Chapter 4
FOUR
Emmett Westmore stared at the stainless-steel prep table and its perfectly polished appearance, and totally failed at remembering what he was supposed to be doing. They were only open for another hour; the garnishes were full; he’d restocked the wells. He should probably clean something.
Only he couldn’t stop thinking about Lincoln West.
The man was gorgeous, full stop. Average height, with an amazing body that filled out his jeans and tight T-shirt.
And his face. All angles and planes, with sharp cheekbones and perfectly proportioned lips.
A dimple in his chin. The styled blond hair.
Even the sunglasses had fit into the look, despite their oddness indoors, and they’d hidden Lincoln’s eye color.
Blue. He’d lay money on blue.
Emmett had been struck by the former musician’s appearance last weekend, when he’d spotted him at the bar—and he’d promptly run and hidden from that funny feeling in the pit of his belly.
That sharp poke of interest he felt occasionally over a guy.
Interest that he’d held at bay ever since the fire that had taken everything from him.
His parents were dead, but he still couldn’t stand the idea of dishonoring them by giving in to his homosexual urges.
“Emmett?” Aunt Beatrice’s voice didn’t make him jump anymore, even when he wasn’t expecting it. She’d done everything possible to make him feel safe with her, both at the club and at home, and he adored her for it. She approached the prep table with a tentative smile.
“Do you need me to do something?” he asked.
“No, you seemed pretty lost in thought. Everything okay?”
“Of course.” Even if he wasn’t okay, she’d shouldered enough of his burdens to last a lifetime. “I, ah, think I made a friend tonight.”
Admitting that was worth the blinding smile on his aunt’s face. “Really?”
“Yes. Van introduced me to Lincoln West.”
Her smile dimmed a bit. “That poor guitarist from XYZ. I saw him here last week.”
“He’s staying here for the summer. We’re going to play putt-putt tomorrow.”
“That’s wonderful. It’s good for you to hang out with people your own age. Or close enough to it.”
“I know.” He dragged his fingertips over the prep table’s smooth surface. “But doesn’t friendship require sharing personal information?”
“To a degree. But Lincoln isn’t entitled to your entire life story the first time you get together. Or even the tenth.” She squeezed his shoulder. “You decide what you’re comfortable telling him, okay?”
“All right.”
“Things are winding down out front. Why don’t you give the tables another run, and then start cleaning up back here?”
“I will. Thank you, Aunt Beatrice.”
“You’re welcome, kiddo.”
Emmett grabbed the gray basin he used to bus the tables, added a spray bottle and rag, and then steeled himself with a few deep breaths.
His skin crawled with the anticipation of being around so many strangers, even though his brain knew he was safe here.
He pushed through the swinging door and out into the half-empty club.
The last open-mike participant had finished ten minutes ago, and regular music filtered over the sound system.
A few people were dancing, but most seemed to be finishing up their drinks and preparing to leave.
Emmett immediately looked toward the back corner where he’d seen Lincoln sitting earlier with a female companion.
The table was empty.
Disappointment curled in his stomach, an unexpected feeling that he didn’t completely understand. He’d known Lincoln for a grand total of ten minutes.
No time to stand around and examine his feelings. Emmett picked up glasses and plates from several abandoned tables, then wiped them down. After they closed he would go back to each table and reset them with menus and condiment racks for tomorrow. Or, technically, later today.
Van did last call, and fifteen minutes later the lights went up.
Aunt Beatrice liked to follow the last of her guests upstairs and thank them as she locked up for the night.
Sasha had already cleaned her station and gone home, so Emmett helped Van finish up behind the bar.
Even though Van tended to lean toward Resting Bitch Face, Emmett genuinely liked the guy.
He’d always been friendly and accommodating to Emmett, and he’d worked for Aunt Beatrice for years.
Sometimes she even referred to him as a second son.
Emmett never asked why, and he didn’t ask Van personal questions. It meant questions in return, and Emmett’s old life was gone. Over with. It was hard enough trying to think about the future. He couldn’t dwell on his past anymore.
Aunt Beatrice owned a two-story house less than two blocks from the club, so they always walked to and from work, and the night’s humidity smacked him in the face.
