Page 133 of Sing You Home (Nashville Star 1)

“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.

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