Sing You Home by Ava Hunter

The afternoon heat beats down on Sal as she steers Luke’s truck back to the farmhouse. She rolls down the window, letting the cool breeze blow through her hair, and smiles. Though her latest therapy appointment had gleaned nothing new, she’s making progress. Each time she’s gone, she’s encouraged. She has stuff to work with here. Slight flickers of memory that can grow. And if they don’t—her life may not be perfect, but it’s hers.

A myriad of thoughts run through her mind. The Brothers Kincaid’s gig last night at the Station Inn. Afterwards, drinks on Broadway at the purple bar called Tootsie’s. Making love to Luke all night long. Sal feels like she could run a marathon. In fact, that’s what she’ll do. When she gets back to the house, she’ll go for a run. She chuckles thinking about the security team trying to keep up with her.

Sal’s so lost in her thoughts she doesn’t realize she’s come up on Hellier Curve.

Fast.

Too fast.

The truck goes into a skid. The screech of tires has Sal death-gripping the wheel. Her eyes flash wide as she watches the ground come up in front of her.

Quick, she eases off the accelerator. She jerks the wheel, pumps the brakes, and manages to steer the truck onto the shoulder of Hellier Curve. It sideswipes the guardrail, spinning around before jolting roughly to a stop.

She sits in her seat, breathing heavily. Her hands still gripping the wheel, her knuckles bloodless.

Close. It was too close.

Like last time.

Like . . . last . . . time . . .

Sal’s mind blurs with memory. Her head feels so fuzzy she can barely move. But she can think. She’s been here before. She knows this part because Luke told her.

Still . . .

Sal glances over her shoulder at the center of the intersection. At the stop sign.

Unbuckling her seat belt, she exits the car. On numb legs, like she’s on some conveyor belt she can’t get off of, Sal drifts toward the center of the road, her body trembling, her face draining of blood.

And then she’s back in that night.

The night of the accident.

Her seat belt buckled, she flew fast around Hellier Curve, this curve, only she had a stop sign, and she missed it. And there was a truck. It hit her head-on and flipped her car like it was a Hot Wheel.

Then there was a hand held out, stretching, reaching for—for Sal.

It was Seth. Sal can remember his wide, frantic eyes peering into the wreckage. His hand outstretched, his mouth moving around the words I’ll help you.

And he did. He got her out of there and kept her still and warm while they waited for the ambulance. Seth’s words, Stay with me, a frantic keen on repeat. His hands were red, shaking, soaked in blood. Her blood. Her blood and her—

Sal gasps.

Her baby’s.

Letting out an anguished cry, Sal falls to her knees in the middle of the road. She clutches at her stomach and doubles over.

Oh God, a baby.

Seth downshifts the Bronco, expecting the stop sign. What he sees when he turns the curve has him slamming his brakes.

Luke’s Ford sits on the shoulder of the road. Smashed into the guardrail, the hood smoking.

And—sitting in the middle of the gravel road is Sal. Sal—in the same spot where she had her accident. Her head bowed, her hands listless in her lap.

Dread overtakes Seth.

Christ, no. Not again.

His heart racing, he bolts out of the Bronco and across the road to Sal, dropping to his knees beside her.

“Sal,” he says gently, not wanting to spook her but also really wanting to get her the hell out of the road. He tries to peer at her through her veil of dark hair. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

“No.” Her voice is numb.

“Then what’re you doin’?”

“Sitting in the road.”

“Yeah, I can see that.” He scans the road for cars. It’s clear, for now. “C’mon. Let’s get you up.”

But she doesn’t budge.

For a long moment, he lets her sit there.

He knows.

Then, he finally asks, “You remember, don’t you?”

She turns her face, her weary eyes, toward him. Her words come in stilted fragments. “Last year . . . the car accident. I was pregnant, wasn’t I?”

“Yes,” he says quietly.

Dipping forward, she places a palm against the gravel and fans out her fingers. “I bled my baby out . . . here.”

