He doesn’t know. But someone would.
He pulls out his phone, his stomach clenching in hesitation. He’s got to call Luke anyway. They don’t know he’s staying. He’s not sure how his brother will react to the news, but he can’t dance around it any longer.
The video call cuts out quick and then it’s back. Seth grins. His brother’s on hands and knees, putting together an olive-colored crib. “Look at you,” Seth drawls.
“Yeah.” Luke wipes his brow, his face flushed and happy. “Look at me.”
“How’s Sal?”
“Countin’ down the days.” Luke sits back against the wall, dropping a wrench on the wood floor. “She ain’t bleedin’ no more. The doctor gave us the okay, so it looks like we’re still on for Christmas.”
“That’s great, man.” Seth lets out a breath of relief, happy Sal and Luke got cut one damn break with this pregnancy. “So, listen, who do we know in LA?”
Luke thinks on it. “Graham Watts.”
Seth blinks. “Oh, no shit. Greasy Graham.”
Graham Watts was a musician the Brothers Kincaid met in Nashville when they were busking on the corner of Broadway. They were down to their last dollar when Graham found them. Old, weathered, a legend in Nashville, he had criticized the way Seth played his fiddle. But a few days later, they got an invite to play at MerleFest, which was where they met Mort, their first manager. Graham saw their potential, despite their scrappy youth, and was key in giving the Brothers Kincaid their jump start.
“He’s gotta be at least a hundred years old by now,” Seth says.
Luke laughs. “Think he owns a bar or somethin’ in LA.”
Seth glances up at the sign. “Think I’m lookin’ at it.”
Luke frowns, realizing where Seth is. “You ain’t at the airport.”
“No, I ain’t.” Seth meets Luke’s confused gaze and sighs. “I gotta stay, man. Lacey’s a mess. She’s actin’ okay, but you know how that goes.”
Luke nods. “Yeah. Shit.” He gives him a droll look. “Way to bury the lede, Seth.”
Seth thrusts a hand through his hair. “Sorry.”
“How much longer you thinkin’?”
His throat tightens, guilt washing through him. “Through the weekend. But I know we got gigs we can’t cancel ...” Seth lets his words hang in the air between them. Feeling like an asshole. Giving Luke just another thing to fix.
Luke smears a hand across his grizzledjaw, the muscles flexing. “We’ll get someone to fill in. I’ll ask Greyson. He knows some musicians we can use.”
Seth nods. “Cool. Thanks.”
“Listen,” Luke says. “I know Sal will appreciate you helpin’ Lacey. But ...” Luke stares at him, worried shadows darkening his eyes. “Are you stayin’ out there for Lacey or are you just tryin’ not to come back to Nashville?”
Seth’s stomach clenches. He hears the confusion, the worry in Luke’s words—where they stand, what’s going on with him.
But what does he tell him? That out here in LA he feels like all his problems are solved? Like he can be less of an idiotic fuckup? Which is a goddamn dumbass notion. He can’t hide. He owes Luke the truth. Because his brother knows something’s wrong and keeps trying to fix it.
But Seth wants to tell Luke he can’t.
Hecan’t be fixed.
Doing his best to hide a grimace, Seth flashes a crooked grin, says easily, “Hell, Luke, relax. I’ll be back.”
But it’s a halfhearted answer, and his brother doesn’t buy it.
Luke nods and lifts his eyes to Seth’s. “I sure as hell hope so. I’m worried about you, Seth. I want you home.”
Home.