Page 54 of Steady Stroke
Emmett barely registered the motion. He found himself suddenly upright, Lincoln’s hands on his shoulders, his expression fierce and protective. It made Emmett’s heart soar and weep at all once.
“Did something happen?” Lincoln’s blue eyes searched his. “Did someone hurt you?”
He could lie, make something up. Only that might backfire if Lincoln decided to take his temper out on Adrian and accuse him of not stopping something that hadn’t actually happened. “No, I hurt myself.”
“What do you mean?”
“I always prided myself in never having tried illegal drugs.It was something my parents constantly drilled into my sister and me, just like alcohol.”
Lincoln’s eyebrows dipped low. “What did you try?”
“Coke. Adrian said he wasn’t there to stop it, but one of his friends gave it to me. He didn’t want me to know. He was trying to protect me.” So far, so true.
“I guess I can understand that.” Some of Lincoln’s anger shifted into confusion. “Still doesn’t explain why he was so antagonistic to me, though.”
Emmett tried for a casual shrug. “He didn’t say anything about that.” Not directly. Emmett had inferred it. Adrian didn’t want to be Lincoln’s friend, not when he was protecting such a huge secret—a secret that could obliterate Emmett and Lincoln’s relationship.
“But that was the secret?” Lincoln asked. “You doing coke?”
No. “Yes.” The half-truth burned in his throat like bile. “I was so ashamed of myself for snorting, knowing how disappointed my parents would be, that I made myself sick over it.”
“Oh, babe.” Lincoln pulled him into a warm, wonderful hug. “You were drunk, which isn’t an excuse, but those kids at the party should have known better. They shouldn’t have given you coke if you were that drunk.”
“They wanted to see the uptight Muslim kid lose control.” The confession slipped out without permission, and Emmett went cold inside.
Oh no. Oh no oh no oh no, now he’ll dump me for sure. I’ve lost him.
Lincoln shifted back, and Emmett prepared for a dismissal. Or worse, some comment about him being a terrorist, his family probably deserving to die like that. He’d gotten his fill of that nonsense before moving to the shore with Aunt Beatrice. Hateful thingsspoken to his face and whispered behind his back. Police officers, doctors, nurses, lawyers. No one felt sorry for him. Many of them looked at him like he was the culprit, rather than the victim.
As if he was the one who’d tossed the Molotov cocktail through his own parents’ bedroom window and started the blaze that destroyed his life.
Lincoln didn’t say anything, though. Not a cross word, but not a positive one, either. He simply studied Emmett, as if searching for the Muslim stamp that would have identified him to Lincoln sooner. Being uncircumcised probably wasn’t helping, since it was pretty rare among Muslim men. Lincoln’s expression was mild, more curious than anything else.
“I did kind of wonder about your hair,” Lincoln said. “I mean, it’s brown on your head, but everywhere else it’s black.”
“I dyed it when I moved here.” In for a penny. “And I bought colored contact lenses. My parents were from Syria and I didn’t . . . I didn’t want to be Syrian anymore. I didn’t want to be obviously not-white anymore.”
Sympathy radiated off Lincoln in waves, and Emmett couldn’t believe he’d made this entire conversation about himself. He’d distracted Lincoln from Adrian for a while, but the conversation would eventually circle back.
Lincoln stroked his cheek with his thumb. “That must have been so awful for you. Hiding your sexuality and your religion. I’m so sorry.”
Maybe if Emmett came clean about everything else, the last secret he couldn’t seem to vocalize wouldn’t be so awful to keep. “I changed my name, too. I was born Emilio Sharif.”
“Emilio.” Lincoln spoke the word like he was testing it for size. “You do look like an Emilio, but to be honest, you look more like an Emmett to me. Maybe that’s because Emmett is the guy I first met at Off Beat a week ago. The guy who took care of me during a horrible migraine. The guy who gave meanother chance yesterday. The guy who is opening a vein for me today and trusting me with his truth.”
Emmett studied the face of the man in his arms who was showering him with so much undeserved loyalty and affection. “Van and Sasha are the only people at the club who know me as Emilio. They’re cool about it.”
“Van seems pretty cool, too. And he’s rooting for us, which is kind of awesome.”
“You really don’t mind that I’m Muslim? Or was, I suppose. I haven’t openly worshipped, or even prayed since the fire. Allah didn’t protect us then, so I have no reason to think He will now.”
“Well, I’m an atheist, so if you can overlook that, I think we’re square. I know there’s fear out there, Em, but you never have to be scared of me, okay?”
That boulder didn’t lift from his heart, but his heart still managed to turn over a little bit at Lincoln’s words. “Promise?”
“Promise.” He sealed it with a kiss, and Emmett melted.
He melted right under and didn’t object when Lincoln drew him down into a loose embrace that turned into long, lazy kissing. Emmett memorized every touch, every swipe of lips and lick of tongue, committing it to his mind, heart, and soul. He’d avoided a terrible subject tonight, but like all secrets known to more than one person, it wasn’t likely to stay buried forever.
