“I’ve met so many people I’m dizzy, Lace.” She gives Lacey a gracious smile. “I just need a minute by myself. Really. I’ll be okay.”
Ignoring Lacey’s crestfallen face, Sal sighs and walks fast for the back of the house.
She should be having fun, but she isn’t. If anything, the party’s made her feel less confident, overwhelming her with so much she still doesn’t remember.
She hates standing around feeling helpless, waiting for the world to drop around her. Today’s her birthday. She’s thirty-two, damnit. She survived Roy, she can survive this. At least that’s what she keeps telling herself.
“You ain’t serious?” Luke asks Mort. They’re standing in the field, next to Jace’s dropped tailgate. Mort’s just finished telling the Brothers Kincaid about an intimate showcase he’s arranged for next week to prep for their Opry performance. A gig Luke knew nothing about.
“You better believe it,” Mort says. “Seven days, you’ll be playin’ the Station Inn.”
“Practice makes perfect,” Jace quips doubtfully.
Seth appears, red-faced and panting. Luke frowns. “Where’ve you been?”
“You don’t wanna know,” Seth mutters.
After side-eyeing his brother carefully, Luke turns back to his manager. “You don’t trust me, Mort?”
“I trust you, son,” Mort chuckles. “I just trust myself more. Consider it a trial run before the Opry.”
Fuck the Opry, Luke thinks and turns to look for Sal.
Sipping his beer, he scans the crowd. He’s been trying to keep Sal in his sightline. Even though the house is surrounded by plainclothes detectives, Luke doesn’t trust the cops. They fucked it up once, they’ll fuck it up again.
He frowns, worry needling him.
“What’s wrong?” Jace asks.
Luke cranes his head. “I don’t see my wife.”
He pushes past Mort, leaving him with Jace and Seth to find Sal.
As he searches the crowd, voices swell around him, familiar friends and faces saying hello, but all Luke can focus on is Sal.
She’s not here.
She’s not anywhere.
He curses himself for not keeping her close.
His heart in his throat, he strides fast for the backyard.
The roaring in Luke’s head stills when he sees her.
Sal, looking lonely as all hell, sits on the back porch. Her bare feet stretched out in the grass, a beer in her hand, she gazes out at the woods.
Luke slows his pace.
She doesn’t even glance up as he approaches, she’s so lost in thought. “I’ve been lookin’ for you,” he says softly.
Her gaze drifts upwards, then she chuckles. As usual, Sal’s eagle eyes have him pegged. “You were ready to call in a search party.”
Luke exhales. “Something like that.”
“I didn’t want to bother you.” Her tone is easy. No hint of worry or upset.
“Ain’t no bother. Mort was talkin’ my ear off as usual.”