A rock’s wedged itself in his throat. So tight he wonders if he’ll ever get it loose.
He’s a world-class prick.
“Your wife,” Griff says in a quiet voice when Luke strides back to him. “How’s she doin’?”
Luke’s face creases with surprise at the question. Like he hadn’t expected Griff to remember, or care. That thought has him feeling like shit all over again. Then Luke’s expression softens. “She’s doin’ great. Thanks.”
“Her memory,” Griff ventures carefully. “She ever get it back?”
“Bits and pieces. But not really.”
He grimaces. “Goddamn, Kincaid. I’m sorry to hear it.”
“It’s okay. We’re takin’ it day by day.” Luke nods slow, the tight pain in his voice hitting Griff square in the gut. He can’t imagine what the guy’s been through. If something like that ever happened to Alabama ...
He’d be a fucking goner.
He takes a quick swig of beer to drown out the chilling thought.
Luke’s expression grows serious. “Listen. About Mort Stein ...”
Griff holds up a hand. “You don’t gotta explain.”
“No, I do.” Luke’s mouth twists in an adamant white line. “That son of a bitch is a spineless asshole that should have had his legs broken.”
Griff nods, echoing Luke’s assessment. “I won’t argue with that.”
“And for what it’s worth, I am sorry.” Luke scrubs a tired hand down his face. “The press crucifyin’ Alabama like they’ve done is bullshit.”
“It is,” Griff says bluntly. “She don’t deserve any of it.”
“I know. The whole situation’s a clusterfuck and she got the brunt of it. Hell, if it were Sal ...” Luke breaks off and glances back toward where Sal sits at the bar. “I don’t blame you for bein’ pissed. For wantin’ to do everything you could to protect her.” The catch in his voice tells Griff the guy’s haunted. Something Griff can relate to pretty damn well.
Griff’s chest grows tight. “Yeah. I would.”
As his eyes land on Alabama, all the air in his lungs leaves him. He loves her. So damn much. And he can feel her. Keeping her heart on lockdown, holding herself back, all because the one thing she needs—an explanation about Clover—Griff won’t give her.
Her words from days ago still ring in his head. Let’s just stick to what we decided ... casual.
But goddamn, for Griff it’s anything but casual.
Which means he’s got to tell her. He’s got to be honest about everything. Why he left Clover. About the real reason she’s on this tour. Most importantly that he loves her. That he can’t live without her for another second.
He’s wasted enough fucking time as it is.
Griff starts when he realizes Luke’s giving him a wry stare.
Chuckling, Luke raises his beer, tilting its lip toward Alabama. “Never thought I’d see it, Greyson.”
He slicks a hand through his hair, embarrassed at being caught gawking at Alabama like some lovesick fool. “That obvious?”
Luke shrugs. “Pretty obvious.”
“My whole damn world right there,” he tells Luke, taking a sip of his beer.
“Hey, Greyson!”
The sharp drawl has Griff looking up. Seth Kincaid, his arms out, his face creased with annoyance. “You gonna play pool or dick around all night tellin’ your life story?”