Sing You Home by Ava Hunter

Three Months Later

The air is cool and crisp and Luke drinks it in. Fall around the bend. A light gust of air shakes the branches of the old sycamore tree, bringing with it the faint smell of fires, of dusty dirt road.

He listens, savoring the silence, savoring the absence of camera flashes and chaos. The media craze that descended after that night at the Opry has finally died off. The photo Mort released did damage, but it meant nothing, not when Seth sent the texts to the Nashville Star, and Alabama stood beside Luke at a press conference, admitting to her part in the scandal. If anyone lost their reputation that night it was Mort.

Guitar in hand, Luke sits on the front porch steps, scanning the horizon for the glow of headlights. Seth’s on his way over to pick a new tune.

As always, the music is his way of rebuilding. Days after Sal was released from the hospital, Luke put pen to paper. It was how he dealt with his grief, his anger at what he and Sal had endured. He filled page after page of his notebook with songs telling his and Sal’s story.

Sal has rebuilt too. She was adamant they stay in their home, no matter how much blood was spilled there. She’s getting stronger, healthier every day. And though her memory still hasn’t returned, she’s content. She will take it as it comes, and Luke will be beside her every step of the way.

The clatter of the screen door has him smiling.

Familiar, light footsteps.

He twists around to see Sal coming to join him. Joy lights him up inside. He’ll never stop loving the sight of her. Never stop being grateful that Sal graces his life, when he thought she was lost to him forever.

Sitting beside him, Sal slides an arm around his waist. “Hey, country boy.”

He kisses her temple, burying his face in her long, dark hair. “Hey, yourself.”

She knocks her shoulders to his, her scent surrounding him in a swirl of magnolia and honeysuckle. “Whatcha working on?”

He shifts, setting his guitar aside so he can wrap an arm around her. “A new song.”

Sal peers up at his face. Her emerald eyes gleam. “For the album?”

Luke nods.

A snap of excitement hits him hard. For the last month the Brothers Kincaid have been immersed in the chaos of a new record and everything that comes with it: recordings, interviews, photoshoots, and soon, a tour.

And on that bus, beside him, Sal.

She hugs him to her. “I can’t wait to hear it.”

He can’t help but feel a pang of sorrow. Even now, months after her attack, Sal’s voice is still a soft rasp. But she’s tough and Luke knows she wouldn’t want his sympathy for a damn second. It’s why she survived everything she has to be the person she is today.

For a heartbeat, Luke’s silent as he relishes this perfect moment in time. If he never gets another moment, this is it. Sal and him and their life together. He’s nothing short of thankful for this second chance.

Sal’s soft-serious voice floats through the night.

“What’re you thinkin, Luke?”

He clutches her closer. “Thinkin’ that I love you,” he says, sweeping his lips across hers. “Thinkin’ that I don’t know where I’d be without you.”

“Mmm.” Sal smiles. “You’d be here. On this porch. Writing these songs. Speaking of which . . .” She leans in to nip at his throat. “I better get. I don’t want to distract you any.”

Though her eyes are solemn, her smile is teasing.

Luke gives her a wolfish grin. “I think I might allow for a distraction, darlin’. And a mighty fine one at that.”

A look of innocence. A raise of her eyebrows. “I mean, I don’t want to interfere with your work, but I do think the distraction could be worth it.”

“Oh you do, do you?”

Sal laughs as Luke hauls her against his chest. They tangle heartbeats, tangle bodies, tangle breaths.

She kisses him again, winding her arms around his neck. Into his ear, she whispers, “I want to try for a baby again, Luke.”

He pulls back, his breath, his heart stalling. But his lips kick up at the corners. “Are you sure?”

“So sure.”

Luke lets out a bright burst of joyful laughter, then sweeps the woman he loves into his arms. He carries Sal up the stairs and, stepping through the threshold of their warm home, closes the door on the dark.

Any road.

They walk.

Together.