Sing You Home by Ava Hunter

The next morning, Seth steps inside the farmhouse, shakes the rain off his jacket and enters the kitchen.

He sighs as he takes in the bottle of Jim Beam, the smoking ashtray. At the table sits Luke, his face in his hands, a cigarette burning out between his fingers.

Seth raises an eyebrow at Jace, who sits across from Luke. “How is he?”

Jace offers a one-shoulder shrug. “He drank half a bottle of whiskey last night, so I’d say he’s hurtin’ right about now.” When Seth stares down at Luke, Jace says, “Smashed his guitar the minute we got home. Cut his hand. Then passed out on the couch.”

“Shit.”

Seth winces as he spies the damage to Luke’s poor old guitar. It rests in the corner of a kitchen, battered to hell. The neck, snapped apart from the body, hangs loose. Splintered into a spike sharp enough to stake a vampire.

“Why’d you do that you idiot?”

Luke lifts his head, looking like he’s in his own circle of hell. His eyes red and bloodshot. His clothes rumpled, his tie loosed. The palm of his hand stained with dried blood. “You find her? You find Sal?” His voice is hoarse with desperation and worry.

They’re all worried.

Sal took off last night and Luke lost her in the crowd. Even after driving around for hours and blowing up her cell phone, they couldn’t find her.

And now? Now Sal’s out there alone, unprotected. There’s no telling the awful thoughts going through Luke’s mind. His brother already looks half-crazed as it is.

Hell, Seth’s nearly there himself. The way Sal looked at him last night. Betrayed. Hurt. He felt like fucking Judas.

Seth pulls up a chair and sits. “I’m lookin’. Lacey’s lookin’. We’ll find her.”

Luke nods numbly and stamps out his cigarette. He reaches, fumbling, for the empty bottle of booze.

Seth scowls. “You want some more whiskey with that whiskey?”

“Couldn’t hurt,” Luke grunts.

Jace removes the bottle from reach. “This don’t suit you no more. Not this road.”

“Jace is right. Drinkin’ yourself stupid ain’t gonna fix a thing.”

“This is my fuckin’ fault.” Luke dips his head and cups the back of his neck. “I should have been honest in the first place. I lost her.” His eyes close. “For good this time.”

“You haven’t lost her,” Seth says, though he doubts his words will even get through his brother’s boozed soaked brain. “She’ll come around, man.”

“We just gotta find her first.” Jace meets Seth’s eyes.

The look that passes between them—unbridled anger.

Just when Seth thought Mort couldn’t stoop any lower, he did. It was slimy as fuck releasing that photo, trying to sabotage his brother’s career, his relationship with his wife. Not to mention sending Sal into a spiral, blindsiding her into believing the past was the present. She’s been through enough hurt, and all Mort did was confuse her already-confused mind even further.

One thing’s for certain, Mort ain’t getting away with it. Seth’s already got plans to destroy the son of a bitch. Early this morning, he put a call in to Clive Jasper. Those archived texts are his. Seth’s coming for Mort and when he’s done with him, he’s gonna learn you don’t touch his family.

Not Luke, and sure as hell not Sal.

Seth jumps when his cell phone pings. He breathes a sigh of relief as he reads the text from Lacey. “Found Sal,” he says, and Luke’s head snaps up.

“She’s safe?”

Seth flattens his lips to smother a smile. The only thing his brother cares about. Luke could be on fire and all he’d worry about was if Sal was getting smoke inhalation.

“She’s safe.” Seth glances back at the text. “She’s at the Hermitage.”

Some of the cloudiness leaves Luke’s eyes. No doubt the memories of the hotel have hit him hard. Then, like the words have triggered something in him, Luke lets out a determined breath and straightens up. “I’m goin’ to get her. I ain’t lettin’ her go again.”

Seth leans back and exhales.

Jace floats him a relieved look.

With Jace’s help, Luke staggers to his feet, leaving Seth to quietly slip out the front door.

All Sal wants are strong drinks to paralyze her mind, numb her heart, and muffle the sound of her throbbing head. She’s cried enough, drunk enough, slept enough to chase Luke out of her mind. But now morning’s arrived, and so has Lacey.

Sal has no idea how her sister tracked her down, but track her down she did. And she came bearing muffins and coffee and an extremely chipper attitude.

She winces as Lacey rips open the blinds. “Lace,” Sal says, her voice smothered. “Can we just . . . stay in the dark?” She burrows deeper into the blankets.

“No,” comes her sister’s pert reply.

Sal groans.

The bed shifts as Lacey plops beside her, resting a hand on Sal’s back. “You need to eat something, Sal.”

Sal struggles to sit up. Her hair, a bedheaded mess, halos around her. She’s still in her dress from last night, making her feel like a very slinky Cinderella, only without the glass slipper. Only without her happy ending.

At the thought, Sal’s eyes well again.

“Oh, Sal,” Lacey whispers. She scoots close, curling into the covers next to her.

Sal rests her head on her sister’s shoulder, not even bothering to stop the tears flowing fresh from her eyes.

She feels so confused and lost. All she can do is think of Luke and the argument from last night. Of him denying the photo. Of the love they shared.

The truth. That’s all she wants.

Wiping her eyes, Sal pulls back to look at Lacey. “I don’t know what to believe, Lace. Everything is so fuzzy.” She takes a breath. “Did I believe he cheated?”