Seth winces, but he doesn’t look away. “Yes.”

Her hands flutter to her stomach. “I can’t remember.” Her voice is the softest sadness he’s ever heard. “I can’t remember a baby.”

His ears prick at the unmistakable sound of oncoming traffic. “Sal, please,” Seth says urgently. He loops an arm through hers. “We gotta go.”

Sal blinks once, twice, then nods, letting Seth haul her to her feet. He follows her as she drifts back to the side of the road and climbs into the Bronco.

As he slips behind the wheel, Seth takes Sal in. The fragile creature he found on the beach is gone. In her place sits a strong woman, sits the Sal he knows. Has always known.

Sal looks over at Seth. “You helped me. You helped me twice. Then and now.”

His throat tightens, unable to speak for a long moment. “I did.”

She nods numbly, pain evident in her eyes. Then she turns away from him to stare out the window. “I want to talk to Luke.”

With a sigh, Seth puts the Bronco in drive and heads toward the farmhouse.

Luke turns the finished guitar over in his hands. He strums a quick chord and smiles as the sound of an unmistakable twang fills his workshop. The guitar plays like butter.

And in two days—the Opry. He can’t believe that everything he thought he had lost is back. His band. Himself. And his wife.

The door to his workshop cracks open. Sal’s small frame fills the doorway, followed by Seth. Luke has to grin at the two of them together. He’s seen the way Sal’s bonded to Seth this last month, and he’s glad for it.

“Hey, you two,” Luke calls out. “How was it today?”

“Sal took a skid off the road.” Seth holds up a hand when Luke rockets out of his bench. “She’s okay. She’s just shook up.”

“Darlin’—” Luke’s voice drops off as Sal steps deeper into the workshop, into the low lamplight. The air escapes his lungs when he sees she’s been crying.

Seth says something in a hushed voice to Sal, then turns sympathetic eyes Luke’s way. “I’ll get the car towed back to the farm.”

With a squeeze of Sal’s arm, Seth slips out the door.

Crossing the room quick, Luke reaches her in two long strides. He palms her shoulders, and she raises her tear-streaked gaze. “Are you okay? What happened?”

He’s stunned when Sal steps away from him.

“I lost control of the truck on Hellier Curve,” she says, and Luke’s stomach drops into his boots. She lifts her chin. Her brow furrows. “That’s where I had the accident the first time, isn’t it?”

“Sal, listen—”

But she doesn’t wait for him to explain. “I remembered,” she says, continuing. “When I was spinning around on the road, it jarred something, opened a memory inside of me. I remembered that curve, and I remembered Seth . . .” She takes a bracing breath. Her eyes lock on his. “And I remember being pregnant.”

Her words sap all the air from Luke’s lungs. “Jesus, Sal.” He shakes his head. “I never wanted you to find out this way.”

Desperate to touch her, he reaches out to take a slim wrist to pull her into him. But Sal, her eyes enormous, steps out of Luke’s grasp.

“So it’s true? I was pregnant? We were going to have a baby?”

The hollow in Luke’s stomach expands. “We were.”

Christ, just the way she’s looking at him—so hurt. Betrayed. And he has no excuse. He always knew she’d remember. Hell, he wanted her to remember. But not like this. Never like this.

“It was my fault,” Sal says in a heartbroken whisper. “The accident. I ran the stop sign.” Her eyes fill. “I killed our baby.”

“God, no.” His voice, his face contorts. “Never. I never want you to think that. It was nothin’ you did, do you hear me?”

Sal braces a hand against the workbench and turns her no-bullshit gaze to his face. “Then tell me what happened, Luke. I can take it.”

Smearing a hand down his face, Luke lets out a ragged breath. “I’m not sure I can.”

Tears track down her cheeks. “You said you’d help me remember. So help me. Please. Tell me the truth.”

Her voice shatters on the last word. Truth. It’s what she’s wanted ever since she came back to him and he hasn’t given that to her.

