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Luke flicks on the bedside light, letting it burn as he helps Sal crawl into their plush bed. She collapses into the pillow, snuggling deep and letting out a content sigh. Before Luke can turn away to draw the blinds, she catches his arm. “Stay,” she says, her eyes already closed.
He smiles. “Sleep, Sal.” He kisses her cheek, wincing as he thumbs a finger across her bruised brow. “I want you restin’.”
“Stay,” she whispers, her husky voice breathy and light. But within seconds, she’s asleep, her dark hair haloed around her head.
Gently, he tucks the sheet around her slender frame, around the soft cotton T-shirt and jersey sleep shorts. When he’s satisfied she’s comfortable, Luke sits on the end of the bed, taking in the light rise and fall of Sal’s chest. The very sight of her finally sleeping easy a comfort.
He sighs, smearing his face in his hands. Sleep—it’s what he should be doing. Because it’s been a goddamn day. Between getting Sal out of the hospital and fighting the paparazzi vying for her photo and issuing a press statement thanking the Nashville Star for their help, he’s never been more exhausted.
Never been happier.
His wife is back at home. Safe.
Luke bristles at the sound of the front door opening and closing, then frowns. He listens. Hard boot steps in sync with the frantic skitter of claws.
He fights a laugh as Seth appears in the upstairs hallway. He groans and leans forward, resting elbows on the knees of his jeans. “You didn’t.”
Seth leans in the doorway, arms crossed. “Oh, I did.”
Luke’s eyes drift to the mangy dog standing beside Seth. With a groan, he pushes up. He gives Sal a last look and then exits the bedroom to join Seth in the hallway. He kneels, evaluating the dog and its tags. Luke arcs a brow. “Winston, huh?” He gives the mangy mutt a head scratch. “You ain’t no hound dog, but Sal seems to like you, so ...”
With that, as if he’s satisfied with Luke’s stamp of approval, the dog wanders into the bedroom and hops onto the bed. He goes to Sal, curling up against her, resting his chin on her thigh. His dark eyes are alert and watchful.
Seth grins. “Looks like you got a dog now.”
“Looks like it.” Luke crosses his arms, surveys the mutt keeping watch at the end of Sal’s bed.
“He ain’t so bad,” Seth says, clear affection in his voice. “I got him cleaned up for Sal. His bowl and all his other shit is downstairs.” His eyes flick to Luke. “Y’all make it out of the hospital okay?”
Luke turns, resting a hip against the banister to look at his brother. He gives a shallow nod, then says, “We’re gonna keep the baby quiet as long as we can. They’re gonna want photos. I ain’t exposin’ Sal to that. Not right now.”
Seth nods in agreement. His eyes move from Luke to Sal. “I called Lacey. Let her know what’s goin’ on.”
Luke groans, yanking a hand through his hair. “Fuck.” In the midst of all the chaos, he had been so focused on Sal, he had forgotten to call Lacey and give her an update on Sal and the baby. “I damn forgot. Thanks. She okay?”
Though he and Lacey have had their issues in the past, they’re back to where they used to be. He feels like an asshole for inadvertently shutting her out.
Seth shrugs. “Hissed at me a lot. Massive pain in the ass. Said she’ll call Sal tomorrow. But yeah, she’s okay. “
Frowning, Luke cuts a brief glance to Seth. His brother’s voice is tight, constricted by an odd tenderness he can’t quite place. But before he can say anything, Seth claps him on the shoulder.
“You’re gonna be a dad, man.” He stares at Luke, his expression mischievous and wondering. “How do you feel?”
A slow smile spreads across Luke’s face. “Man ... I ... damn.” His throat bobs, the gamut of emotions damn near felling him. “I’m lucky.”
Seth chuckles. “You’re gonna be busy for a while. Got a dog. A baby. The gig next month. The album.” He turns toward his brother, grinning. “Shit, Luke. Life’s good.”
Luke grins back at him. “Life’s great.”
“Hell, I’m gonna get.” Seth floats a last look to Sal, then Luke. “Anything y’all need, whiskey, bourbon, a babysitter, a new shotgun, call.”
Luke laughs. “Get outta here.” He gives his brother a look of thanks. “You’ve done enough.” He cocks a brow. “Unless ...”
Seth barks a laugh and makes for the stairs. “I love ya, man, but I ain’t takin’ that damn dog back.”
Sal finds Luke in the living room, a glass of whiskey in his hand. She smiles, watching unseen from the doorway as he puts on his favorite old-school country record. Hank Williams’s mournful warble rings out, filling the living room.
As if sensing her eyes on him, he straightens up. Turns. Sighs. “You’re supposed to be sleepin’.”
