Page 26 of Steady Stroke
Emmett squeezed Lincoln’s wrist. “I’ll stay then.” He swore Lincoln smiled.
He sat on the floor and leaned against the nightstand, staying put until Lincoln’s breathing steadied and he’d fallen asleep. Emmett really wanted to call Aunt Beatrice for advice. There had to be something else he could do for Lincoln’s migraine.
Ice pack.
His father had gotten stress migraines sometimes, and Emmett remembered walking past the living room where he would be stretched out in his recliner, an ice pack over his eyes.
He got up and wandered into the kitchen. The place was incredibly clean and organized. On the wall near the refrigerator was a corkboard covered in printed photographs. Groups of mostly guys, with one girl mixed into many shots. He recognized several faces. Dominic Bounds. Trey Cooper. The lead singer from XYZ, whose name was escaping him. The girl must be the singer from Fading Daze. So much love and camaraderie among the friends.
His heart panged with envy. Emmett had friends growing up, sure, but none that still talked to him. None that he’d created the kind of bond with that overcame any obstacle. None that had stood by him afterthe fire.
Not that he’d made a huge effort to keep in contact, either. Friendship swung both ways.
It made him all the more determined to hold tight to this new friendship with Lincoln. He felt safe around the other boy. Safe in a way he couldn’t explain and hadn’t experienced in far too long. Lincoln made walking down a crowded summer sidewalk less frightening. He made it all feel . . . okay.
Wood creaked and keys jangled. Emmett turned, nearly tripping over his own ankles. The front door swinging open made his muscles freeze and his blood go cold. A stranger. He was in a stranger’s home, and he had no idea how they were going to react to him being there.
A teenage girl walked inside and shut the door. She made it three steps toward the kitchen before she spotted him. Her shriek made Emmett’s pulse race. They stared at each other across the space of about six feet. Her big brown eyes telegraphed a lot of things, and at the top of the list was definitely fear.
Emmett couldn’t think of a single thing to say. His brain had simply stopped working.
The girl’s fear shifted into determination.
Uh-oh.
She raised the hand that clutched her keys and lunged. Emmett didn’t figure it out until the spray hit his face. Heat like the worst kind of instant sunburn scorched across his forehead, arching down. He snapped both eyelids shut, but some of it got underneath. His eyeballs itched and grated, like someone had tossed sand beneath the lids. He yelled and fell to his knees, scrubbing at his eyes, desperate to make the pain stop. His eyes watered, making his contacts shift all over the place, and even his nose started leaking.
He was vaguely aware of the girl speaking to someone. Not Lincoln. No way was he up and about yet, even if he’d wokenup when Emmett yelled. Emmett tried to speak, to say something in his own defense.
This is what happens when you try to have a life. Strange girls pepper-spray you.
He used the hem of his shirt to wipe at his face. The constant tearing was helping to get it out of his eyes, but his skin hurt like nothing he’d ever felt. He didn’t move from his spot on the kitchen floor, though, too terrified of being sprayed again.
“Don’t move,” the girl snapped from somewhere nearby. “The cops are on their way.”
“What?” That got his undivided attention. He tried to open his eyes, but the world was foggy, so he shut them again. “Why?”
“You broke into my house, asshole. And I’ve got a weapon, so stay there.”
“Didn’t break in.” As scared as he was of her, he wasn’t a criminal.
“Yeah, right. Then how’d you get in?”
“Lincoln.”
“What?” Her sharp tone made him shrink back. “Linc’s here? Did you fucking hurt him?”
“No!” He surprised himself with his snapped response. “We’re friends.”
“Oh yeah? Then where the fuck is he?”
“Bed. Migraine.”
Several long seconds passed before she said, “Don’t move.”
As if he planned to. Footsteps moved away, probably to verify that yes, Lincoln was home, and yes, he was laid up with a migraine. Emmett tried opening his eyes again. The grainy feeling remained, but the stinging had lessened. Maybe his contacts had been good for something. It didn’t help the way his skin burned and ached from contact with the pepper spray.
He focused on the far side of the living room, which was blurry but slowly coming into focus.
