As he samples songs, his brow furrows deeper and deeper. In concentration. In frustration.
“You sure you don’t want to do ‘Sal’s Song’?” Jace holds up a hand as Luke snaps open his mouth. “Not because it’ll make Mort happy, but maybe it’ll get your head back into it. It’s your heart, ain’t it?”
Luke’s face softens. “Yeah. I don’t know.” His eyes drift upward to the living room, where Sal naps on the couch. “I’ll think about it.”
Seth crosses his arms. He’s gonna have to be the one to knock some sense into his brother. “She’s fine, Luke. She’s sleepin’.”
Seth gives his brother a look. It ain’t Jasper or the music that’s got Luke riled up. It’s Sal. “What’s really going on?”
“I think she remembered something today.”
Jace blinks. “That was fast.”
Seth arches a brow. “In therapy?”
Luke’s mouth twists and he stares down at the guitar in his hands. “No. When we were driving back—after Jasper. ‘One More Night’ came on the radio. That goddamn song came on and Sal just ...” His hand grips the guitar. Tight. White-knuckled. “She knew somethin’, but I don’t know what.”
“Shit,” Seth says, his gut twisting.
“One More Night” was the song Luke cut with Alabama. You want to talk about a shitty song, that was it. He always understood why Sal pressed Luke not to record it. It was pop-country, bubblegum. But that was Luke. He had promised Mort a song, and instead of letting the Brothers Kincaid record it and ruin their sound, Luke took it on as a solo record. Because that was Luke. Loyal. He had your back. Always.
Luke leans back against the couch. “Sal asked me, point-blank, why we went on the trip.”
Jace exhales. “Oh, man.”
Seth nods in Luke’s direction. “What’d you tell her?”
“I told her the truth.” Luke grimaces. “Some of it. I told her she was in a car accident. That I wanted us to get away, for her to heal.”
“How’d she take it?”
“She was confused, but fine.” Disgust lines Luke’s face. Disgust at himself. “She was more worried about me. Asking if I was okay and—” Sorrow briefly flits across his eyes, and Seth knows he’s still blaming himself for Sal running that damned stop sign. “I couldn’t tell her about the baby. It wasn’t the right time.”
“You did the right thing,” Jace says. “You’re goin’ slow. Like the doctor said.”
“I don’t know,” Luke says in a somber voice. “I just don’t know.”
Then he clears his throat and sets his jaw. A look of determination crosses his face as he shifts the guitar in his lap, positioning it to play. “Let’s try ‘Whiskey Row.’”
Fingers flying fast over the strings, Luke sings, “Drinkin’ up your handle, down on whiskey row, all you got to your name is a pistol and a bow ...”
Seth stares, thankful and awestruck. It’s been so long since he’s heard Luke sing. He never thought he’d get this back.
A chuckle shakes out of Jace, and Seth turns. Jace wears the same stunned expression as Seth.
“Hell, I can’t even remember what album that’s from.”
Seth remembers. It was one of their best. Down-to-earth, in their element, before they started listening to Mort and all his mainstream bullshit. “Porch Songs,” he says with a wistful smile.
The music stops.
Luke glances up sharply. “That’s it.”
“What’s it?” Seth asks.
Without answering, Luke stands, guitar and all, and strides for the door.
“Hey, where the hell you goin’?” Seth hollers.