Page 2 of Steady Stroke
Fucking pain in my ass.
Around four his cell blared out with Dom’s ring tone, Off Beat’s violin cover of “My Immortal” because the song was fucking beautiful. “Hey, man, you guys still waiting to board your flight?”
“Hey, babe.” Dominic’s voice wasn’t right, even without the background noise of what had to be a crazy, crowded airport. A lot of people traveled on Memorial Day weekend, and he and Trey were supposed to be boarding a connecting flight to BWI at ATL any moment.
Supposed to be.
Lincoln’s heart plummeted. “Don’t say it.”
“I’m so sorry, Linc, but they changed our plans.”
“When?”
“Just now. They got us a last-minute gig in Memphis, three shows over the weekend starting tomorrow, plus a daytime show on Memorial Day.”
Tomorrow being Friday. Lincoln swallowed back a bunchof curses, because making Dominic feel bad about the schedule change wasn’t going to help. He didn’t want Dominic to know how much he’d been looking forward to this. How much he’d needed a weekend with his brother.
“And then you start that stint in Austin all next week,” Lincoln said, proud of his even tone of voice when he was shaking inside.
“Yeah. I’m not sure when we’ll be able to get back to visit.”
“It’s fine.”
“Are you sure?”
Not even a little bit.“Of course. You gotta do what you love, man.”
“I promise we’ll be down to the shore sometime this summer.”
“I know.”
“Shit, they called our section to board. Love you, man.”
“Me too.”
Lincoln hung up, then gently put his phone on the couch so he didn’t fling it across the room in a fit of rage. He stared at the far wall, hands clenched, arms shaking, while he tried to keep it together. The intensity of how much he missed Dom and needed to see him, to talk to him in person instead of over video chat, hit him so hard he almost fell over.
Once the small fit passed, he texted Roxy about the change of plans, then shut off his phone. He didn’t need to see her reply text asking if he was okay. She mothered him just enough that it wasn’t smothering, but he didn’t want it. Not tonight.
With no more need to clean, he ordered a pizza, grabbed a beer from the fresh six-pack he’d forbidden Roxy from touching, and hunkered down with Netflix and his own shredded emotions.
After an entire day spent filling out applications and doing on-the-spot interviews, Lincoln was done. He was hot, sweaty, and pretty sure he’d never work again. It wasn’t even his medical issues, it seemed, as much as the fact that finding a job at the beach at the end of May was next to impossible unless you were a pretty girl or a decent line cook. Everyone started hiring help early in the spring.
Shit out of luck, as usual.
He was also riled up and kind of horny, so he took a shower, and then did something he hadn’t done all week—he went out. Specifically, he found himself staring at the fake barbershop exterior of Off Beat, a hidden gem of a club known mostly to locals because it didn’t look like a club at all. Even once you entered the strip-mall doors, the top floor was all funky couches, piped-in music, and a giant chalkboard for folks to write on with buckets of sidewalk chalk.
It always reminded Lincoln of a dormitory common room on an acid trip.
The Atlantic Bell telephone booth in the rear housed another door. This one led down a set of cement stairs to the actual club. Lincoln didn’t care that he looked like a diva wearing wraparound sunglasses in a dark bar; he needed the protection from the flashing lights or he’d be in pain within five minutes.
The small room had a U-shaped bar to the right and a sea of tables and chairs—some pub height, some shorter, all mismatched and different. The bar itself had a cheesy surfboard theme that worked for the quirky place.
The crew was setting up the stage for the eight o’clock performance, whoever that was. He hadn’t bothered to check on his way in. The owner, Beatrice Westmore, played three gigs a night at eight, ten, and midnight. Thursday was always anopen-mike night, something Lincoln kind of wanted to come out for.
Maybe next week.
He’d played here once, just about a year ago, with his former band XYZ. It was the first time that he met Trey Cooper and the rest of Fading Daze—another band still out there, making music with Lincoln’s former lead singer Benji Moore. XYZ’s drummer, Tyson Reed, had kind of faded off the radar, occasionally poking his head onto social media to say hi, but that was it.
