Sing You Home by Ava Hunter
It’s midnight by the time they get to the after-party down on Broadway. Tootsie’s is bright and buzzing with friends, family, musicians. They swarm the Brothers Kincaid offering hearty congratulations, and making plans to get together, to tour. The performance tonight knocked it out of the park. Luke knows that. Two encores and a standing ovation. You can’t get much better than that. If he never played again, he’d be happy. But they will. No doubt about that. The look on Jace’s and Seth’s faces onstage told him this ain’t over.
They’re just getting started.
Smiling, relaxed, feeling bright and buzzy, Luke raises a beer to his lips and scours the crowd. Seth, in the front booth, knocks back a shot of tequila before handing one to Sal. She shoots it back like a pro, while Emmy Lou pulls Jace onto the dance floor.
As he makes a move for his friends and family, a flash of red hair catches his eyes.
After a glance, making sure Sal’s safe with Seth, Luke turns and walks deeper into the bar.
He finds Alabama Forester on the back patio, taking shelter under the awning from the drizzling rain.
“Nice night,” Luke says.
Her body goes stiff.
“Luke. Hi.” She pulls her drink to her chest, looking like she wants the earth to open and swallow her alive.
“This’ll only be a minute,” he says, lifting his hands. “I know you were in on the photo Jasper took. You played along so Mort would represent you.”
Her eyes land on the ground. “Luke—”
“But I also know that you tried to help Sal. Last year, you were the one who told her the truth about everything. You told her who sent that photo. She knew it was Mort.”
Lifting her eyes, Alabama makes a sour face. “I did a shitty thing. I was so desperate for a number one song that I thought I could get ahead by knockin’ someone else out of the race.” She shudders out a bitter laugh. “It didn’t help me a lick. All I got for it was a lot of sleepless nights.”
“You tried to make it right.”
“Too late, though, right?” Alabama’s gray eyes hold his, the sadness of the past, of what he and Sal have been through passing over them. Then they flick to Sal, who’s on the dance floor with Seth. “How’s she doin’? With her memory?”
He hesitates, says, “She still doesn’t remember the photo.” He exhales. “But that’s my own damn fault, because I haven’t told her yet.”
Alabama burns as red as her hair. “You have nothing to be ashamed of. I’m the one who fucked up your life.”
“You did.” Luke nods slow. He won’t forget it, but he can forgive. “For a long time you did. But we ain’t there no more.”
She throws him a grateful glance. “It won’t change anything but . . . I’m sorry for the kiss. I’m sorry to you, and—”
Alabama’s eyes move across the room. Luke follows her gaze. Sal’s standing at the bar speaking to Jace, her face lively, a smile on her lips.
“I’m sorry to her.”
A chorus of laughter erupts.
“She’s somethin’ special,” Alabama continues, ducking her head. “She was willing to hear me out on that phone call. She didn’t even know me and she was still ready to give me the benefit of the doubt.” Her lips turn down. “That’s more than most people have done. You’re lucky to have her.”
“I am. I’m a lucky man,” Luke says softly, his eyes still on Sal.
When he looks back at her, Alabama’s disappeared into the crowd.
Seth and Jace have claimed the front booth by the window, giving them a grand view of Broadway. As Sal goes to join them, she bypasses Luke in the jam-packed crowd. He’s surrounded by friends, so she squeezes his hand to let him know she’s okay before slipping away. She should stop, make conversation, but she wants Luke to be in his element. He deserves it. There’s a dreamy happiness in his eyes. A pride that he did it.
He sang and he survived and he’ll do it again.
Sal sinks into the purple booth, right beside Seth, in time to hear him say to Jace, “You’re shittin’ me. Man, there is no way in hell you outdrink me.” He flips a bottle cap into Jace’s empty beer glass. Another into Jace’s lap. “I put you under the table.” He slams a tan hand on the table and crows, “Every. Damn. Time.”
Jace grins. “Hey, all I’m sayin’ is I seem to remember pickin’ your ass out of a gutter on more than a few occasions.”
Seth scoffs.
“You just missed a very fierce debate,” Emmy Lou says to Sal with mock-seriousness, the neon light behind her casting her platinum-blond hair in a hot pink halo. “Drinking prowess and who can handle it better. So far, score is Seth.”
“I don’t know,” Sal teases. “Maybe you oughta get Luke over here.”
