Griff spins his cue. There’s a swagger in his step as he approaches the table. “Twenty bucks says I kick your ass, Kincaid.”
Luke smiles. “It’s on.”
Alabama sits on a barstool next to Sal, nervous but trying not to show it. Here’s a woman whose husband she kissed to help Mort Stein sink his claws into him, and she’s been nothing but gracious to her. Sal should hate Alabama for tearing her world apart, and instead she’s sitting beside her with a smile on her face.
Sal shifts in her seat, her chocolate-brown hair swinging as she glances at Alabama. “I bet you’re thinking right about now, in all the bars, in all of Texas, why’d I have to walk into this one,” she jokes.
“No, it’s not that. It’s just ...” Alabama takes a breath, takes a gulp of her martini to ease her nerves. “You remember me, right?”
Laughing, Sal opens her palm, accepting the vodka soda the bartender slides her way. “Of course I do.” She brushes her dark hair away from her face. “We don’t despise you, Alabama.” Her pretty face clouds up. “No matter what those stupid newspapers say.”
Stirring her martini, Alabama glances back over her shoulder at Luke and Griff, who are deep in conversation. So far there’ve been no thrown fists, no swinging pool cues.
“It definitely ain’t my favorite coincidence,” Alabama admits. “But it looks like they’re keepin’ the peace.” She gives Sal an apologetic smile. “Again, I’m sorry about Griff.”
“It’s okay. I get why he’d be upset.” A hint of a smile plays on her face, telling Alabama she’s seen the news about the two of them.
“It’s better coverage than I’m used to gettin’.”
Sal makes a face. “I’m sorry. The Star is trash and the people who write for them garbage.” Her face clouds, no doubt remembering the headlines that dogged her after she returned home to Luke. But then she gives Alabama a serene smile. “You’re on tour with Griff now. How’s that going?”
A slow, sudden flush creeps across Alabama’s neck. “It’s good. Real good.”
“Well, you sound good. I saw a clip of ‘Wild Card’ on CMT.” She sips her drink, her green eyes dancing. “It’s a great song.”
Alabama smiles at the compliment, Sal’s kind words like a salve.
“How about you?” Alabama asks. “How are you doin’?” She knows the question holds a ton of weight. Until six months ago, Sal was missing, presumed dead in a plane crash. But when she was found, she had lost her memory and remembered nothing and no one—not even Luke.
“I’m doing well. I’m actually taking classes to recertify as a paramedic.” Sal frowns and gives a quick, wondering shake of her head. “It’s strange. It’s like muscle memory. All of my training’s coming back, easily—surprise, surprise—so soon I’ll be cleared to go back to work.”
“But other than that, your memory still hasn’t returned?” Alabama asks, her gaze meeting Sal’s.
“No.” Sal tilts her dark head and gives a well-practiced shrug that tells Alabama she’s very used to answering the question. “This is just my life now and I’m perfectly okay with that.”
They’re interrupted by the bartender, asking if they want another round. “Might as well,” Sal says, lifting her glass and swirling around its remnants like a cyclone before draining it dry.
Her tone is grim, and Alabama looks at her curiously. Sal drops her eyes, her cheeks turning pink. “Luke and I—we’re trying to get pregnant. But it hasn’t happened yet.” Her voice catches on the last sentence. “I had a miscarriage before the plane crash ... and we’ve had one more since then.”
“Oh Lord,” Alabama presses a hand to her heart. “I’m so sorry, Sal.”
“It’s okay.” Squaring her shoulders, Sal straightens up on the barstool. Her face clears out, something resolute taking over the grief in her expression. “I’ve been lucky with a lot of second chances in life, so I’m trying not to let it all get to me, you know?”
“Yeah,” Alabama says softly. “I do.”
At the drop of their drinks on the bar top, Alabama glances at Sal. “Want to go kick Griff’s ass in pool?” she asks, wanting to steer the conversation away from the hard topic.
Sal grins. “Let’s go show ’em how it’s done.”
One game of pool turns to two turns to three, and before Alabama knows it the afternoon’s turned to early evening. When they finally pour out of the bar, around eight o’clock, Griff’s slapping a twenty-dollar bill in Luke’s hand and Seth’s cackling his glee at the stars.
Alabama and Griff cross the parking lot and slow, stopping to say goodbye to the group. The air is sticky and hot with humidity. A big, beautiful December moon brightens the sky. Griff, wrapping an arm around Alabama’s shoulders, points his fingers at Luke. “Never thought I’d see the day, Kincaid.”
Luke nods at him. “I’d have to say the same about you, Greyson.” He looks at Alabama, his dark eyes warm and serious. “You let me know if I need to issue a statement or something. Get the Star off your back.”
“I appreciate that, Luke.” She gives Griff a smile, and he squeezes her tight against him. “But I’m a big girl. I think everything’s gonna be peachy.”
Sal flutters her fingers. “See y’all back in Nashville.”