Page 16 of Steady Stroke
Being another nameless face in the crowd helped the rest of the world feel a little less terrifying.
The house was dark, as it usually was when they arrived so early in the morning. His cousin Adrian was twenty-one and still lived at home. Aunt Beatrice gave him his personal space to live his life, as long as he didn’t throw any parties at her place. Emmett had always gotten along with Adrian when they were kids, but in the last year or so, Adrian had turned into a full-fledged jerk to him.
Only in private. Never in front of Aunt Beatrice.
The change happened last summer after Adrian goaded Emmett into attending an impromptu weeknight party at a friend’s house somewhere north of them in Delaware.Apparently, Emmett’s anxiety got the best of him, he drank too much with his meds, and the night ended in a total blackout. From the party to his bed at Aunt Beatrice’s house with no recollection of anything in between.
Adrian never gave him details about that night, except to promise that Emmett hadn’t ended up fucking some nameless, faceless chick, and Emmett never pressed. He’d been only six months past the fire and in the worst possible state of mind. Emmett was probably lucky he hadn’t gotten into a fight with someone.
Yet another reason to try and take steps forward, instead of staying mired in the past.
After a quick stop in the bathroom to brush his teeth, Emmett went to his first-floor bedroom and closed the door. Changed into boxers and crawled into bed. He bit back the instinctual urge to send a prayer of thanks for gifting him another day.
Emmett hadn’t prayed since the fire.
He’d been faithful his entire life; his parents had been devout in their beliefs and they’d instilled that in both of their children. Emmett and his sister had worshipped openly at school, despite the bullies who’d taunted them.
Emmett had sent his final prayer while lying in his hospital bed, begging for his parents and sister to be okay, promising his eternal devotion mere moments before a police officer arrived and told him that no one else had survived the fire.
That was the moment his faith in Allah died.
He pushed the macabre thoughts away and instead pictured Lincoln. His beautiful face and styled blond hair. The way he smiled. The rock-star vibe his sunglasses gave off.
Lincoln had been a real rock star once, and everything he’d lost poured off him in invisible waves. The open way he talkedabout how close he’d come to death had reminded Emmett that they maybe had more in common than just Off Beat. Not that Emmett was likely to tell his new friend his own sordid story. He didn’t want pity. He didn’t want the fire, or the circumstances leading up to it, to define him.
He wanted to find a way to live again.
Putt-putt was a good start.
Lincoln woke the following morning with his open laptop still on his chest and a hard-on that demanded his immediate attention. He hadn’t been dreaming about anything in particular, but that didn’t stop his brain from conjuring up a memory of Emmett’s smiling face.
Nope, stop it.
Rubbing out his morning wood over his new friend was not polite. Plus, he’d feel weird when he saw Emmett later today, even if Emmett was totally oblivious. So instead of dealing with his erection, Lincoln thought about Tom, and the problem took care of itself.
His laptop battery had died sometime in the night, so he plugged it in to charge. As soon as he’d gotten home from Off Beat, he’d gone online to research QChords.
They weren’t super expensive, as far as synthesizers went. He found a good deal on one, sent the information to Dominic, and then fell asleep watching YouTube videos of people playing QChords. Teaching himself before he even had one in his hands.
After taking a break in the bathroom to piss, he checked his e-mail on his phone. Dominic had already replied that the QChord was ordered and should land on his doorstep on Tuesday. Gratitude hit Lincoln so hard he had to blink back a fewtears. This was his first step toward making music again, and goddammit, Lincoln wanted this to work.
He fuckingneededthis to work.
His phone started ringing in his hands, which never failed to startle him. He stared at the unknown number, recognizing only a New York area code. His old phone with a bazillion old contacts had been destroyed in the car crash last summer, and he didn’t currently know anyone in New York, but something made him answer the call anyway.
“Mile High Club.”
A feminine chuckle greeted him on the other end of the line. “Somehow that kind of greeting doesn’t surprise me. This is Lincoln West, correct?”
Huh.“Yes it is. Who’s calling?”
“It’s Emily Ryan, talent coordinator for Unbound. Remember me?”
Lincoln stared at his bedroom wall, certain he’d misheard her. “Emily? Really?”
“The one and only. How are you doing, Lincoln?”
“I’ve been better.” Confusion and curiosity stirred his brain, sending it whirring in a dozen different places. “Um, how are you?”