“Shit, Sal,” Jace drawls, his rusty brows rising. “Them’s fightin’ words.”
Sal bursts out with a laugh as a waitress appears, as if on cue, seeming to want to settle the debate by crowding their small table with beers and shots.
Making a big show of it, Jace begins handing out drinks with playful enthusiasm.
Sal smiles, and so does Seth, as Luke’s deep laughter can be heard clear across the bar. A feeling of contentment settles in her soul. At the good-natured ribbing, at being surrounded by family. Everyone’s riding high on tonight—including her. She never wants this surreal night to end. Because that’s what this is. Surreal as hell.
Around the table, the simultaneous chime of cell phones. Seth and Jace exchange puzzled glances as they each pull out their phones. Sal feels her phone vibrate in her clutch. It’s probably Lacey begging for an update. Or at the very least a photo of Thomas Rhett.
Next to her, Seth’s breathing hitches. He’s gone still as stone, his wide eyes on the phone in his hand.
“What is it?” Sal asks, leaning into him.
A muscle jumps in his jaw. “Nothin’.” He sets his phone facedown on the table before she can see.
She frowns. “Bullshit.”
Across from her, Jace swears, and then raises his face from the phone to the crowd, his eyes frantically seeking out Luke.
“Oh my word,” Emmy Lou breathes, her always-bubbly facade faltering as she stares at her husband’s phone. Then her bewildered gaze slides to Seth. “But why is . . . ?”
“Don’t.” Seth’s head snaps up. “I mean it, Em,” he warns, and Sal blinks. She’s never heard his voice so cold.
That’s when she feels eyes on her. Slowly, Sal turns her head to see a cluster of people leaning into each other, murmuring, the glow of cell phones lighting up their faces.
A warm, embarrassed flush rushes over her. She recognizes the sorrowful eyes, the pitiful whispers, from her time in the hospital. There’s something she doesn’t know. Something’s happened. Something’s horribly wrong.
Sal, barely able to hear over the roaring in her ears, turns back to the table. “Give me your phone, Seth.”
His throat bobs. In a barely audible voice, he says, “I can’t,” and puts a hand over his phone.
“Fine,” she says, holding his remorseful gaze. Slipping out of the booth, out of arm’s reach, she removes her phone from her clutch and unlocks it with one quick swipe.
Seth squeezes his eyes shut, as if he can’t bear to watch. “Sal . . . don’t . . .”
Ignoring his plea, she glances down and frowns. It’s a text from Mort, which is strange, because they’ve barely spoken ten words since she’s been back.
I’m sorry you have to see this, honey. It’s been going on too long to not tell you.
And a link to the Nashville Star website.
She clicks the link. At first, the image blurs in front of her eyes. Then, when she focuses, when she’s really able to see, the photo nearly drives Sal to her knees.
It’s Luke and Alabama Forester, kissing. They’re leaning up against each other like lovers. The headline screams: Luke Kincaid and Alabama Forester Caught in Steamy Affair.
“Oh God,” she whispers, raising a trembling hand to her mouth. “Oh my God.”
For a moment, Sal prays that it isn’t true. But it’s here, on the front page of the Nashville Star website. The evidence too real to deny.
The world around her blurs as she stares at the photo.
The way that Alabama’s pulling him in, the way that Luke’s hand rests on the curve of her hip, has Sal wanting to drown herself in the Cumberland.
Shock has Sal’s body physically responding to the photo. Acrid bile burns her throat, her stomach swirling with nausea. Unsteady on her feet, she braces herself on the wall, the pulse of her heart destroyed.
The rumble of Seth’s soft voice breaks through her spinning mind. “Sal, sit down before you fall down.” He tries to take her elbow.
She jerks like she’s been burned. “Don’t touch me.”
She backs away from Seth, the sadness in his eyes unbearable.
Her only thought is to get away from the stares, from the whispers, from the exclamations of bafflement directed her way. From Luke, who’s bulldozing through the throng of people. The frantic look on his face tells her he’s seen the same thing she has.
Disoriented and dizzy, Sal whirls away from him. Elbowing her way out of the crowd, her skirt in her hands, she moves fast toward neon EXIT sign.
As she slams out of the double back doors into the alley, the tears turn on like a flood. So does Sal’s memory. Finding the name Alabama scrawled on a notepad. The duet she never knew about. Alabama coming up to her at the birthday party, trying to tell her something. Her and Luke, not minutes ago, out on the patio. Alone.
