Page 100 of Steady Stroke
He grabbed his phone to check the time, but thebattery was dead.
“It’s after eleven,” Adrian said. “Tomorrow. It can wait twelve more hours.”
The confession could wait twelve hours. Knowing that he would completely implode his relationship tomorrow loomed ahead of him like the executioner’s platform, moving toward him by inches.
Emmett wasn’t certain how he was going to make it through the night without completely losing his mind.
Adrian solved that problem by bringing shot glasses and a bottle of Fireball into his room. And after a little while, Emmett was finally, blessedly numb.
TWENTY-TWO
Sunday bled into Monday morning,and Lincoln’s nerves kept compounding. His four texts and one voice mail remained unreturned. He’d resorted to texting Adrian, who also didn’t reply. By ten a.m., he’d had enough of the silent treatment. Space was one thing, but being ignored? Lincoln wasn’t down for that.
He slipped on his shades and walked to Beatrice’s house. Neither of the vehicles were in the driveway, which meant nothing. He knocked and rang the bell. Emmett opened the door wearing the same clothes as yesterday. His skin was pale and dark smudges colored both eyes. He also reeked of booze and sweat.
“Did you get drunk last night?” Lincoln asked.
“Did shots with Adrian.” Emmett moved out of the way and shambled over to the couch.
Lincoln took that as permission to enter. He shut the door against the heat and let the air-conditioning cool him off before he approached. Emmett sat in the middle of the couch,shoulders slumped, as miserable as Lincoln had ever seen him. And that set off every protective instinct inside of him—instincts that told him to take care of his man and to destroy whatever was hurting him.
“You feel up to a shower?” he asked. “I can get the water running.”
“No.”
“It’ll probably make you feel better.”
“Don’t want to feel better.”
Lincoln approached slowly, confused and upset over how upset Emmett was. “Why not? Did something happen last night?”
“Not exactly.”
He squatted in front of Emmett without touching him. “Talk to me, babe. Tell me how to make this better for you.”
“I don’t deserve to feel better. I don’t deserve you, either.”
“What?” His mind reeled at that, unable to process it. “What do you mean? You are an amazing person, Emmett. You have been so kind and patient with me. You’ve nursed me through migraines. You helped me come alive after the accident, when all I wanted to do was feel sorry for myself. Maybe I don’t deserve you.”
Emmett made a soft, choked sound that was almost a sob. “You deserve so much better than me.”
“You’re crazy. You saved me.”
“I almost killed you!” The sharp shout knocked Lincoln onto his ass.
He stared up at Emmett, whose face had flushed red and who was watching him with wide, tear-filled eyes. His words made absolutely no sense, and neither did his raw emotion. “What are you talking about?”
“The accident was my fault.”
“What accident?”
“Your hit-and-run last summer.”
Lincoln’s throat tightened, and something dark twisted around his heart. Squeezed it tight. This was insane. “Are you crazy? You didn’t run me off the road.”
“Yes, I did.”
“No, you didn’t.” He couldn’t have done it. Period. Plain and simple, no other option. Do not pass Go, do not collect two hundred dollars. “Stop saying you did.”
