.

Turning to Seth and Jace, Luke claps each of them on their shoulders. “We’re gonna sing tonight, and we’re gonna sing it right.”

“Damn straight,” Jace echoes.

Luke blows out a breath. “What y’all have done for me . . . bein’ there after Sal . . . it can never be repaid. You two gave me the strength I needed to get back and I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you. So thank you.”

Jace nods his head for a long moment.

Seth clears his throat. Wiping his eyes, he reaches out to shove Luke away. “Why’re you doin’ this, man? You’re an asshole.”

Laughing, Luke swipes the set list from the table. As he scans it, something tugs at him. A feeling of change. Of moving forward, of second chances.

It feels right. Tonight.

Crossing off the last song, Luke holds the revised set list out to his brother and best friend. “Tonight, we play ‘Sal’s Song.’”

By nine p.m. the crowd is rowdy and ready and so is Sal. She’s seated right up front with Emmy Lou at a cheap card table. The venue isn’t what Sal expected, with its nondescript location and puddles of beer on the floor, but she likes it. It feels like home.

“They love this stuff,” Emmy Lou offers, seeing Sal studying the rickety old stage. “Peanuts on the floor, bar fights.” Emmy Lou smirks. “Stages that look like they’ll collapse any minute.”

Sal laughs.

It’s then that the lights dim and the curtains part.

When the Brothers Kincaid take the stage, the audience cheers and whoops. Beers are raised high in the air, but a hush falls over the room as they launch into their first number. An energetic fiddle-busting tune just begging the crowd to get up and dance.

When they’re finished, Luke steps up to the mic. “Ladies and gentlemen, we are the Brothers Kincaid, and thank y’all for coming down to the Station Inn to see our performance tonight. It’s an important night for us, seein’ as how there’re some very special people in the audience.”

A shiver runs down Sal’s spine as Luke meets her eyes and holds them steady, the connection between them laser-sharp and electric.

Then, Luke’s voice is shining out like spun silk as they launch into their second song.

Effortless the way they play. Better than she’s ever seen them. Strapped with his guitar, Sal thinks Luke’s the finest specimen of a man she’s ever seen. Confident but not cocky. So natural, so magnetic, if she weren’t sitting down, her knees would buckle.

“They’re so good,” Sal whispers, leaning across the table to grip Emmy Lou’s hand.

Smiling, Emmy Lou nods. She squeezes Sal’s hand back with a ferocious intensity that has Sal feeling like she belongs. Really belongs. Like she can almost remember always doing this and never wanting to be anywhere else.

The evening passes in a blur of song. The Brothers Kincaid’s performance is high-energy and enthusiastic. For one night it’s easy for Sal to forget her worries, Roy lurking in the shadows, her shitty memory. For one night it’s just her and Luke in that bar, and he’s—

Holy shit, he’s singing to her.

Sal snaps to attention as the familiar song hits her eardrums.

“The life we live ain’t been perfect, but it’s been perfect with you . . .”

Luke’s staring at her like she’s his spotlight. Like she’s the only one he’s playing for.

Heat creeps up her cheeks, her breath held tight in her chest. It’s her song, being sung in front of everyone. The crowd is hushed and reverential, almost as if they recognize who the song is for. Eyes are on Sal, some patrons elbowing each other in recognition, but she barely notices the attention. She only has eyes for Luke.

When they finish, the crowd erupts. Hoots and hollers and hard boot stomps flood the room. Sal cheers like a banshee, while beside her, Emmy Lou sticks her fingers in her mouth and whistles sharp. The applause goes long and loud into the night, and after the second encore, the Brothers Kincaid finally call it quits.

As the house lights come on, Luke extends his hand down to Sal. He pulls her up on stage, pulls her into his strong arms.

“I’m so proud of you,” she says, kissing him softly.

He stares back at her, holding her so tight they could be one. “Darlin’, havin’ you here, it means more to me than you can ever imagine.”

“My song.” Sal slides a hand up to brace his chest. His heartbeat pumps beneath her palm. She’s so full of pride she could burst. “That’s the song you play. At the Opry.”

His eyes widen, turn serious. Then he shakes his head. “Sal, usin’ you for our big comeback, it don’t feel right.”

She stares at him, all her love and pride and hope dancing in the air between them. She wants to show him there’s nothing to be afraid of anymore.

Luke—he is all her roads and then some. Protector. Lover. Friend. Husband. Together, they can get through anything.

Sal stands on tiptoes to press a tender kiss to his lips. A kiss of promise. Of the future. “I want you to. I’m yours, Luke Kincaid. And I want the world to know it.”