“At first, yes. But, Sal, you were in the hospital,” Lacey says. “You had just seen this awful photo with no explanation. You had lost the baby. You were heartbroken. Hormonal.”

“What about you? You thought he did.”

Guilt crosses Lacey’s face. “You’re my sister. I was on your side.”

Sal takes a shaky breath. “And now?”

Lacey gives Sal a hug. “I was wrong. Luke never cheated on you, Sal. Then or now.”

Sal closes her eyes. Though Lacey’s words are reassuring, they still don’t know the whole story.

“Sal . . .” Lacey’s soft voice makes her look up. “You went to the place where you spent your honeymoon.” She gestures at the hotel room. “This doesn’t bode well for you.”

Sal sob-laughs.

Tucking a lock of hair behind Sal’s ear, Lacey says, “The way he loves you, Sal . . . hell, the way he looks at you . . .” Lacey’s lips curve up and her eyes go dreamy. “We all want that.”

For a moment, Sal sits silently, only to look up when there’s a knock at the door.

Lacey sighs but gets up to answer it.

The person behind the door has her frowning. Seth.

“What do you want?” Lacey demands, propping a hand on her hip.

Ignoring Lacey, Seth peers past her. Sal presses her lips together, resolved not to cry when she sees his sympathy-filled face. “Sal, I know you’re confused. You need answers and I brought ’em.”

Seth steps into the room, followed by Alabama Forester.

Lacey hisses, “Seth, I am gonna kill you.”

He holds up a hand. “Let’s hear her out.”

“Absolutely not,” Lacey snaps.

Sal expects to bristle when she sees Alabama. Instead, a kind of calm overtakes her. A tug in her gut that tells her she’s close to the truth. To the past.

“Hi, Sal,” Alabama says. She looks nervous but holds her gaze.

Swinging her shaky legs over the edge of the bed, Sal stands straight and evaluates Alabama with a decisive eye. Then she smiles faintly. “We’ve talked about this before.”

Alabama smiles back. “We have.”

When Sal sits, so does Alabama.

Before Lacey can go for the jugular, Seth herds her to the couch, where they take a seat. Lacey’s face wary and scowling.

Sal listens as Alabama relays a story that sounds more like it comes from the front page of a tabloid than real life. The incriminating photo was a setup. Alabama a willing accomplice. A mess Mort could fix, thereby indebting Luke to his manager, and ensuring the Brothers Kincaid stayed on as his client.

All the pieces of the puzzle finally snap into place.

As she speaks, Alabama wears the embarrassed flush of a woman who knows she’s done wrong. Sal won’t crucify her for it. While she doesn’t understand, she appreciates the balls it’s taken for her to do this. Twice. Once on the phone and now in person. The past is a fickle road: one Sal’s walked before.

“If you want to blame someone, you should blame me,” Alabama finishes. “And Mort. But don’t blame Luke. He adores you, Sal. He really does.”

Sal looks back at her. “Thank you for coming.”

Alabama stands, her purse in her hands.

Seth gives her a goodbye nod, and she disappears out the door.

“I don’t know . . . ,” Sal says softly. She can feel Lacey and Seth’s eyes on her, wondering, worrying about where her mind and heart are.

Seth eyes Sal intently. “Luke should’ve told you about Alabama. But he was more worried about keepin’ you safe. We all were.” He sighs. “He made a mistake, Sal. He was tryin’ to protect you, not lose you.”

Sal turns her face to the window. The early-morning clouds have lifted to light.

Light. That’s all Sal’s ever wanted. The light and the truth. And now that she knows the truth about Luke . . . it’s not darkness.

It’s love.

She fell in love with Luke a second time. Her body, her heart, her soul knew it. Every single part of her has always known Luke’s her road. One she’ll travel for a thousand lifetimes. It could curve, bend, crumble, but she and Luke will always find their way back to each other.

A ragged shudder escapes her. She dips forward in the chair and buries her face in her hands. “I said awful things to him,” she moans miserably. “He’ll never forgive me.”

“Luke doesn’t care about any of that,” Seth says. He glances down at his phone, reading a text. “He’s sick to death, Sal. He’s still home. Go talk to him.”

When she raises her face, their gazes lock. Seth gives her a heartfelt smile. The connection between them stronger than ever. They’re family and he’ll always have her back.

Lacey, her own eyes shining, nods in agreement.

Her heart thumping, Sal has a brief feud with her feelings before she rockets out of her chair.

The thought’s too much for her. A life without Luke—impossible.

She needs to go back and apologize. She has to tell him she loves him and hope like hell he’ll still have her.

In a flurry of motion, Sal collects her purse, her shoes. She’s at the door, tugging on one heel, when Lacey screeches, “Wait!”

Quick, and with flourish, Lacey fluffs her hair, fixes her makeup. Then, she surveys Sal, sniffs.

“I still think you should move back to California.”

Sal laughs and hugs her sister. “I love you, but no.” Looking toward Seth, she says, “I need your keys.”

A quick toss and Sal catches them.

Seth stands. “Good luck.”

“Thank you.”

Sal shoots him a smile and then she’s gathering her strength and rushing out the door, her heart burning a hole through her chest.

Back to Luke’s road.

Their road.