Seth exits the hardware store, sticking the plastic sack containing a new lock and a screwdriver into the inside pocket of his jacket as he hustles across the street to the grocery store. Hell, he should have just gotten Lacey a toolbox for all the work she needs done around that dump of an apartment.
He grimaces, thinking about his reaction. He didn’t hide his surprise. Hell, he couldn’t have acted more like an asshole if he tried.
He’s not sure where he pictured Lacey living, but it wasn’t some run-down shithole apartment the size of a fruit stand. She always put up an act that she had the good life, could afford fancy things. Maybe it wasn’t an act—maybe he pegged her wrong, maybe she was trying her best.
Even though he doesn’t have any say in it, her living there doesn’t make him happy. He wants her safe, and thinking about her being anything but safe makes his chest ache.
Seth pauses at the entrance of the grocery store. He pulls out his phone and stares at it.
Sal and Luke are waiting for him to call back home and report, but what’s he got to tell them? That Lacey’s a mess, but she ain’t caving, not yet, not by a long shot.
One thing he’s learned about Lacey: she’ll either fake it until she makes it, or she’ll break. Both options he isn’t a fan of. He saw it on her face, every emotion she’s trying to hide. She’s traumatized. Fucking exhausted. In agonizing pain, but still too damn proud to admit how hurt she is.
And she ain’t gonna show it until she cracks. Like she did that night at Tonk’s when she unleashed. Her tears still haunt him. He always knew Sal was tough, but Lacey could go toe-to-toe with her sister. She’s closed off like Fort fucking Knox. A PhD in I’m fine.
It’s only a matter of time before she implodes, and he wants to be there for her when she does. He doesn’t trust anyone else to know what she needs. He understands her. Even if she wishes he’d drop dead.
Seth sends a quick text to Luke that he’ll call him tomorrow.
Inside the grocery store, he grabs a cart, ready to get in and get out. He hates leaving Lacey at home alone, especially after what she’s been through, but she needs food and rest. What she doesn’t need is to be running all over Los Angeles. That’s his job.
Blowing out a long breath, Seth scans the unfamiliar surroundings. It’s strange to be in a city other than Nashville. Hell, he hasn’t traveled in years without the band. Without Luke.
A sharp pang of regret hits him at the thought of his brother. Their last conversation they had left unfinished. But he was the one who ended it, wasn’t he? He’s the one who can’t pull it the fuck together.
Seth navigates his way down the aisles, steering the rickety cart. He has no idea what he’s looking for, what Lacey likes. He doesn’t shop. Lunches out, takeout, dinner at Sal and Luke’s is all he’s good for.
Bread.
Girls like bread, right? He tosses a loaf in the cart. White, then wheat. Milk, he thinks when he hits the dairy aisle. Organic. That coconut yogurt with that weird fruit jam on the bottom.
In goes cheese. Fancy cheeses, cheeses with names he can’t pronounce. Deli meats. Magazines. Tylenol. Butter. Eggs.
“Fuck,” he says, picking out the grapefruit he just added to the cart. Lacey’s allergic. An allergy as fussy as she is.
Seth’s eyes snag on dark chocolate peanut butter cups. He grabs a pack and, after a second thought, grabs another. They’re Lacey’s favorite. Next, Gatorade, Pedialyte and broth. Chicken, veggie, bone, all the goddamn broths. Healthy shit to get her better.
He swears as he’s slammed hard in the shoulder by a woman in yoga pants and a hoodie walking fast like if she goes one more minute without organic oat milk she’ll die.
“You’re fuckin’ excused,” he mutters to her retreating figure.
Fucking LA.
At least in Nashville people have manners. He could never live in this damn city. It’s like living in the mouth of a nightmare. Especially the traffic. Still, despite the smog-choked hellhole that is LA, he hates to admit it, he’s breathing easier. A day away from Nashville, dealing with someone else’s problems, has him forgetting his own. Although this is the last place he should be. Out in LA with Lacey Sutton, a girl who thrashes his heart like a goddamn hurricane.
After adding a bottle of wine and a six-pack of PBR for himself, Seth settles in line to check out. “Shit,” he says when he sees the time.
He’s been gone longer than he wanted.
Seth knocks, triple knocks, calls out to make sure Lacey knows it’s him, but when he swings open the door, empty silence greets him. He scans the living room. Sets the bags of groceries on the chipped countertop. As he passes through the kitchen, he palms the top of the closed laptop sitting on the kitchen table.
It’s warm.
Goddamnit.
“Lace?” he calls out, louder than necessary.
A heartbeat later, her clipped voice. “What?”