Page 69 of Steady Stroke
Reality tilted a little bit. “Really?” The small mounds of breasts peeking out from her torn shirt and the very distinct absence of an Adam’s apple were fucking with his mind.
“Really,” Melody said carefully, like he might freak. “I’ve had a few surgeries, and I’ve done hormones for years. I’ve been transitioning since I was fifteen. I’ve dated enough that I should have fucking known better. Genuinely nice guys like you, Van? You’re a fluke.”
Oh. OH!
That totally explained Melody’s comment about Van being so accepting, and him being her best.
“I’m not a fluke,” Van said. “That guy was a fetishizing dirtbag who doesn’t know a good thing when she’s sitting next to him. You don’t deserve this kind of shit happening to you.”
She blinked hard, and more tears spilled. Lincoln wanted to hug her, provide some sort of comfort, but he didn’t want to startle her so soon after being attacked.
“He cut you?” Van asked.
“He cut my cheek with a ring he was wearing, so I hit the asshole in the face with my beaded clutch, and he finally stopped pawing at me.” She shivered. “I hate blood. I’m scared to look at it. It’s why I texted Lincoln.”
“Thank you.” Lincoln lightly touched her wrist. “I mean it. You can call or text me anytime, no matter what.”
“You were out with your friends.”
“Doesn’t matter. You’re my friend too, Melody. I take care of my friends.”
“Mel,” Van said, so sharp he could cut steel, “did he hurt you anywhere else?”
“No.” She shook her head. “No, after he realized he cut me, he started freaking out about blood and HIV, which I don’t have, thank you very much, and he drove me home.”
Thank Christ.
It was strange to be thankful that his friend had only been hurt to a certain degree. Things with Melody’s date could have ended so much worse than they did. But it shouldn’t have fucking happened in the first place. Kissing had been her limit, and her asshole date hadn’t respected that.
“I don’t suppose you stole his wallet,” Lincoln said, surprised at the violence in his own voice. “He needs someone to politely shove a traffic cone up his ass.”
“Fuck politely,” Van snapped.
“Maybe he does, but not by you two.” Melody’s gratituderolled off her in waves. “I just want one of you to do something with my face so I can take a hot bath and forget about tonight.”
Van cupped her chin. “Forgetting doesn’t make it easier to deal with later. You were assaulted, honey. That doesn’t go away with hot water.”
Lincoln shut his eyes, unable to stop an involuntary shiver. Warm hands squeezed his shoulders from behind. Emmett.
Yes. Emmett can keep the bogeyman away.
Emmett also turned out to be the most handy with a first aid kit, which Melody had stashed in her bathroom cabinet. She went in with him for better light, the door wide open, leaving Lincoln alone with Van. A still-furious, vengeful Van. Water ran in the bathroom sink, and soft voices drifted out. All Lincoln could do was sit on one side of the bed and stare at the wall.
And seethe.
Seethe for Melody’s terror and rage. For how degraded she must have felt. He seethed for the other women her date had probably attacked. He seethed for everyone who’d ever lost control and was still struggling to come out the other side.
“We’ve all got a story,” Van said quietly, his voice barely carrying from the other side of the bed. “Me. Melody. Emmett. You.”
He glared across the bed, unimpressed with Van’s composure. “Oh yeah? What’s your story?”
“I didn’t say I wanted to share, only that we all have one. Some wounds are just fresher than others. Closer to the surface.”
Lincoln turned around completely, irritated by the way Van seemed to look right inside him and see the bogeyman lurking deep down in the shadows. First Dominic stirred the pot, and now Van. Maybe if people stopped reminding him about it, Lincoln could fucking forget it was there at all.
Water ran in the tub and, less than a minute later, Emmett walked out, still drying his hands on a towel. At the moment, he seemed like the most put-together person in the room.
“It’s an ugly cut,” he reported. “And it’s probably going to leave a scar, unless she gets a medical professional to look at it, but the bleeding stopped.”