Luke blows out a breath, unprepared to relieve one of the worst nights of his life. The night he got the call from Seth that his wife and unborn child were in the hospital, their condition critical. He had never run so many red lights.

“You were out, it was late, and you missed the stop sign. A guy in a pickup T-boned you. Flipped your car. He was okay, but you weren’t. Seth got there and got you to the hospital in time. You were lucky, Sal. You were bleedin’ inside and had a broken wrist, but you made it.”

“But the baby didn’t.”

“No.” His voice breaks. “You miscarried.”

“What was it?”

Luke barely hears her question.

“Luke.”

“A boy.”

Sal closes her eyes in agony. “It was a boy?”

It takes all of his effort to nod.

“How far along was I?”

“Four months. We were hidin’ it. No one knew but family.”

“Did we have a name picked out?”

The word wrenches from Luke’s mouth. “Henry.”

“Oh God.” A sound like a dying gasp escapes Sal’s lips. She’s crying now, in earnest. Hot, angry tears. “It’s so sad. It’s not fair. I can’t even remember my son’s body in my own.”

Her hands, pressed against her flat stomach, rip something apart in Luke.

Luke moves toward her and gathers Sal in his arms. She resists briefly, then collapses against his chest.

Fighting back tears, Luke says, “It’s why we went to Pensacola. I couldn’t face it. The grief. I was a goddamn coward and I tried to take it away from you instead of letting you deal with it. If I had just let you cope instead of trying to fix everything, you wouldn’t have been in the accident, lost your memory.”

Her small frame wracks against him. Luke can feel her hot tears soaking the front of his shirt. Finally, Sal pulls back to look at him. Her eyes blaze. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Her voice holds a slice of trembling anger. If she asked to slap the living shit out of him, he’d let her.

“I would have wanted to know. Especially since everyone else knew but me.”

Luke takes a minute to steady his breathing, to find his voice. “I never wanted to keep the truth from you. I was waitin’ for the right time to tell you, but then it never was the right time. All I could think about was keeping you safe. Making sure you were okay. Because if anything had happened to you, I couldn’t live with myself.”

Her lips tremble. She shakes her head, frustration and pain etched across her face. “We lost a baby—you went through that alone. You shouldn’t have hidden that from me. It was our memory to share. No matter how bad.”

“You’re right. You are.” He meets her gaze. “I’m sorry, Sal. And I’m so goddamned sorry I wasn’t there today when you remembered.”

Panic tears into him when Sal leans away, breaking their connection.

She drifts across the workshop. Her eyes downcast, she stares at the tattoo on her palm.

Luke takes a step toward her. “Sal, there ain’t no one in this world more important to me than you. I love you so damn much.”

She’s quiet for so long Luke wonders if she’s even heard him.

When she finally looks at him, Luke’s heart drops into his boots. Her steady voice, filled with courage, says, “I love you, too, Luke.”

He doesn’t wait. He moves toward her, needing her in his arms, her heartbeat against his.

This time, Sal doesn’t push him away. Instead, she lets him enfold her into his embrace. He buries his face in her hair and inhales gratefully. It’s all Luke can do to keep it together as his arms are blessed by the body of his wife.

Christ, he doesn’t deserve her. She’s given him grace, forgiveness. That’s Sal. That’s his wife. She died, and she still came back better than ever.

Sal slides her small hands up his chest. Luke nearly falls over at the way she’s looking at him. Her eyes shine with tears, with love. Even now. Even after everything he’s kept from her.

Then Sal tilts her head. “Is there anything else I should know?”

Luke stares down at her, numb. Sickened by his cowardice, his grief and his lies. But goddamn, how to tell her about Alabama? She barely believed him the first time—why would this time be any different?

That fear, losing Sal again, has him frozen. That fear gives him the will to lie.

Again.

“No, darlin’. Nothin’.”

Sal lets out a little sigh and curls into his chest.

Luke grips her tight and closes his eyes.

It was his chance to tell her everything.

His one chance and he blew it.