Page 43 of Steady Stroke
“No. Beatrice decorated it a long time ago.”
“I can kind of tell.” He settled on the bed and ran his hand over the bedspread, which was a patchwork sari material in bold colors and patterns. “It’s all very Beatrice.”
“Yes, it is.” Emmett sat next to him so their knees touched, and the fact that he was on his bed with a man he very muchwanted to have sex with made him instantly, painfully hard. “Maybe this was a bad idea.”
Lincoln glanced at his lap, his smile easygoing and open. “Don’t worry, Em. As much as I want to see you naked, I’m not going to accost you, I promise. I really would like to do a few songs with you.”
As long as I can do you after.
The unexpectedly bold thought unnerved Emmett. Being around Lincoln destroyed so many of the walls he’d built around his sexuality. Lincoln made him want to be open about himself and what he wanted, and as a nineteen-year-old man with a healthy libido, he very definitely wanted sex.
Sex got your family killed.
Stop. No, it didn’t. That’s fear talking.
“I’d like to do you, too,” Emmett said. Then blushed like a madman. “I mean, um, do some songs with you.”
Lincoln’s smile went absolutely feral. “Good.” He pushed buttons and switches on the surface of the QChord like someone who’d done it his entire life. “‘Sound of Silence’?”
Emmett blinked hard. “Yeah?”
“Sure. It’s your favorite, right?”
He remembered.“Yes, okay.”
Lincoln counted off to himself, and then began to strum his fingers across the flat, black rectangle on one end of the synthesizer. Instead of the expected guitar sound, the notes were closer to that of a classical piano. Emmett was so surprised by that he almost missed his cue to begin singing.
He wasn’t warmed up, so he didn’t put as much force into the lyrics as he usually would, but he felt them inside just the same. “Hello darkness, my old friend . . .” As he sang, he watched Lincoln. Watched the intent way he created beautiful music out of a truly bizarre-looking instrument. How the tip of his tongue poked out from the corner of hismouth. The way he sang along, nearly inaudibly so, during the refrains.
What little Emmett heard wasn’t all that bad. With proper vocal training, Lincoln could sing backup with no problem.
“And echoed in the wells of silence. . . .”
Lincoln drew out the final measures of the song, and they both went silent. Emmett’s mouth was dry, his pulse racing, his dick rock-hard in his jeans. Lincoln was also breathing hard, his gaze still fixed on his QChord, as if afraid to look up. The song lyrics held the weight of so many things within them—the way silence could destroy a chance at creativity and joy; the way fear could hobble your entire life.
Destroy it, even.
Something inside of Emmett’s chest fractured, allowing those lyrics to seep in and, for the first time, truly take hold. He was one of those ten thousand existing in silence, never breaking free. Not allowing himself to be happy. Not allowing himself to trulybe himself,because silence was safer.
He was tired of being silent. He had a voice and he wanted to use it.
The tears didn’t register until one dripped off his chin and splashed onto the back of his hand. Emmett wiped them away, and that got Lincoln’s attention. He put the QChord on the floor and cupped both of Emmett’s cheeks.
“Are you okay, babe?”
Emmett nodded, wrapping his hands around Lincoln’s wrists. Needing the contact. “Yes. I think I finally heard that song. Really heard it. Is that ironic, since it’s about silence?”
Lincoln kissed his forehead then nuzzled his nose. “It’s beautiful.”
“I don’t want to be a ghost anymore, Lincoln. I have a voice. I want to use it.”
“To sing?”
Emmett laughed. “To sing, to speak, to be myself. Really be me. I know it won’t always be easy, but I have people who support me.”
“Yeah, you do.”
He stared into the blue depths of Lincoln’s eyes and saw truth there—as well as a silent promise that he had Lincoln’s support, no matter what. And that meant everything. That support gave him the courage to slide his right hand along Lincoln’s arm to his shoulder, then down past his ribs to squeeze his waist.
