Sing You Home by Ava Hunter
Luke finds Seth and Jace in the basement studio. The two of them deep in conversation, they glance up guiltily when he enters.
Seth raises his eyebrows, his expression concerned. “How’d she take it?”
“Like a warrior.” Luke lets out a bitter laugh. “Which is more than you can say about me.” Dread curdles his stomach as he meets the concerned eyes of his brother and best friend. He’s a fucking coward and they know it. “I didn’t tell her about Alabama.”
Jace blows out a heavy breath.
Seth rests his elbows on the knees of his jeans and presses the heels of his palms into his eyes. “Man, I am gonna kick your ass.”
“What do you want me to say? I know.” Luke groans. “She didn’t ask why she was in the crash and hell if it was the time to bring it up. I mean, how do I segue from the death of our son to ‘by the way, you thought I was cheatin’ on you and nearly had your bags packed’?”
He paces, dragging a hand through his hair. “I sure as shit don’t know what to tell her because I don’t even know what to tell myself. I can do everything but explain that goddamn picture.”
“Luke,” Jace admonishes softly. “I get it, but you ever think this is bound to piss her off?”
“She didn’t believe me the first time, why would she now?”
“She believed you.”
At that, Luke’s head snaps up.
Seth, his face tight, stares at Luke.
He frowns. “What’re you talkin’ about?”
Jace looks at Luke, then Seth. “You just told me, now I think it’s a mighty fine time for you to tell him.”
When seconds of silence pass, Luke grits his teeth. “Look, you got the same expressions you had when I found you in that hospital. You know somethin’. So talk.”
Jace slowly nods. “We do. We do know somethin’. But, Luke, we tell you, you gotta keep your fuckin’ cool.”
Seth’s smirking. “Good luck. It’s Sal we’re talkin’ about here.”
Jace groans but motions for Seth to talk. It’s about time too. Luke’s damn near ready to jump out of his skin.
The smile falls off Seth’s face as he looks Luke square in the eyes and says, “There’s something you oughta know about Mort.”
The heavy woodgrain door swings open and there stands Mort Stein. A cigar in his hand, the radio playing low in the background of his office. “Well,” he drawls, ushering the Brothers Kincaid inside his office, through the cloud of smoke wafting in the air. “To what do I owe this pleasant surprise? You boys want a drink?”
“No,” Luke bites out. “No, we don’t want a drink, Mort.”
“You havin’ doubts, son? Because let me dispel those right now.” Pressing the button on his desk phone, Mort calls up his assistant. “Barbara, send up a bottle of Jefferson’s Ocean.” He straightens up to face the group. “You’re back. And after tomorrow night the entire world’s gonna see it.”
Luke stares at the man who’s handled his career from the beginning. He doesn’t want to believe it. But if it’s true . . .
The thought curls Luke’s fists.
“I need something from you, Mort,” Luke says. “I have questions.”
“I got answers, son. You just ask ’em.”
“Sal,” is all he can say.
“The little lady? What about her?” Settling into the cushy chair behind his desk, Mort ashes his cigar. “How’s she doing, by the way? She ready for the big night? She’s gonna look good standing next to you on that carpet, Luke. Just like old times.”
“Asshole.” An under-his-breath snarl from Seth, who’s leaning back against the door, arms crossed, tense as a whip.
Beside Luke, Jace’s face is drawn tight and wary. He’s ready to intervene should it come to blows. Because it could. Because Luke ain’t gonna dance around it. After getting an explanation from Seth, he’s getting clarity today. The bullshit stops now.
“The picture, Mort,” Luke asks between gritted teeth. “The one Clive Jasper took of me and Alabama. Tell me it wasn’t you. Tell me you didn’t send it to Sal.”
Mort’s face is a blank slate Luke can’t read. That is, until he rocks back in his chair, sucks his teeth and calmly says, “So Jasper finally talked.”
Luke’s world tips sideways.
He stands there, numb, rocked by the betrayal. Stabbed in the fucking back by the last person he ever expected. The person he trusted most with his band, his money, his family.
“You mean someone finally figured it the fuck out,” Seth snaps.
“Jesus, Mort,” Jace says, a look of horror on his face.
