Page 78 of Steady Stroke
Lincoln knelt in front of him. His knees squished in the puddle, but he didn’t seem to notice. He put a finger beneath Emmett’s chin and forced him to look up. Into blue eyes unprotected by sunglasses. Into so much grief and tenderness that Emmett felt smashed into the floor by the weight of it.
“Listen to me, Emilio Emmett Sharif Westmore,” he said, in a tone Emmett had never heard before. And it made Emmett pay attention. “You are not a coward. After everything you’ve been through, you’re still standing, and that makes you a fucking hero. You put up with intolerant bullshit, and you survived. You tried to save your family from that fire, and maybe you couldn’t, but you survived your burns, and you’re living your life. You didn’t ask for any of this, not the harassment or the fire, and certainly not the aftermath.”
Lincoln’s firm touch moved from his chinto his shoulder. “No one expects you to stand up and become the poster child for Muslim rights everywhere. No one. You are doing what you need to do so you can get through this with your heart and soul intact, and everyone in this room will support whatever decision you make. You have to make a decision thatyoucan live with. Do what you want, not what you think you should do, or what you think we think you should do. Understand?”
So many words tumbled through Emmett’s head, bouncing around without making sense. He wanted so hard to believe what Lincoln said, that none of this was his fault.
I’m fooling myself. I went against my parents. I fucked up Lincoln’s life forever and I’m too much of a coward to admit the truth. This is me reaping what I’ve sown.
Happiness was an illusion easily broken by truth. Soon even what he’d been building with Lincoln would be obliterated by the truth. He ought to confess now and save Lincoln the stress of supporting him through this legal mess.
“He’s right,” Adrian said. Adrian, his cousin, and the biggest reason he couldn’t confess. Adrian had protected him with silence; Emmett had to do the same. “We’re by your side, dude. Whatever you do.”
Aunt Beatrice entered his peripheral vision, wiping her nose on a tissue. “Yes, we are, and yes, we will. You don’t have to become a martyr. All any of us want is for you to be happy.”
Happiness is Lincoln. Happiness is singing. Happiness is both, together.
“I want to go to the hearing tomorrow,” Emmett said. The truth in those words lifted a bit of the oppressive weight from his chest. “I don’t want a trial, but I want to speak to the judge. I want him to see that my sister and parents aren’t just some Muslims. Just some victims. They were human beings. They were loved. My family deserves that much from me.”
“Then we’ll go,” Aunt Beatrice said. “Van can close theclub by himself tonight. We have to be up early tomorrow for that drive.”
“Come with me?” Emmett asked Lincoln.
Lincoln’s tender smile nearly undid him. “As if I’d let you go without me. Adrian?”
“I’m in.”
Emmett looked at his cousin, who’d come closer to complete the circle of support around him. A cousin he’d thought hated him for no good reason, only to learn the exact opposite was true. “Thank you.”
“We’re family, dude.”
“Yes, we are,” Aunt Beatrice said. “All four of us.”
Lincoln started blinking hard, and Emmett could only imagine his thoughts. The Bounds family had taken him in and made him their own, and now so was the Westmore family. He probably had more honorary relatives than he knew what to do with.
“Will you stay tonight?” Emmett asked him.
“Of course.” Lincoln’s eyebrows went up. “Um, if that’s okay with Beatrice.”
She laughed. “It’s fine.”
“I have to go home for some clean clothes, though. Dig around for something respectable to wear to the hearing. What do you wear to an arraignment, anyway?”
“Don’t put yourself out worrying about a suit. Slacks and a nice shirt will do.”
Lincoln mimicked wiping sweat off his forehead. “Oh good, because I haven’t worn a suit in years.”
Emmett liked the mental image of Lincoln polished up and sporting a nicely tailored suit. He’d be a walking wet dream, so it was probably good he didn’t have a suit to wear to Baltimore tomorrow.
“I wore one to prom a few years ago,” Adrian said. “Mydate thought bow ties were offensive, so she didn’t want me to wear a tux.”
For some reason, the notion of offensive bow ties made Lincoln crack up.
“What do you boys feel like for lunch?” Aunt Beatrice asked. “I’ve got some tomato sauce in the fridge. How’s pasta sound?”
“As long as it’s not bow tie pasta,” Emmett said.
Lincoln laughed harder.
