Page 30 of Sing You Home (Nashville Star 1)

Caught off guard by the confession, Seth collapses back in the booth. It feels like there’s a gaping hole in his chest. One that ain’t gonna close anytime soon.

He watches as Sal sits silent and still in the booth, her brow furrowed as she processes what he’s told her.

Seth’s chest gives a twinge. He wonders if telling her about their past was a mistake. She looks too tired, too thin. He wants to feed her, to put her to bed, but knows Sal would have none of it. Sal could eat a man alive and then go back to calmly drinking her coffee.

Still, he could sense her frustration. Wanting to know more, wanting to dig around for the truth. Seth’s got to tell Luke that she ain’t gonna be such an easy sell on his whole keeping-the-past-a-secret-until-Sal’s-ready plan.

And Christ. The question about them being together. Seth wouldn’t touch Sal with a ten-foot pole. Not because she wasn’t gorgeous. She was. And not because his brother would kill him.

Seth just didn’t feel that way toward her.

He and Sal—they had something deeper, and he wouldn’t fuck that up for anything in the world.

He glances at Sal, her distant stare still on the window.

“When was the last time you ate something?” Seth says, standing. “I’ll make you a sandwich—”

“I know how to make a sandwich.” Sal lifts a palm. “My memory ain’t that shot.” Her small frame slips out of the booth and moves to the fridge. She eyes him, a teasing smile playing across her lips. “It’s mayo and jelly, right?”

Seth shrugs. “Your eating habits were always questionable.”

Sal scoffs.

Barking a laugh, Seth leaves Sal to make her sandwich and goes to find his brother.

He bypasses Mort and Jace, who are having a hushed conversation in the hall, to find Luke in the lounge.

“Sal’s up,” Seth says as a greeting.

Luke’s eyes flicker, flashing with worry and longing. “She okay?”

“She’s fine, man.” Seth claps him on the shoulder and gives him a reassuring squeeze. “She’s making a sandwich, relax.”

Luke grunts and tugs down his trucker cap. “Good.”

Seth knows his brother’s about to go half-mad. He doesn’t blame him, though. Luke’s trying to walk the fine line between giving Sal space and being beside her every damn chance he gets. He just got her back after nine long months of thinking she was dead. Seth would want to hold on to her too.

Seth sits across from Luke on one of the black leather couches. “Listen, I know you know, but it ain’t gonna be so easy keepin’ everything from Sal. She’s smart. She’s askin’ questions.”

Luke’s jaw clenches. “What happened?”

“Nothin’.” Seth holds his brother’s eyes. “Yet.”

Dipping forward, Luke laces a hand across the back of his neck and lets out a deep sigh. “I’ll tell her everything, but she’s gotta be stronger first. That’s all I care about. Get her into therapy, get her healthy. That’s the plan for now.”

Seth nods, telling Luke he understands. He’s got his brother’s back.

Always.

From behind them, Mort’s boom of a voice sideswipes any further conversation. “Speaking of plans, son. You think I could get you boys in the studio tomorrow?”

Jace, coming down the aisle to sit beside them, shakes his head. Yet his eyes, intent and hopeful, land on Luke.

Seth stifles a dry laugh. Mort’s got some balls of steel to ask Luke to leave Sal, not yet back twenty-four hours. It’s typical Mort. His I-get-what-I-want act. But he’s gotten them this far—arranged for the bus, smoothed things over with Griff Greyson, finagled them out of the tour contract—so Seth’s gotta give him that.

Luke shifts in his seat, his face neutral, though his eyes betray irritation. “What’d I tell you?”

Mort’s cell phone goes off. He raises it up in surrender. “Just to talk, son. Nothin’ more than that.” Then, before Luke can really lay into him, Mort answers with a curt, “What’s happenin’?”

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