Page 34 of Steady Stroke
“Over yesterday. Forgiven and forgotten?”
“Of course.” Emmett wasn’t entirely sure what was happening. The conversation had switched from serious to almost over. “Um, are we still on for lunch tomorrow?”
“Maybe we should reschedule. I think we both said what we needed to say just now.”
“I guess.”
Lincoln paused as if waiting for Emmett to say something else. He had no idea what, though. Their entire conversation had him turned inside out.
“See you later, Emmett.” Lincoln turned and walked away.
Emmett stared at his departing figure until long after he’d disappeared from view, so utterly confused he wasn’t certain what to do next. “I’m such a coward,” he said to the night sky.
The night sky did not disagree.
EIGHT
Lincoln spentthe next two days on the couch, drowning in Netflix, and basically ignoring his phone. He texted Melody, and he answered another call from Emily about setting up a conference call with the entire band at the end of the week—everyone except Tyson. He’d cited family obligations, so Emily was getting them a stand-in.
Emmett didn’t text or call, and Lincoln didn’t want to be the loser who broke their awkward silence first.
After he’d spent his entire Saturday night with Melody talking about Emmett, she’d pressed him to go find him.
“You’re obviously crushing on the guy,” she’d said. “So lay it out. See if he feels the same.”
Lincoln would lay great odds on the fact that yes, Emmett liked him, and yes, Emmett was attracted to him. Emmett was also so deep in the closet he might not even realize he was gay, much less into Lincoln. But the way Emmett had spoken to him and looked at him . . . he was hiding something else, too. Something he was terrified of facing. Lincoln had no idea how to crack through that kind of wall. His modus operandi when hewanted to sleep with a guy was to just go for it—a flirty smile, a touch on the knee, a kiss if he was feeling bold.
He didn’t want to do anything to Emmett that Emmett didn’t ask for, or to take something from him that he wasn’t ready to give. Not from someone who’d already lost so much.
So he ignored the problem, and when his QChord finally arrived on Tuesday, he took it out of the box, put in fresh batteries, and stared at it. And stared.
And stared some more, terrified to pick it up and try to play something.
What if it doesn’t work the way I want it to? What if I try to play and I get dizzy? What if my last hope at making music again fails?
He was still staring at the damned thing when his phone jammed out with “My Immortal.”
“Did you get it yet?” Dominic asked the second Lincoln picked up the call. The excitement in his voice made Lincoln feel like an ass for not even turning the thing on.
“I’ve got it.”
“And? How is it?”
“It’s sitting on the couch taunting me.”
“Huh? Oh, I get it. Lincoln West, you pick that fucking thing up right now and play for me.”
Lincoln couldn’t stop his laughter. “Yes, sir.” He placed the QChord on his lap and turned it on. His fingers hovered over the various rhythms, effects, and chord modes. All of those YouTube videos made it look so easy.
“Are you fingering it?” Dominic asked.
He snorted. “Not yet. Give me a second.” Might as well start simple. He’d memorized the settings for several songs, so he configured the synthesizer for “Wake Me Up When September Ends.”
“Put me on speaker.”
Lincoln did so and set his phone on the cushion next to him. “You do realize if I get dizzy, I’m going to be sobbing in your ear within sixty seconds.”
“You won’t. Think positive, babe.”
