The harsh banging noise hits Sal like buckshot and she jumps. Her fork clatters to the ground. The banging has her forgetting where she is, has her forgetting the words that tumble past her lips, and has her remembering Roy. The slam of the door when she tried to leave. His hands reaching for her throat. Fear has her on edge all over again, her body bracing for a blow.
“Luke,” she says, and her voice must be a magnet because he’s already there, beside her.
Instinctively, she reaches for his hand, needing the firm feel of it, his strength.
“It’s okay, darlin’,” he tells her, palming her trembling hand.
She looks up, scanning his face. Dark with an icy irritation. “Who is it?”
“I don’t know.” His hand tightens around hers.
Luke and Seth spring to life as a second sound—the doorbell—joins the thrum of incessant battering on the front door.
Seth swears.
Luke’s fingers unfurls from Sal. She resists the insane urge to grip them tight and pull him back to her.
“I’m gettin’ the goddamn shotgun,” Luke snaps, yanking off the apron. As he stomps off, Sal doesn’t miss the pointed glance Luke gives Seth: Keep Sal in the kitchen.
Sal watches Luke’s tall, broad-shouldered form disappear around the corner.
“The shotgun ...” She eyes Seth, who’s leaning back against the counter, arms crossed, on alert. “He wouldn’t really do that, would he?”
Seth’s rumbly drawl sweeps over her like a breeze. “You’d be surprised what Luke would do for you.”
The statement’s blunt. Not meant to shock or wow, but just to state a fact. Like saying the sky is blue or that you need oxygen to breathe.
Sal’s beginning to think she’s Luke’s oxygen.
Seth tosses her a smile like the unpleasant intrusion is no big deal. “You should eat,” he says, handing her a clean fork.
As Sal picks at her eggs, she listens. The swing of the front door. The creak of the screen. Luke’s low, whiskey-smooth voice blending with someone else’s.
Higher-pitched. Fast-paced.
Female.
Sal’s heart sinks.
She’s not oxygen. Not by a long shot.
Trying to keep her voice casual, Sal sidelongs Seth, asks, “He’s got a girlfriend?”
Seth gives her an incredulous look.
At last, he says, “No. No, he don’t.” He cuts her a funny grin. Weighs his words carefully. “There’s only been you, Sal.”
Her breath stalls, and she’s barely able to choke out, “Then who is it?”
At the slam of the screen door, Seth groans in response.
He straightens up, moving fast for the doorway, when there’s a shrill screech. A flurry of commotion fills the room, a flash of yellow, and then fierce arms are surrounding Sal. The world around her spins as Sal rocks and wobbles on the tall barstool chair, but the person holds tight.
“Oh my God, oh my God! Sal!” a voice shriek-sobs in her ear. Kisses pepper her face. “Salinger! You’re here, you’re here, you’re really here! You’re alive!”
The person throttling Sal pulls back, and she finally gets a good look. Standing in front of her is a girl with long golden hair and the same green eyes as Sal. Only hers are tear-filled. She’s dressed in a thin pencil skirt, a creamy silk blouse and stiletto high heels, making Sal, in her ratty T-shirt, feel like the epitome of grunge.
A growl comes from Seth. “Jesus, Lacey. Ease off for a goddamn minute. She doesn’t remember you. You’re scarin’ her.”