There are two things Seth Kincaid wants most as he sits in the neon-lit diner.
The first is a hot meal and an hour away from the asshole antics of Griff Greyson. He can’t believe he and Jace are helping out the guy, who last night started waving his ankle pistol around on stage. Apparently, Mort still thinks they’re his to loan out. They should be playing their own shows. They should be playing their own shows with Luke, but his older brother has made it crystal clear he’s done. Seth wishes Luke would clean himself up and get back on the road, but Seth isn’t so sure he could do it. Losing the love of his life has wrecked Luke.
The second thing he wants is the fuck out of Florida. It’s hot, the mosquitoes are vicious, and the memories of the failed search and rescue painful. But with two more gigs left on tour, one tonight down the road in some Podunk redneck bar and the next tomorrow in Gulf Shores, he’s stuck.
“I ain’t playin’,” Seth suddenly announces. “I don’t care what Mort says. If Griff pulls this shit again, I’m walkin’ offstage.”
A low chuckle.
Seth’s gaze slides to Jace Taylor, the upright bassist of the Brothers Kincaid.
“Yeah, well, you do that,” Jace says with a wry roll of his eyes. “Unfortunately, I need every goddamn gig I can get.”
Seth scowls at Jace’s holier-than-thou tone.
Jace’s been like a brother to Luke nearly all their lives. Best friends since they were kids. But Seth’s always seen Jace as a competitor for his brother’s friendship. And Jace always saw Seth as a screw-up, a hothead, someone with a bad past who could tank the band. Seth was night-and-day different from straight-arrow Jace, who never made a mistake. So, sure, they played together alright, but it was Jace and Luke who were close. It wasn’t until after Sal that he and Jace had to come together to wrangle Luke. Now, they’ve become more and more like partners in crime in Luke’s recovery.
But he still, on occasion, pisses Seth off.
“I talked to Luke this mornin’,” Jace says after a sip of coffee.
“How is he?”
“In a damn mood.”
Seth snorts. “When is he not?”
“So listen, I wanted to talk to you about it before I talk to Luke ...” Jace briefly swivels his head as the door opens and the chimes sound. Then his hazel eyes pin Seth down. “Emmy Lou and I were thinkin’ of askin’ Luke to move in with us.”
The news makes Seth frown in distaste. Luke living with Jace and his wife? Seth knows Jace wants to help, but he’s not sure Luke will be receptive to the idea. Hell, he’s not receptive to the idea. It’s like admitting Luke will never pull himself back together.
“He’ll hate that.” Seth scoffs. “He’ll never do it either.”
Jace eyes him with an infuriatingly level-headed seriousness. “He has to move forward, Seth, and he ain’t doin’ it cooped up in that house.” His voice turns low and soft. “There’s too much of her there, and you know it.”
Seth bristles at the truth of Jace’s words, wondering how in the hell they got here.
Looking after Luke.
For years, Seth was the troublemaker. Picking up girls, picking up bad habits, now he’s picking up after his brother. Which he’d do in a heartbeat. Lord knows Luke always had his back. Ready to defend or put a swift boot up his ass. Seth just never thought it’d be this hard to watch Luke sink.
His brother’s been broken over and over this last year. So many tragedies—all within months of each other. How much trauma can one man take? Seth doesn’t know. He doesn’t want to know. All he wants is his brother back.
Jace lets out a long breath, sits back in the booth. “Luke ain’t been right since she died.”
Annoyed, Seth throws his fork down with a clatter. “You piss me off when you use that word, Jace.”
Jace, his mouth a grim line, opens his menu. The pages stick together like super glue. He leans in, his voice taking on a no-bullshit tone. “It’ll be her birthday in a month. It’ll be a year since she’s been gone in three. How’s he gonna cope then, huh? What’ll he do then?”
Seth opens his mouth to tell Jace his brother doesn’t need a keeper, but then he thinks back to four months ago and swallows hard. Swallows down the rock in his throat.
The sight of the waitress at their table cuts off any further conversation between them.
“What’ll it be, boys?” She cocks her hip, preps her pen.
As Jace rambles off his order, Seth’s eyes rove the diner: tin Coca-Cola signs scattered across the walls, huge bay windows offering indescribable views of the ocean. The lone customer, a petite brunette, sits in the booth behind Jace. Her head is bowed, her face hidden by a long curtain of disheveled hair. She looks like she’s in pain, but Seth isn’t sure. Then the woman looks up, glancing out the window to stare at the ocean, and Seth’s heart stops.
Sal.