Luke Kincaid props open the screen door and sighs at what’s coming. He stares down the long, winding road, where a busted Bronco kicks up dust and rock as it barrels toward Wild Antler Farm. He knows what this is. One last Hail Mary to get him to go on tour. To pick up a guitar again. To move on with his life.
Never.
No matter how much time passes, he’ll never move on. It’s the least he can do . . . it’s what he deserves.
He raises his hand and flips off the Bronco.
Behind the wheel, Luke’s younger brother, Seth, pulls into the driveway and cuts the engine. Seth hops out, sidestepping a chicken scratching in the dirt. His brother’s got his serious noir face on. Grim. Disgruntled as only Seth can do.
Seth’s worn cowboy boots crunch gravel as he approaches the old farmhouse. “I’ve been callin’,” Seth grouches.
“I’ve been screenin’,” Luke replies with an easy drawl.
Phone calls are something Luke dreads. If it’s not reporters scrounging for dirt, it’s tipsters, psychics, sick fucks claiming to have information about his wife.
Seth stops short at the porch stairs. “What’s with the beard, man?” He cocks a brow as he sweeps Luke with a scrutinizing gaze. “You goin’ full mountain man now?”
Luke smears a hand over the bushy beard gracing his face. He can’t remember the last time he shaved or bothered to clean himself up. For once, he looks wilder than his rambunctious younger brother.
In the distance, the whinny of a horse. A reminder to Luke that his animals won’t wait for their breakfast. A reminder that he’s got shit to do. Shit that will get him out of the house and keep him sane until he can pass out on the couch in a drunken stupor.
Luke squints at Seth, shielding his eyes from the morning sun to see him better. “You come over to tell me that?”
“No.” Seth crosses his arms, evaluating him. Taking in the broke bustedness that is Luke Kincaid. A hell of a hangover. Bloodshot eyes. Week-old clothes. “You gonna let me in or do I gotta bitch you out on the front porch?”
“So bitch me out.”
Spreading his arms in a go-ahead motion, Luke opens the door. As Seth trudges up the steps, Luke follows him inside, stifling a groan. The serious stiffness of his brother’s face telling him he’s in for a lecture. Seth’s never been serious. Not until Luke needed someone to pick his ass up and put it back together.
Luke already knows what his brother will say. That he’s worried. That their parents are worried. That Lacey’s been up Seth’s ass every damn day to talk to Luke to file the declaration of death paperwork.
Inside, the house is graveyard quiet. Dim and dark, the way he likes it. The darkness lets him block out the reality he’s not yet ready to face. Then, as if Seth can read his mind, his brother begins flipping on all the goddamn lights, opening every window shade in the living room.
The May morning is too bright and too wrong.
Luke’s still angry at the sun for coming up, for existing when Sal doesn’t.
A sharp intake of breath. Seth’s shaking his head at the current state of Luke’s home.
It’s a shithole.
Luke knows this.
Luke also knows Sal would have his head on a plate for keeping her beloved farmhouse in such a state of disarray. Seth pauses in the living room to stare at the unmade couch. Luke hasn’t slept in his bedroom since Sal’s been gone. It’s been nine months and he still can’t bear to erase her scent.
As it stands now, Sal’s spirit hangs so heavy around the house her existence echoes. Hell, Luke can practically feel her in the air. Can practically hear Sal’s happy hum. Can see her bare feet kicked up on the couch. In the kitchen, putting groceries away. Washing dishes. Sal smiling at him as she makes her inky black pots of coffee.
Mundane. Luke would kill for mundane.
Seth enters the kitchen.
Luke follows, hanging back against the sink, arms out to prop him up. He watches as Seth checks the fridge. Empty. There’s unwashed dishes in the sink. A cemetery of whiskey bottles. A TV dinner. A full ashtray.
Shit.
A sound of disgust flares in Seth’s throat. “Really?” He swipes a pack of Camels from the countertop. Seth’s fierce frown deepens as he crumples the smokes in his fist. “You’re doin’ this again?”
Grimacing, Luke runs a hand through his hair, cups the back of his neck. Decides it’s probably not a good time to tell Seth he has two more packs stashed away in his workshop. “Look, you can spare me the lecture.”