The warm lights of the farmhouse twinkle as Seth pulls into the dirt drive of Wild Antler Farm. He hops out of his vintage Bronco and swears at the cutting chill of the December night. Striding fast for the passenger side, he grabs the plastic bag of barbeque takeout and a six-pack of beer.
He pauses in the driveway and blows out a nervous breath. He’s not just here for a beer with his brother. He knows what he’s coming to say will piss Luke off something fierce, and if he’s smart, he’ll walk away now.
But he can’t. Because he got the Brothers Kincaid into this mess and he’s got to be the one to get them out.
Luke, his older brother and frontman of their country band, the Brothers Kincaid, is on the front porch, staring out into the night, a glass of whiskey in his hand. Although judging by the pained look on Luke’s face, his brother’s wishing for a cigarette right about now.
“Take a break.” Seth lifts the six-pack in greeting. “I brought dinner.”
“You brought yourself,” Luke drawls. “’Bout damn time.”
Seth ignores the comment and climbs the stairs. He sets the food on a rocking chair and breaks the six-pack. “How’s Sal?” he asks, handing over a beer.
Luke nods his thanks and cracks open the can. “About ready to leave me.”
Seth laughs. “You fuckin’ love it, man.”
“She’s on the couch.” Luke glances back toward the screen door and frowns. “She better be.”
Seth hides a smirk. Luke’s got Sal on lockdown.
“How you doin’?”
Luke gives him a tired smile. “Hangin’ in.”
Even in the harsh glow of the porch lights, Seth can see Luke’s exhausted. What else is new? He’s worrying. Worrying about Sal, who only last week was kicked in the stomach by a panicked patient during a routine hospital transfer. She started bleeding, and the doctor put her on two weeks of temporary bed rest just to be safe.
Luke ain’t taking any chances. Not with Sal and sure as hell not with his kid.
Seth’s over here to help, to do what he can to keep his brother sane.
It’s as if after Luke’s accident, life’s put the Brothers Kincaid through the wringer with their share of bad luck. Rescheduling missed shows. Postponing working with famed producer Devlon Block. Pushing back the recording of their highly anticipated eighth album until after the new year so Luke can be with Sal. Seth knows it doesn’t sit well with his brother. Disappointing the fans isn’t an option for Luke, but then again, neither is leaving Sal’s side.
Luke’s brows sweep together. “Where’ve you been, Seth?”
Seth winces. The question loaded. Accusing.
He should’ve known his brother would see through him. Usually, he’s over at the house so much Luke threatens to charge him rent. But for the last two weeks, he’s been MIA. Almost like his shitty mistakes could infect everything he cares about in one fell swoop.
“Seen you at practice,” Seth says, keeping his shrug easy. “You’re busy.”
Luke braces himself against the railing. “Not that busy.”
Seth whisks his hands together, nerves getting the best of him. It’s now or never. He licks his lips. His words roll out in a slow rumbling drawl. “Listen, Luke. I know it’s a bad time, but I wanted to talk to you about somethin’.”
Luke eyes him warily, like he knows what’s coming. “What’s the somethin’?”
Shit.
Seth inhales, gathering courage, pulling it the fuck together, then says, “I was thinkin’ about takin’ some time away from the band.”
Immediately, Luke bristles. His eyes widen and then he curses viciously. “This is about that article, ain’t it?”
Seth smears his face in his hands.
Of everything that’s gone bad over the last few months, the Nashville Star article was the goddamn kick of a cherry on top.
Last month, it was the featured story in the Sunday tabloid and on its website. A big juicy story with a headline that read: The Brothers COCAINE: Seth Kincaid a Druggie?