The next morning, Luke makes Sal stay in bed. He props her up against the pillow in an exalted position, gives her a laptop and a book, and brings her a breakfast fit for a queen. Amused, Sal watches as Luke sets a cup of coffee on her nightstand. He’s fussing. He hasn’t left her side, hasn’t let her lift a finger since last night.
“I’ll be fine, Luke,” Sal says, glancing at the open window where sunlight ripples like water. A light breeze ruffles her hair and she stretches out in the cool sheets. “There’s a small army posted outside.”
Luke, who’s sitting down in the corner chair to tug on his boots, glances up. His handsome face creases. “That don’t make no difference. I still hate leavin’ you.”
Sal gives him a cajoling smile. “I could go, you know.”
If she can talk her way out of bed, she’ll damn sure do it. She hates the thought of missing out on a day in Nashville. On missing the Brothers Kincaid’s last practice before their showcase next week.
And though the thought of staying home alone unnerves her slightly, they don’t have a choice. Practice is mandatory at their label.
Luke arches a no-nonsense brow. “Keep fightin’ me and you can spend tomorrow in bed too.”
Sal scoffs, although she doesn’t want to call his bluff.
He both pisses Sal off and makes her love him even more. It’s not fair. It’s frustratingly adorable. She has a feeling this is why they’re good for each other. They make each other behave when the other one digs in their stubborn heels.
Sal tilts her head to the side. “You have to go today.” Her previously lighthearted tone turns serious. “I don’t want you missing things on my account.”
Pushing out of his chair, Luke joins her on the bed. “I’ll miss everything on your account.” He takes her hand in his. “Say the words. Stay.”
“No. Go.” She socks him in the shoulder. “You go and tell the boys good fucking luck.”
He lets out a soft laugh. Then his face turns serious. “I want you to rest, you hear me? If Lacey comes by, you tell her to take a hike.”
Sal’s mouth flattens into a straight line. She’s trying not to laugh at Luke and all of his hovering. Although, she won’t argue with rest. There’s still a blurriness around her edges, the borders of her mind dull with the fog and forgetfulness of a migraine hangover.
“Relax. I am well stocked with granola bars and water. I’m just gonna curl up here with a book and wait for you to get home.”
A shadow of worry crosses his face. She knows he’s thinking of Roy. Of the cops posted outside. Of her having another fainting fit and him not being around.
“Luke,” she urges gently.
One last kiss and then Luke’s standing. He pats his pockets for his keys, grabs his wallet and phone off the dresser. “I won’t be gone long. Call me if you need anything.”
“I will.” She narrows her eyes. “Go.”
“I love you.”
“I love you,” Sal echoes softly, watching as Luke makes a quick exit.
She doesn’t know if she could love a man more.
Seth spots who he’s looking for the second he walks into the bar. Sitting in a dingy corner booth is that dirty rat bastard, Clive Jasper, on what looks like his second drink of the morning.
Seth’s getting answers today. He ain’t saying a word to Luke until he gets confirmation for himself.
He slips into the booth.
Jasper’s eyes narrow, then widen when he realizes who’s sitting across from him. He allows himself a few seconds of surprise before his features settle back into their typical smarmy expression.
“Seth Kincaid.” Clive Jasper straightens the collar on his cheap tan suit. “You here to pose for a photo?” He lifts a hand. An eyebrow. “Or wait. On second thought, maybe you’re here to attack me like your brother did.”
Seth shrugs. “You cornered his wife. He could have done a lot worse than break your camera.” Squaring his shoulders, he leans in. “I want to talk to you.”
“What’s in it for me?”
“I don’t know. How about me not taking you out back and kickin’ the livin’ shit out of you?”