The thought settles Luke, and he releases his fists.
Seth’s right. Sal’s safe. She’s here in Nashville and nothing and no one can touch her. Not if he can help it.
Seth’s voice cuts clean through the dusky night. “Where is she anyway?”
Heart thundering in his chest, Luke starts and shoves out of his chair.
Something’s wrong.
Luke cracks the bathroom door. Steam, hot humidity, hits his face and he waves it away. “Sal?” he asks louder than necessary, wanting to make his presence known.
As Luke approaches the running shower, there’s a roar in his head. Worry settles like a lead weight in his gut.
Goddamnit, Luke thinks when he pulls back the shower curtain.
Sal’s huddled in the tub. Her body’s curled into herself, her long wet hair hanging dark around her as she’s pelted by water.
“Sal.”
At her name, she raises her pale face. A thin trail of blood curves around her cheek.
Slowly, Luke squats beside her, resting an arm against the edge of the tub. “What’re you doin’, darlin?”
His tone is easy. Unthreatening.
A faint smile flickers across her face. “Oh, you know, just hanging out.” She rests her chin against her bony knee, tightening her arms around herself. “I hit my head on the soap dish. I got dizzy; I didn’t trust myself to get back up.”
Luke curses himself. He should have been here sooner. She could have slipped in the bath and knocked herself out. Hell, she very nearly did.
“How about I get you out of there?” he asks quietly, one hand reaching for a towel, the other for her. “I won’t look, okay?”
Sal nods and lifts her arms, giving him the all clear.
Luke turns off the water and stands. Hovering over her, he cocoons Sal in a towel, then slides an arm beneath her legs, keeping one wrapped tight around her waist. Then Sal’s in his arms, featherlight and frail. He carries her to the sink, easing her gently down to sit on top of the counter.
He settles in front of her, curling the towel up around the nape of her neck to keep her warm.
Sal’s clutches the towel to her chest. Her teeth chatter as she fights off a shiver.
Again, his gaze lingers on Sal. Checking, double-checking to make sure she’s okay. He used to be able to read her so easily. After eight years of marriage, wordless conversations, sunny smiles were their language. And now ... now ...
His hand automatically goes to her temple, where a snaky trail of blood trickles. The nick is deep but won’t need stitches. “Looks like you clocked yourself pretty bad. Let’s get you fixed up, alright?”
Sal juts her chin forward. “I’m fine, Luke.”
He sighs, placing bets he’ll be hearing those words a lot from now on. It’s just like Sal to play it down, to care for others, to never let anyone care for her.
“Yeah, well, how ’bout you let me decide that?”
Digging out Sal’s first aid kit, Luke pulls a bottle of hydrogen peroxide and a clean cloth from the pack. Without words, Luke works to clean Sal up. She takes the sting of peroxide without so much as a flinch, content to let Luke work, her eyes heavy with fatigue.
“Baths,” he says as he gently dabs at Sal’s hairline. “From now on you take baths. They’re safer. Much, much safer.”
Sal smiles. “Mmm, I happen to agree with you,” she says, shifting position so she’s on the corner of the countertop, the pads of her bare feet pressed back against the vanity doors. A slice of lean runner’s leg peeking through the towel.
A memory of Sal comes to Luke. The last photo she sent him via text. Sitting on the corner of the bathroom sink, mugging for the camera as she flashed a goofy face and the bump on her belly. She had that twinkle in her eye, that quiet confidence Luke’s always found so damn sexy.
Stung by the memory, the sadness, he moves away from Sal to replace the first aid kit.