Page 22 of Steady Stroke
“So he kicked you out?” Emmett asked.
Lincoln snorted. “Sure. After he pushed me down the stairs.”
“He what?” His cheeks darkened and his eyes narrowed. “He didn’t.”
“Yeah, he did. Broke my collarbone and gifted me my first damned concussion.” Lincoln touched the bone in question, which occasionally ached when the weather changed dramatically. “My mother dropped off a suitcase of my clothes at the hospital, and that’s the last contact I’ve had with either of them.I still talk to my sister occasionally, though, so that’s something.”
“I’m so sorry, Lincoln.” Emmett sat back, his face scrunched. Miserable. “I didn’t mean to bring up such awful memories.”
Something inside of Lincoln rebelled at seeing Emmett so sad, and he clambered for a way to fix it. “Don’t worry about it. Honestly. They made their choice a long time ago, and my life has been better for it. Dominic’s parents took me in until I could get back on my feet, and they’ve been my family ever since. They’re amazing people.”
“That’s good.” Emmett picked at the trash from his straw sleeve. “It’s terrible how people treat their own children.”
He couldn’t argue with that. “Sounds like you lucked out in the good parents department, though.”
Emmett’s wistful smile turned sad again. “I did. They were wonderful people.”
Were.
As curious as Lincoln was, one sad story per meal was his limit. “So when you aren’t at Off Beat running glasses, what do you do for fun? Other than putt-putt.”
The sudden conversation switch did the trick. Emmett’s expression cleared. “I listen to music a lot. I read. Some television.”
“Video games?”
“Not really. My parents didn’t want us to stare at the television for hours on end, so we weren’t allowed to have an Xbox or PlayStation. No online games, either. We were encouraged to read and to learn, and to engage with the world.”
Lincoln admired Emmett’s parents all over the place for how they’d raised Emmett and . . . someone else. He’d said “we.” “You have siblings?”
That same cloud of grief fell over Emmett, and Lincolncould have kicked himself. Emmett had moved here last year to live with his aunt and cousin, so something tragic must have happened, and Lincoln kept bringing it up—even though he had no idea what “it” was.
“I had a sister,” Emmett said, his voice so soft Lincoln almost didn’t hear him. “Two years ago this past December, there was a fire in our house. I was the only one who survived.”
Shock and sympathy clawed at Lincoln’s chest, a living, angry thing behind his breastbone that demanded he go over and give Emmett a big hug. The kind of hug that would protect him from the horror of losing his family like that. That would show him Lincoln was there for him, whatever he needed.
Before he could make a decision on that hug, their server appeared with their food. Lincoln waved her off before she could ask if they needed anything else, and he didn’t care how rude it was. Emmett needed something, and Lincoln wasn’t sure what to say. Sure, he’d lost his family too, but because of a choice. Not because of a tragic accident.
“I’m sorry you went through that,” Lincoln said. “I can’t imagine that kind of loss.”
Emmett offered him a watery half smile. “I try not to dwell on it, but the grief never really goes away. The only time I feel free from it is when I sing.”
Lincoln blinked. “You sing?”
“Yes.” Emmett blushed again, but this time it wasn’t from anger. He seemed genuinely flustered by admitting such a thing.
It was totally adorable.
“As in sing in the shower?” Lincoln asked. The scent of his burger with its grilled meat and cheesy topping made his stomach growl. He had a decent enough voice to sing backup, but not solo. “Sing in a choir? What kind of singing?”
Emmett shrugged as he poked his broiled fish with afork. “All kinds of stuff, I guess. I like ballads the best. Some top forty. Country when I’m in the mood.”
“Are you any good?”
“I guess.” He salted his steamed veggies, then started shoveling food into his mouth.
Lincoln took the hint and attacked his burger. He’d never had lobster mac-and-cheese before, and if heaven had a flavor, it would be the gooey, golden stuff on top of his burger. He made love to that sandwich, bite after bite, ignoring the chips for the duration, because goddamn. Then he used the chips to scoop up a few globs of fallen mac-and-cheese, because none of that was going to waste.
Once that piece of yum was firmly packed away in his belly, Lincoln looked up from his plate—right into Emmett’s wide eyes. He was staring openly, as if transfixed by something Lincoln was doing. Lips parted, his breathing just a little faster.
