Page 85 of Steady Stroke
He’d performed in front of larger audiences hundreds of times, but always with the barrier of a stage and lights to hide the bulk of the listeners from view. It had been ages since he’d sat down like a folksinger and simply performed. Not since their jam sessions at Unbound last year, which he’d infrequently indulged in—mostly it had been fun to sit and listen.
Eighteen days until he took the stage again at Unbound. He needed the fucking practice.
“On one condition,” Lincoln said.
Emmett’s eyes narrowed. “What’s that?”
“You have to accompany me. Sing with me.”
Emmett was squirming now, because he probably hadn’t thought his own suggestion all the way through, and he was caught. “I’ve never sang in front of that many people before.”
“First time for everything. They’re people you know, orwho know your aunt. No one is going to boo you. They’re going to love you.”
Emmett pushed his plate away, then wrapped his arms around his middle. “I can’t.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
“Can’t. Believe me, I want to try, but even thinking about it makes me want to throw up. All of those people watching me, Linc? I just . . . I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay, I get it.”
Neither one of them performed at the barbecue, but the exchange was enough to get the hamster wheel turning, and Lincoln had a conversation with Beatrice during cleanup. It was risky, but their plan could also reap a huge reward if Emmett didn’t decide he hated them both.
On Thursday, he made sure both Melody and Roxy were at Off Beat for open-mike night, and promptly at eight, Beatrice called the first act.
Lincoln and Emmett were both bar-backing that night, which gave Lincoln an excuse to stick close in case Emmett decided to rabbit. Because at exactly 8:45, Beatrice took the mike again.
“We have a last-minute addition to tonight’s lineup,” she said. “It’s a special debut for a very special pair of young men.”
Emmett glanced up from the ice bin, bucket in hand. Lincoln immediately washed the lime juice off his hands.
“Can Lincoln and Emmett please join me onstage?”
The bucket crashed into the ice bin. Van swooped in and gave Emmett a nudge. Lincoln began doubting his plan the moment he saw the completely blank look on Emmett’s face. “Trust me, babe,” Lincoln said. “Please?”
Emmett tilted his head, which Lincoln interpreted as a nod. He tugged Emmett out from behind the bar, toward the stage. As they moved, lights in the club began to dim, somegoing out completely. Legally they couldn’t turn all of the lights off, but they could go down to bare minimum, hiding as many of the audience members from view as possible.
He and Beatrice had played with the lights that morning, figuring out how to angle the colors at the floor in front of where they’d be performing. The best combinations to give Lincoln light to see his board, and to block their view into the audience. They’d created a visual barrier, an invisible wall between them and the dozens of strangers watching.
Hopefully it would work.
Please, please let this work.
Emmett seemed unaware of the applause, or of Lincoln positioning him next to a microphone that faced stage left. A chair with Lincoln’s QChord on it was angled stage right, so they would be looking at each other. Not out at the crowd.
“No one is here but us,” Lincoln whispered, right into his ear. “You and me, just like we played this afternoon. We’re all alone.”
“I can’t do this.”
“Yes, you can. I believe in you.” He gently nuzzled Emmett’s temple. “I love you.”
Emmett’s head jerked back, and his wide brown eyes met Lincoln’s. Brown eyes filled with surprise and wonder. “You do?”
“You make it hard not to.”
He didn’t say the words back, but Emmett visibly relaxed. Not a lot but enough to tell Lincoln that this was going to be okay. Emmett inhaled deeply, then exhaled on a long, slow breath. “‘Troubled Water’?”
Lincoln grinned, relief flooding his chest. “Perfect.”
