She’d walk away without a second thought. “If I’m not your road, Luke,” she said between hot, angry tears—she could barely look at him that night in the hospital—“you tell me now. And you tell me true. And I’ll be gone. I’ll let you go.”
He got down on his knees beside her hospital bed and swore on his life that there was nothing between him and Alabama.
He never knew if Sal believed him. For weeks after the accident, she pulled away. Distant and grieving. Distracted. She said she’d give him an answer when they got to the beach. About their road. It was the worst kind of hell, waiting for her answer. He wouldn’t blame her if she walked away, but he also knew it would end him.
Somehow the photo never made the papers.
After Mort discovered Clive Jasper was behind it, he made it disappear.
But Luke didn’t give a shit about any of that. Let it go public. Let him be branded a cheater. All that mattered was Sal. His wife’s trust in him was top priority; bad press, he could handle.
And then he put Sal on that plane ...
And now ...
Now Sal doesn’t remember. She doesn’t remember the photo, the car accident, the baby. She doesn’t remember the words Luke whispered at her hospital bedside.
I can’t live without you.
“If you ask me, Mort oughta do himself a favor and drop her already,” Seth grumbles, breaking the uncomfortable silence. He glares at the elevators, where Alabama’s vanished completely.
“C’mon,” Luke grits out. He smears a hand down his wiry beard, thinking about Sal. About getting back to her. The need to see her is intense, gut-wrenching. He’s been without her too long already. “I wanna get a shave.”