Page 92 of Steady Stroke
“What does that mean?”
“Maybe you don’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing what’s going on with you. Of seeing you happy and thriving, despite nearly dying last summer. You want to keep the wall of separation intact, because just maybe it makes him wonder.”
Lincoln saw a layer of truth in Emmett’s very clear read on the situation. He liked knowing his life was completely set apart from his father’s. But part of him liked the idea of rubbing his father’s face in his successes. Of his father knowing Lincoln hadn’t been beaten down by the streets, that he was alive, happy, living his life, and in love. With a boy.
“You don’t have to speak to him,” Emmett said. “Show up, support your sister, maybe dance with her at the reception, and then go home. And if you want me to, I’ll go with you.”
Sometimes Lincoln didn’t think he deserved Emmett’s unwavering support. “We’ll go to the wedding on one condition.”
“Name it.”
He pressed his forehead against Emmett’s. “You’ll dance with me at the reception. One song.”
Emmett released a long, shuddering breath. The requestwas a gamble. Emmett still dealt with social anxiety, and he still hadn’t come out publicly. Maybe Lincoln was asking for too much, too soon.
“Deal,” Emmett said. He poked Lincoln in the ribs. “But if you try to trick me into singing at that wedding, I will cut you.”
He laughed. “Point taken.”
“Glad we understand each other.”
“We do.” Lincoln took a moment to kiss his boyfriend soundly, because he hadn’t done that in at least twenty minutes. “Thank you for doing this for me. The wedding, I mean.”
“You’re welcome. Can we eat now? I’m starving.”
“Definitely.”
The plastic bag had an assortment of sodas. His inability to commit to a favorite was one of Emmett’s more adorable quirks. Lincoln washed two slices of sausage-and-mushroom pizza down with a birch beer, a favorite treat he had trouble finding up north and had always associated with the beach area.
They hung out and watched television and fucked one more time before they both had to get ready for work at Off Beat.
The day was pretty damned close to perfect.
Volunteering to attend Lincoln’s sister’s wedding had seemed like a great idea at the time—back when it was simply an idea, and not a looming threat. Emmett spent the next week with a heavy feeling in the pit of his stomach that intensified with each passing day. He hadn’t attended a wedding in years. He’d never been to a Christian ceremony, period. Lincoln assured him all he had to do was show up, smile, and stay close. Emmettdidn’t want to be an accessory, though. He wanted to help Lincoln show off who he was and all that he’d achieved.
He really, really didn’t want to have an anxiety attack in the middle of the reception. Some of that fear was alleviated by Aunt Beatrice teaching him how to dance. Nothing fancy. A few basic moves that would stop him from stepping on Lincoln’s feet too often and keep them from being laughed at.
The heavy ball of anxiety got worse every time he remembered he was going to be surrounded by Lincoln’s family, and that Emmett was the one who nearly took him out of their lives. Never mind that Lincoln didn’t speak to his family, beyond his sister. The weight of that knowledge made him physically sick to his stomach the day before the wedding, and Lincoln hovered so much that he made the whole thing worse.
The wedding was scheduled for two o’clock the next day and was roughly eight hours of one-way driving, not counting any pit stops. Their plan was to spend the night at the Bounds house, which would cut about two and a half hours off their travel time on Saturday. They’d drive five hours to Boston, stay for the important parts of the reception, and then head back to Philadelphia, and come home on Sunday afternoon.
Lincoln’s neurologist hadn’t cleared him to drive yet, so Emmett had to do all the chauffeuring. He was okay with that, as long as he got his stomach under control.
Half a bottle of Pepto settled him enough to get them from the shore to the Bounds house by dinnertime, where he got fussed over by LincolnandZelda. Starr wanted them to take his temperature, but Emmett insisted he didn’t have a fever, only a stomach ache. They all spent the evening watching movies until bedtime.
Lincoln crawled into bed with a subdued expression, a complete one-eighty from the cheerful guy he’d spent the daywith. Emmett snagged one of his hands and threaded their fingers together.
“You nervous about tomorrow?” Emmett asked.
“I was going to ask you the same thing.”
“So?”
“A little. I probably won’t get super nervous until I actually get to the church, though. You?”
“Honestly? I’ve been nervous since last week. It’s only intensified now that we’re making the trip.”
Lincoln rubbed his thumb across the back of Emmett’s hand. “You can stay here, if you want. I’ll take a bus or something to Boston. Do this alone.”
