“I will.” Luke searches her eyes. “People love and support you. You’re not alone. We’ll get through this. Together.”
“Thank you, Luke,” Sal says fiercely. Her lips tremble. She leans forward and holds on to his arm.
Her touch is cold. Ice.
“Jesus, you’re freezin’.” Luke grimaces. “And I’m an asshole for lettin’ you sit here and shiver.” He scoops her up in his arms. “C’mon, let’s get you to bed.”
Sal sits in the middle of the bed, wearing a spare T-shirt of Luke’s. He turned away as she changed but stayed nearby in case she needed a hand. It was a kind gesture. One that touched her to her core.
Now, she watches as Luke fans a heavy quilt out on the bed. Inside, she’s trembling, though she forces herself to keep a stiff upper lip. She doesn’t want Luke to worry. That’s all he’s done since she met him.
As Sal relaxes back into the pillows, her eyes fight to stay open. Her limbs are so heavy she could melt into the mattress. The scene in the bathroom drained her. Her entire body spent. Exhausted. But the soul-baring words she spoke to Luke were cleansing. Voicing what Roy did—aloud—was like a weight lifted. Like a life changed.
And she has Luke to thank.
She wasn’t planning to tell him, but he asked, his gruff voice swollen with anger and pain, and she found herself yearning to tell him. Found herself somehow knowing that she could be slipping off the edge of the world, and Luke would still be reaching out. He’d still come for her. He wouldn’t walk away.
It wasn’t the talk of strangers. It was the talk of two people who’d built trust with each other. A life with each other.
She peers close at Luke. A warm rush of something floods her veins. Luke offered to take what she was holding without fear or flinch. Sal appreciated that.
She trusts him.
The bed shifts and Sal glances up, pulling herself from her thoughts. Pulling her heavy-lidded gaze to Luke. He sits on the edge of the bed, evaluating her.
“You want some dinner?” he asks softly.
A shake of her head. “I’m beat. I really just want to curl up and sleep.”
Luke’s mouth pulls down into a frown of disapproval. She knows he wants her to eat, but all Sal knows is that she doesn’t have the energy to carry on a conversation, lift a fork to her lips, and worry about remembering. Tonight, all she wants to do is power down her brain, become a lazy lump in the middle of this great gorgeous bed.
“Big breakfast,” Sal says, giving him a placating smile. “I promise.”
He sighs. “Seth’s gonna be disappointed. He worked hard to put that casserole in the oven.”
She brightens. “He’s staying?”
“He is,” Luke says, scratching his beard. “He missed you.”
Sal fiddles with the edge of the sheet. “He told me why we’re so close.”
Luke swears.
He’s pissed as hell at his brother. Sal knows they’ve been trying to keep the stream of information she gets to a trickle.
Finally, he lets out a breath. “So do I kick his ass now or later?”
“You don’t.” Sal frowns. “I practically arm-wrestled him for the information.”
Luke lets out a slow roll of a chuckle. “Darlin’, the day you beat Seth in arm wrestling is the day I stop drinkin’ whiskey.”
Sal laughs. Then, overcome with a desire to touch him, she leans in to graze his arm. “Thank you for tonight. For listening to me. For scraping me up off the bottom of the bathtub.”
Luke’s lean forearms, corded with muscle, tense. “Anytime.” The mattress shifts as he stands. He slaps his palms on the thighs of his blue jeans, stares down at her. “I’m gonna let you rest,” he says, looking like he wants to do anything but that.
“Where will you be?”
“The couch.”