Page 36 of Steady Stroke
“I’m an asshole, aren’t I?” Lincoln asked.
“Not on purpose. You don’t pursue friendships, pal. Hot hookups that you need to scratch an itch? Yes, you’re on that like salsa on chips. But not with friends. When they push you away, you stay away until invited back. You did the same thing back when I was depressed and didn’t want anything to do with anyone. You kept your distance because that’s what I wanted.”
Lincoln had never forgotten the strange, epic fight they’d had the summer after Dominic’s junior year of high school. Dominic had said anything he could, used everything in his arsenal against Lincoln, and Lincoln had left. He’d stayed away until Dominic reached out months later—after Dom had made a fucking suicide attempt.
“I’m sorry I did that,” Lincoln said. “Maybe if I’d been persistent about staying friends, I could have gotten what Chambers did out of you sooner.”
He could practically hear Dominic shrug his shoulders. “We can’t fix the past, but you can learn from that mistake. Don’t let Emmett push you away without a conversation. Inprivate where you can lay out how you feel, and he can say what he needs to say to you.”
“When did you become the wise one in this relationship?”
Dominic laughed. “When I almost lost Trey because I was too stubborn to see past my own hurt. Don’t do that with Emmett, okay?”
“Okay. Thanks, Dom.”
“Not a problem. Listen, I gotta go but we’ll talk again soon. Keep playing and talk to Emmett.”
“I will. Later, man.”
“Later.”
Lincoln checked the time—too late in the afternoon to make anything happen before Emmett went to work. He could plan for tomorrow, though. Plan something epic. He thumbed through his contacts until he found the person he wanted, then dialed.
Emmett closed down with Van again, who’d watched him like a hawk all evening, and it was starting to make him insanely self-conscious. Two minutes after Aunt Beatrice went into the office to run figures, Van thunked two shot glasses onto the clean bar and poured measures from a bottle of Maker’s Mark. Never before had Emmett seen Van drink on the job.
Van took him gently by the elbow, led him to the other side of the bar, and pushed him into one of the empty stools. Opposite the alcohol. Van took the stool next to him, then nudged one of the shots in his direction.
“I’m nineteen,” Emmett said stupidly. He had no idea what was going on.
“Yeah, well, I started drinking when I was eleven, so I won’ttell anyone.” Van threw back his shot with ease. “Don’t worry, I’ll pay for the liquor.”
“I’m not worried.” Emmett had never drunk alcohol in his life. His parents didn’t keep it in the house, and he’d never been invited to any parties cool enough to have alcohol present.
Okay, scratch that. Once. Last summer. With Adrian. Not that he remembered anything about the actual drinking or what he did that night, so in a way it didn’t count.
“Then what are you? You’ve been acting weird ever since you talked to Lincoln on Saturday. What happened?”
Emmett blinked hard, surprised Van cared enough to notice a shift in his mood. He hadn’t realized he’d been acting differently since Saturday. “Weird how?”
“Sad, I guess. You guys not seeing each other anymore?”
The casual way Van asked that socked Emmett in the gut. “What? We weren’t seeing each other. We’re friends.”Werefriends. He wasn’t entirely sure what they were anymore.
“Uh-huh. Look, kid, take it from someone who’s been around the block a few dozen times. Lincoln is into you. He didn’t even have to take his shades off for me to see it plain as day. So the question is, are you into him?”
Instead of denying it flat-out, Emmett grabbed the shot and stared at the amber liquid. Tipped it back and drank it down. The alcohol burned his throat and heated his stomach, and he started coughing. Once he got his wind back, he said, “It’s not that simple.”
“Why not? You’re either attracted to the guy, or you’re not.”
“Ican’tbe attracted to him.”
“It’s not exactly something you can control, you know.”
He stared at the shiny wood surface of the bar. “Maybe not, but I can control whether or not I act on it.”
Van poured a second round of shots. “It isn’t as if anyonehere is going to care. Bea won’t give a fuck if you’re straight, gay, or every color of the rainbow.”
“I know that.” Emmett tossed back the second shot, the liquid burning as harshly as the first time. His limbs already felt nice and warm. Loose, even. “Are you gay?”