Even though he was still in Maryland, the weather was so different on the coast than in Baltimore County, where he’d grown up.
The damp, the fog, the way the salty air made his skin itch some days.
But this was his favorite time of day, because their part of town was going to sleep.
The streets were quieter, the traffic lighter.
At first, he’d hated the idea of walking to Off Beat every night—mostly because at six forty-five in the evening, the streets were alive with tourists, and he couldn’t avoid bumping into people.
But he was also, he’d realized after the first two weeks, pleasantly anonymous here.
No one recognized him. No one openly pitied him.
No one cared.
Being another nameless face in the crowd helped the rest of the world feel a little less terrifying.
The house was dark, as it usually was when they arrived so early in the morning.
His cousin Adrian was twenty-one and still lived at home.
Aunt Beatrice gave him his personal space to live his life, as long as he didn’t throw any parties at her place.
Emmett had always gotten along with Adrian when they were kids, but in the last year or so, Adrian had turned into a full-fledged jerk to him.
Only in private. Never in front of Aunt Beatrice.
The change happened last summer after Adrian goaded Emmett into attending an impromptu weeknight party at a friend’s house somewhere north of them in Delaware.
Apparently, Emmett’s anxiety got the best of him, he drank too much with his meds, and the night ended in a total blackout.
From the party to his bed at Aunt Beatrice’s house with no recollection of anything in between.
Adrian never gave him details about that night, except to promise that Emmett hadn’t ended up fucking some nameless, faceless chick, and Emmett never pressed.
He’d been only six months past the fire and in the worst possible state of mind.
Emmett was probably lucky he hadn’t gotten into a fight with someone.
Yet another reason to try and take steps forward, instead of staying mired in the past.
After a quick stop in the bathroom to brush his teeth, Emmett went to his first-floor bedroom and closed the door. Changed into boxers and crawled into bed. He bit back the instinctual urge to send a prayer of thanks for gifting him another day.
Emmett hadn’t prayed since the fire.
He’d been faithful his entire life; his parents had been devout in their beliefs and they’d instilled that in both of their children. Emmett and his sister had worshipped openly at school, despite the bullies who’d taunted them.
Emmett had sent his final prayer while lying in his hospital bed, begging for his parents and sister to be okay, promising his eternal devotion mere moments before a police officer arrived and told him that no one else had survived the fire.
That was the moment his faith in Allah died.
He pushed the macabre thoughts away and instead pictured Lincoln. His beautiful face and styled blond hair. The way he smiled. The rock-star vibe his sunglasses gave off.
Lincoln had been a real rock star once, and everything he’d lost poured off him in invisible waves.
The open way he talked about how close he’d come to death had reminded Emmett that they maybe had more in common than just Off Beat.
Not that Emmett was likely to tell his new friend his own sordid story.
He didn’t want pity. He didn’t want the fire, or the circumstances leading up to it, to define him.
He wanted to find a way to live again.
Putt-putt was a good start.
Lincoln woke the following morning with his open laptop still on his chest and a hard-on that demanded his immediate attention. He hadn’t been dreaming about anything in particular, but that didn’t stop his brain from conjuring up a memory of Emmett’s smiling face.
Nope, stop it.
Rubbing out his morning wood over his new friend was not polite. Plus, he’d feel weird when he saw Emmett later today, even if Emmett was totally oblivious. So instead of dealing with his erection, Lincoln thought about Tom, and the problem took care of itself.
His laptop battery had died sometime in the night, so he plugged it in to charge. As soon as he’d gotten home from Off Beat, he’d gone online to research QChords.
They weren’t super expensive, as far as synthesizers went. He found a good deal on one, sent the information to Dominic, and then fell asleep watching YouTube videos of people playing QChords. Teaching himself before he even had one in his hands.
After taking a break in the bathroom to piss, he checked his e-mail on his phone.
Dominic had already replied that the QChord was ordered and should land on his doorstep on Tuesday.
Gratitude hit Lincoln so hard he had to blink back a few tears.
This was his first step toward making music again, and goddammit, Lincoln wanted this to work.
He fucking needed this to work.