Luke’s hands curl into tight fists. “Tell me why.” It’s not a question. It’s a demand. A stone-cold threat that if Mort won’t talk, Luke will make him talk.
“You left me with no choice, son. You were gonna pull the plug on us. My best clients leavin’? I couldn’t let that happen.” Looking pleased with his plan, Mort grins. “I had to show you I could handle anything. That I was invaluable. And I did, didn’t I? You wanted the name of the person who sent Sal that photo, and I got it.”
“Because you set it the fuck up,” Seth snaps, pushing off the wall.
Fury bubbles in his blood, and Luke takes a step toward Mort. “Why Sal?”
“Because she was the only one who mattered. You didn’t care if it was in the press. If it tanked your career. I knew if I found the person who sent her that photo, if I fixed it with her, I’d be golden. I’d be yours for life.” He exhales, cavalierly kicks his feet up on the desk and shrugs. “Only that damn car accident got in the way and fucked everything up.”
“Fucked everything up?” Luke stalks across the room. “My son died that night.” He knocks the cigar from Mort’s mouth. “Sal could have died!”
“And I’m sorry for that. Truly, I am.”
Seth snaps Mort’s chair upright, sending him to his feet.
His voice lethal, Luke says, “My wife almost left me because of that photo.”
This time Mort’s face changes. The calm he’s worn so well all this time morphs to irritation. To anger.
“Your wife was a pesky obstacle,” Mort shoots back, his jowls quivering. “You were always runnin’ to her, wouldn’t tour without her. She kept you off the market. Kept you so pussywhipped you couldn’t see straight.” He scoffs. “Freein’ you up from Sal, that would have been just a bonus.”
Luke lunges for Mort, but Jace is faster.
Gripping Luke by the shoulder, he says, “You break your fuckin’ hand, you ain’t playin’ tomorrow night.”
That stills Luke, barely. He itches to throw a punch. To beat the living shit out of the morally corrupt piece of shit he called a manager. The thought of Mort arranging all this, of Sal being collateral damage, has Luke livid. Mort upended Sal’s—and everyone’s—life for the last year, all for his own selfish ends.
The only thing saving Luke right now is Sal. Because she knew about Mort’s plan, and she believed Luke. That’s the reason she was so distracted before the trip. Because Alabama had come to her with what Mort did, and that’s what she planned to tell him in Pensacola.
Whether or not Mort meant to cause catastrophe, he set everything in motion. The car accident. The plane crash. Sal being taken by Roy Williams.
“You did this to her,” Luke seethes. “Everything—this is on you.”
Mort settles himself on the edge of his desk. “Believe me, son, I didn’t come out so rosy in all of this. If I would have known you’d spend the last year pining for a dead girl, I would have considered other options.”
A sharp inhale of breath from Seth.
Jace looks at Luke, then he lets loose his arm and steps back with a shrug. It’s all the permission Luke needs.
“You motherfucker.”
He rushes Mort and lands a solid punch square in the jaw. The sound of skin on bone reverberates throughout the studio. Mort goes falling to the floor, and Luke follows.
It takes both Seth and Jace to pull Luke off Mort.
Luke stands, breathing heavily, flexing his hands, watching as Mort staggers to his feet. Their manager stands disheveled, bracing himself on his desk. As he wipes blood from his lips, he turns an icy gaze to Luke.
“You’ve made a mistake, son.”
“No, you’ve made a mistake,” Luke says in a low, dangerous voice. “Listen to me, Mort, and listen good. We’re gonna play the Opry tomorrow night. Only you ain’t there. You’re a ghost. You take nothin’ from our performance. Not one damn cent.”
“We have a contract,” Mort’s sputtering now.
“Oh, I don’t fuckin’ think so,” Seth interjects. “We had a contract. The texts from you to Clive Jasper seem to negate that, don’t you think?”
“I don’t think you want those released,” Jace says with a casual shrug. “Might be pretty hard to get new clients.”
Mort, having paled several shades, straightens his tie. “Careful who you cross, son. You’ll regret this.”
Mort’s words burn with a threat. Only Luke doesn’t have time to worry about that bullshit.
“We’re done, Mort,” he says with finality. His jaw flexes as he strides to the door, followed by his brother and Jace. Hand on the doorknob, Luke glances over his shoulder and says, “You’re fuckin’ fired.”