Page 18 of Steady Stroke
“You okay, Linc? You don’t sound very excited.”
The last thing he wanted was to pull Dom down from his high. “We still need Tyson to say yes, right?”
“I guess so. I mean, Tyson was only with us for a few weeks. If he doesn’t want to go, we can find another drummer. But XYZ? It’s been you and me for years, dude. I can’t do it without you.”
You go up onstage and do it without me six nights a week.
“It’s just a really huge thing,” Lincoln said, keeping the bitter thought to himself. “I might not be able to do it.”
“Then you can’t do it, and Emily uses a different band.” Dominic sounded so reasonable that Lincoln almost believed it would be that easy. “We have time to figure this out, okay? We’ll get you there.”
“Stop saying ‘we.’” He regretted the demand the moment it left his mouth, and he sighed. “Sorry.”
Dominic was quiet for so long that he’d have suspected the call had ended if not for the distant hum of conversation. Theyboth knew that Lincoln’s words were the honest truth. It wasn’t fair to say “we” when Lincoln was doing it by himself, while Dominic was out being popular with his boyfriend. Nothing about the situation was right or fair, but itwaspart of being a fucking adult.
“I’m sorry, Dom. That wasn’t fair.”
“You know how much I love you, man,” Dominic said in a rough voice. “It tears me up knowing I can’t be there for you to lean on like I leaned on you for so long.”
“I know, and I get it. Really. You’ve got a right to your own life and career.”
“So do you. Linc, Unbound isn’t about me, or even about XYZ. It’s about you. I want to do this foryou.”
“Thank you.” Lincoln was one more sentimental comment from bursting into tears, so it was time to end the call. “Listen, I have to go. Talk to you later, okay?”
“Definitely. Take it easy.”
“You too, Dom.”
Lincoln spent a good thirty minutes sitting in the bathtub with the hot water spraying down against his back, his mind a whirlwind of anxiety and hope. Anxiety over trying to play again and failing. Hope that maybe, just maybe, he’d play again and succeed. Indecision over which outcome he truly expected to happen.
Failing meant he really was that piece of trash his parents had discarded like a worn-out shoe. Failing meant being supported by others for the rest of his life because of an asshole driver and a concussion. Failing meant always watching his best friend from the sidelines, cheering his success while silently mourning his own lack of it. Failing somehow felt easier than success.
Success had always been about supporting himself. Success was about making beautiful music for the rest of his life.Success was about making music with Dominic by his side, even if only as a friend. Success without Dominic didn’t feel achievable or real.
A tiny headache poked behind his eyes, so Lincoln stopped focusing on something as huge as the far-flung future. Instead, he focused on today. An achievable goal, which was learning to play putt-putt with Emmett.
Everything else had to fucking wait.
FIVE
Aunt Beatrice was so thrilledwith Emmett’s plans to spend time outside of the house with another human being not related to him that she offered him her car for the day. Driving up and down the highway in beach traffic wasn’t Emmett’s favorite thing, but it did open up activity possibilities. And it limited his need to walk for blocks on end on crowded sidewalks, or to squash in close to tourists on the Shore Transit buses.
He used both GPS and Lincoln’s texted directions to find the three-story beach house, tucked off the main road on the bay side of Coastal Highway. Lincoln surprised him by being on the front steps, sunglasses on, his styled blond hair glinting on the sunlight. His blinding smile hit Emmett right in the balls and made him squirm in the leather bucket seat.
Lincoln stood and strolled over to the idling car. He hesitated a brief moment before opening the door and climbing in. “Hey, man. Nice car.”
“It’s my aunt’s.” No sense in taking credit for the sports carthat wasn’t his own. “She was pretty chill about letting me drive it.”
“Excellent.” Lincoln’s head never stopped moving as he gazed around, taking in the restored interior. He seemed . . . nervous. Or excited. Or some mix of both, and Emmett wasn’t sure how to take it. Lincoln’s fingers plucked at the hem of his cargo shorts.
“Do you still want to hang out?”
“Huh?” His head swiveled, and Emmett had to guess that they’d made eye contact, thanks to those ever-present sunglasses. “Why? Don’t you?”
“Sure. I don’t know, you seem distracted. Is today a bad day?”
“Not at all.” He smiled again, andguh.“I may have gotten some really good news this morning, and I’m not sure how to process it right now.”