And there’s more. More memories. Déjà vu, a sense Sal’s experienced this before. Sal in her hospital bed. After the car accident. Luke’s face, so guilty, so pleading. Begging for forgiveness. Because he—
A sob escapes Sal.
He lied.
About their love. Their life. Their marriage.
All this time he’s been telling her he loved her, that she’s his only one, and he’s been—oh God. The thought has fangs and it tears at her heart.
She was an idiot. A fool to believe things could have been so real. That she had finally found the life she was meant to live.
She gave him her heart—for a second time—and all he’s given her has been betrayal and bullshit.
Was he even happy she was back? Was he only taking care of her because he felt guilty? And who else knew? Lacey? Seth?
Her fingers brush against her temple. She squeezes her eyes shut, faint with hurt and confusion, barely able to think over the roaring in her head.
Oh God, this can’t be happening.
But it is happening, because suddenly, Luke’s crashing through the back door, and Sal’s whirling around to face him.
This time, to finally get the truth.
Panic.
It was pure panic and Luke had never moved so fast in his life.
Uncaring about the eyes on him, the murmured whispers, he ripped after Sal, who was moving fast for the back door to get away from him—because of him.
She saw the photo.
He saw Seth’s face across the bar, dismay and horror all over his brother’s face, and it was instant. Luke knew Sal knew.
And then, Luke’s slamming out the back door, finally reaching Sal, who stands staring at him across the alleyway.
Tears glitter in her eyes, but her face is contorted by pain and hurt.
Before he can speak, she says, “When were you going to tell me, Luke?”
Hands up, out, he steps forward. “Sal, I can explain—”
“You’re having an affair.”
“No, darlin’. Never.”
Sal’s face is so pale, she looks like she’s about to faint. Luke takes a step toward her so he can catch her if she falls.
“You are.” Her voice shakes as she flashes the cell phone.
He recoils at the text message, at the website link that leads directly to the crucifying photo of him and Alabama. A picture from the past sent again.
When he sees who sent it direct to Sal, who leaked it to the press, his fists clench. Mort. Payback for tearing up their contract.
That son of a bitch. Luke will destroy him.
Anger wells in him, but Luke pushes his own feelings aside. Right now, the most important thing is Sal and what she believes. Through no fault of her own, she can’t remember, so of course she’d think the photo was bad. Of course she’d think it was exactly what it looked like.
“Sal, listen,” Luke says hoarsely. “It’s not what you’re thinkin’.”
She jabs the phone at him. Her rage scorches. “It is! It’s all right here, Luke!”
“The picture’s from last year. It’s a long story, but I can explain everything.”
“How can I believe anything you say anymore?” A sob escapes her. “You’ve kept everything from me. The baby, this. You don’t love me. This isn’t my life.”
Her words are excruciating.
“I do,” Luke chokes out. “I love you.”
“No, you don’t, you don’t.” A tremor ripples through her body as she meets his gaze. “If you loved me, then this photo would never exist, would it? And it wouldn’t be the fucking home page of the Nashville Star website. I mean, my God, Luke, everyone knows.” She tips her head up to the night sky, tears rolling down her pale face. “How could you do this to me?”
Sal’s shaking. Her eyes crazed and haunted, she looks like a woman drained. Luke can’t imagine what this is doing to her. The embarrassment he’s caused her. Christ, she gave him her trust and he shit all over it.
“Please listen to me,” he pleads. “I’ll give you anything you want, just hear me out.”
“Don’t bother. Your words are bullshit, Luke!” She thrashes her dark head, then lasers her eyes on him. “You’re a liar just like Roy. You lie.”
Luke staggers back at her cutting words. The cruelest blow she could deliver. He deserves it. Deserves it all.
She turns to run.
It’s panic that has him grabbing for her wrist.
He holds her gently, desperate to make her understand, not to let her go again. “Sal, please—”
Her eyes wild, she wrenches away. Her wrist slips through his hands.
She bolts, throwing herself into the night. Into the pouring rain. Into the bustling streets of Broadway.
He’s on her heels, as fast as he can, but it’s still not enough.
She’s swallowed up by a crowd of people.
“Sal!” Luke shouts. He tries to fight his way through the throng of people, but to no avail.
She’s gone.
He’s lost her.