Page 44 of Sing You Home (Nashville Star 1)

Sal wakes the next morning to a bedroom brightened by thin fingers of sunlight. Her nightmare from last night is a mere memory. But what isn’t a mere memory is Luke. Coming to her, holding her like he’d chase away her demons and then some.

For a few minutes, she lies in bed, silently listening as she readies herself to take in the first day of her new life. In the hallway—footsteps. The soft creak of wood floors. Downstairs—coffee, freshly brewed, the rattle of a screen door.

Sal swings her legs off the edge of the bed. She opens the drawer to her nightstand, rifling through its contents. A lone earring. A fifty-cent piece. A tube of lipstick called Pink Petal. A yearly planner. Flipping through it, Sal pauses when she comes to the week before the plane crash.

In the margins, she’s written a single note: Alabama.

Wondering, Sal cocks her head, eyes narrowed, trying to remember.

Her mind blurs to blackness, returns to the present.

Letting out a frustrated groan, Sal shelves the planner and slams shut the nightstand drawer. Then she grabs her cell phone and exits the room.

In the hallway, she pauses, listening. The house is quiet. No sound from Luke or Seth.

Should she snoop? Yeah. She should snoop.

Why shouldn’t she? It’s her house. Even if she can’t remember it.

Jelly brained, she drifts down the hall.

Next door to the master bedroom is a guest room. She pokes her head inside. She wants a better look at this room. With walls painted a soft Robin’s-egg blue, the room is square and sparse, yet still cozy. Overlooking the front yard is a bay window with a stuffed elephant sitting on the cushion. Sal goes to the closet, opens it. All it contains is an old guitar that looks like it’s seen better days, leaning against one wall.

Luke’s.

Kneeling, Sal plucks a string. She smiles at the twang it makes, the vibration thrumming against her fingertips. Rising, she stretches. Arms out, lengthening, relishing the freedom of her body, the sunniness of the morning.

Sal sits in the middle of the bedroom. In her palm is her cell phone. She checks it. She has service; the fours bars tell her so.

With only a slight twinge of guilt, she pulls up the web browser.

After casting a quick glance at the open door, like Luke will pop in and catch her, Sal types, Luke Kincaid, singer.

While she wants to know herself, this morning, she’s more interested in Luke.

That nightmare last night was something else. And there Luke was, by her side, calling her back, keeping her safe. But what about him?

While she’s touched that everything of hers has been kept like she’s still living, she can’t help but wonder if that’s what Luke’s barely been doing. Living.

She wants to know more about the brooding country singer that is her husband.

The first headline that comes up has her raising a hand to her mouth.

Country Superstar Luke Kincaid and Wife in Devastating Plane Crash

Friends and Family Join Hunt for Country Superstar’s Wife.

Wife of Country Music Sensation Luke Kincaid Presumed Dead in Plane Crash.

Sal scowls at the asshole headlines. She has a name.

One she had to work hard to learn.

And there are photos of the plane crash. Hundreds of photos.

Charred wreckage.

Luke and Seth sifting through rubble.

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