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A pang hits Sal at the mention of a baby, a baby no one wants, but she checks her own feelings, her judgment. What Molly’s saying is horrifying, but Sal lets her talk. The girl needs to get it out, needs someone to listen to her, because right now, as Sal knows, Molly’s mindset is that this is normal. That she’s the one who did something wrong.
Molly stares at Sal. Hurt in her eyes. “And the cops don’t help. They always come but they never listen to me. They leave me there. They don’t do a thing.”
“I understand,” Sal says carefully. “They didn’t help me very much either.” She smiles even though it takes all her strength. “How about I help you?” She holds Molly’s eyes. She can see the girl relenting, giving in to someone who gives a damn.
“I’m scared.” Her eyes dart to Nurse Buntin, who’s hovering in the hall. “I don’t want to be alone.”
“You won’t be. I’ll be right there with you.”
She sniffles. “You will?”
“Of course I will.” Sal wants to give this girl just a moment of tenderness. Hell, she once was this girl. Trapped with Roy. Desperate. Confused. The memory is ruthless and Sal’s stomach churns. Everything from the past rushing back, hitting her hard like a rogue wave, ready to wreak havoc.
Molly shifts on the chair. “No needles?”
Sal chuckles. “No needles.”
“And you won’t go?”
“No, I won’t.”
But she thinks of Luke at home. Wondering. Worrying.
“I just need one second, okay?” Standing, she pats Molly’s hand. “How about you hop up on that table and I’ll be right back?”
As Molly reluctantly climbs up on the table, Sal steps outside the room. After giving Nurse Buntin a brief rundown on Molly’s condition so far, she says, “I’ll stay for the exam. Make sure she gets through it okay.”
“You’re a saint.”
Ducking into a corner of the hall, Sal pulls out her phone to send a quick text to Luke.
She smiles, her heart lifting as she writes the words.
I’m late tonight. I love you. Bet you a beer I still beat you home.
Luke Kincaid kicks up a boot on his knee and leans back against the studio couch, eyeing the track list he holds in his hand. With swift decision, he draws arrows between two songs. “We should swap the order of ‘In Country We Trust’ and ‘Nice Shot.’”
Seth, his younger brother, grins at him. “You’re worryin’ about the order and we still gotta record the damn songs, man.”
Jace, wearing a face of equal concentration, arcs a brow as he stares at the track list. “I mean, if Luke wants to get sadder with it, we can get sadder with it.”
“Goin’ for the gold,” Seth drawls.
Luke nods. “Goin’ for number one.”
His gaze drifts around the room, taking in the mess they’ve made over the course of a ten-hour day. Guitars leaned up against the walls. Microphones. Amplifiers. Beer cans. All the fixings signaling a wrap on the first day of their Saturday jam session.
A surge of pride swells in Luke’s chest. The Brothers Kincaid just finished a grueling five-month arena tour. They’ve been back in Nashville for less than a month and already they’re scribbling new songs for their eighth album. It’s as if after being on hiatus for a year, Luke’s moving as fast as he can to get the Brothers Kincaid to play catch-up.
The ping of his cell phone has Luke grabbing it up. He smiles seeing Sal’s name pop up on the screen. But the smile’s short-lived as he reads the message from his wife.
I’m late tonight. I love you. Bet you a beer I still beat you home.
The text hits him like a fist to the gut.
He’s worrying. And he shouldn’t. Sal’s strong. Sal’s fine. Working too damn much but fine. After months of being on the road with Sal by his side, being without her is a foreign concept. He doesn’t like it. Not one damn bit.
A string twangs from the corner of the room where Seth is packing up his fiddle.
