Page 52 of Steady Stroke
“If you’re this hurt, then he must have his hooks in deep.”
“He does. I like him a lot. We get along great. I thought things were good, so I don’t understand this.”
Van crossed his arms and regarded him silently. “I believe you. Want me to drive you over to Beatrice’s house?”
“For what?”
“For coffee and doughnuts.” He rolled his eyes. “To talk to Emmett, fool.”
“What if he won’t let me in?”
“I have a spare key. Beatrice has me water her garden and house plants when she goes on vacation.”
Glad to have an ally in this, Lincoln nodded. “Okay, let’s go.”
Van’s car was a sweet ride, and he used the distraction of studying all of the buttons and features on the console so thesilence felt less awkward. Van had been very blunt about being interested in Lincoln, but Van was barely a blip on Lincoln’s radar now. His attention was laser-focused on Emmett, and whatever had him tied up in so many knots that he was avoiding Lincoln altogether.
They pulled into Beatrice’s driveway way too soon. Her car wasn’t there, but a pickup truck was. The same one he’d seen yesterday as he left, so it was probably Adrian’s. Something about it set him on edge in a way he couldn’t explain, so he ignored it. Van walked with him to the front door, a steady presence he appreciated more than he could say.
Lincoln pressed the doorbell once and waited. And waited.
Van held it down with his thumb.
Eventually someone’s muffled voice sounded behind the door. A lock turned and Adrian whipped the door open. His annoyance turned to blank acceptance as he took in the pair on his doorstep.
“Come on in,” Adrian said.
“I have to get going,” Van said. “Good luck, Lincoln.”
Lincoln shook the hand offered to him. “Thanks for your help.”
“Anytime.”
All of Adrian’s animosity toward him seemed to have evaporated since yesterday. He seemed almost contrite as he shut the door. “Emmett’s in his room.”
“We were supposed to meet today, but Van said Emmett’s sick. Is that true?”
Adrian shrugged. “He’s been in his room all morning. Could be.”
“Can I talk to him?”
“Go for it, dude. It’s a free country.”
Lincoln hesitated a beat before trekking across the living room to the short hallway leading to Emmett’s room and thedownstairs bathroom. His door was shut. Lincoln knocked once. No answer. Taking his chances, he tried the knob. It turned easily, so he let himself in.
The curtains were drawn against the daylight, and a big lump lay beneath the sari blanket covering the bed.
“Emmett?”
The lump jerked.
Lincoln sat and put a hand where he guessed Emmett’s shoulder to be. “Talk to me, okay? Please? What’s wrong?”
Emmett shifted beneath the blanket, which moved enough to reveal his head. Pale, almost gray-skinned, with dark smudges under his eyes, he definitely looked like a guy who’d been sick to his stomach a few times. Misery dripped off him in visible waves, and it socked Lincoln in the gut.
“Oh, baby, what can I do?” Lincoln asked.
For a brief moment, Lincoln thought Emmett was going to burst into tears. Instead, he blinked hard a few times and the sheen vanished. “Hold me?” he whispered.
