Chapter 11 #2
“Dude, I think we’re going the wrong way,” Video Adrian said.
Video Emmett kept on singing. He turned the wheel sharply. Lights flashed. The video jerked hard.
Bile rose into Emmett’s throat.
“The fuck, dude? Look where you’re going,” Video Adrian said. “What was that?”
“What was what?”
“Dunno.”
The video stopped. Adrian lowered his phone.
Emmett couldn’t stop shaking. “I hit someone. Oh my . . . oh, Allah, no.”
“When I looked at the video the next day and put two and two together, I didn’t know what to do.
” Adrian looked like he was going to vomit, too.
“You didn’t remember a thing, and I didn’t want you to find out, so I scrubbed some blue paint out of a dent in the fender, then got the dent fixed.
I kept it all to myself. You were already dealing with so much.
I didn’t want to add this to the pile of shit weighing you down. ”
Everything Emmett knew—Adrian’s video, the timing of the party, Adrian’s reaction to Lincoln—came crashing together into an inevitable conclusion. A conclusion that fractured Emmett’s heart.
“Lincoln’s car.” The words were broken glass in Emmett’s mouth. “I sent Lincoln’s car into that telephone pole.”
Adrian’s nod shattered Emmett’s fractured heart into a million tiny pieces.
Lincoln’s evening text to Emmett went unanswered, which didn’t worry him. He was probably at Off Beat, phone locked safely away in Beatrice’s office. They’d see each other tomorrow, anyway, so he focused on replaying his and Emmett’s bedroom—and bathroom—activities over and over.
The memories turned into one hell of an erotic dream, and he woke up as he blew his load in his boxers. After a shower and clean clothes, he checked his phone. No return text from Emmett. Curious, he shot off another: Still on for today?
It took twenty minutes for a reply to ping back: Practice is still on, yes.
Cool. See you later.
Bye.
Lincoln didn’t let himself get weirded out by the clipped replies.
Emmett was still getting used to embracing himself and being open, and Lincoln would be shocked as hell if Emmett didn’t resort to a few old habits.
Habits such as keeping a slight distance.
Lincoln didn’t take it personally. He kept himself busy cleaning the apartment until he could leave for Off Beat and not be stupidly early.
The other businesses in the strip mall were in full swing by the time he walked there. He leaned on Off Beat’s door and waited. Cars came and went. A two-door sports car whipped into the lot and into a space directly in front of him.
The driver’s door opened and Van climbed out, scowling behind a pair of mirrored sunglasses.
“What are you doing here?” Lincoln asked.
“Filling in for Emmett, apparently.” Van jangled a set of keys. “You’re using the stage for practice, right?”
“I . . . but where’s Emmett?”
Instead of answering him, Van unlocked the front door and pulled it open. He slipped inside first and keyed a code into the security panel to the right of the door. Once Lincoln was in, Van locked the door again from the inside.
“Okay, what did you do to Emmett?” Van asked as he rounded on him. He whipped off his sunglasses, and yeah, he was pissed.
At Lincoln, for some reason. “I didn’t do anything to him. Beatrice offered to let me use the stage to practice for Unbound, get used to lights and stuff, and Emmett was supposed to help.” Genuine hurt speared him in the heart. “Why did he bail?”
“Emmett told me something similar about your plans, but then he begged me to come in today, instead. He said he had some kind of stomach bug, but that kid’s a bad liar.”
He’s avoiding me. Why? What did I do?
Nothing. Lincoln hadn’t done a single thing wrong.
He thought they were in a good place when he left last night.
So what—Adrian. Emmett said he’d talk to Adrian and see why the guy had it in for Lincoln.
What the hell had Adrian said to Emmett that had him running scared?
Lincoln didn’t have any crazy skeletons in his closet.
Van ducked a little to put them at eye level, his scowl softening. “You have no idea why he lied, do you?”
“No. Do you?”
“Nope. I do know he was hung up on you. You turn him down?”
“Hell no.” Lincoln wasn’t about to give Van a play-by-play. “No, when I last saw him we were very definitely, um, together. On the same page. In tune. Whatever.”
Van arched an eyebrow. “You guys hooked up? Good for him. I told Emmett if he didn’t hit that soon, I was going to shoot my shot.”
He blinked hard. “You’re interested in me?”
“Honey, I was interested the first time I saw you on that stage last year. But if you’re this hurt over being stood up for harpsichord practice—”
“QChord.”
“If you’re this hurt, then he must have his hooks in deep.”
“He does. I like him a lot. We get along great. I thought things were good, so I don’t understand this.”
Van crossed his arms and regarded him silently. “I believe you. Want me to drive you over to Beatrice’s house?”
“For what?”
“For coffee and doughnuts.” He rolled his eyes. “To talk to Emmett, fool.”
“What if he won’t let me in?”
“I have a spare key. Beatrice has me water her garden and house plants when she goes on vacation.”
Glad to have an ally in this, Lincoln nodded. “Okay, let’s go.”
Van’s car was a sweet ride, and he used the distraction of studying all of the buttons and features on the console so the silence felt less awkward.
Van had been very blunt about being interested in Lincoln, but Van was barely a blip on Lincoln’s radar now.
His attention was laser-focused on Emmett, and whatever had him tied up in so many knots that he was avoiding Lincoln altogether.
They pulled into Beatrice’s driveway way too soon.
Her car wasn’t there, but a pickup truck was.
The same one he’d seen yesterday as he left, so it was probably Adrian’s.
Something about it set him on edge in a way he couldn’t explain, so he ignored it.
Van walked with him to the front door, a steady presence he appreciated more than he could say.
Lincoln pressed the doorbell once and waited. And waited.
Van held it down with his thumb.
Eventually someone’s muffled voice sounded behind the door. A lock turned and Adrian whipped the door open. His annoyance turned to blank acceptance as he took in the pair on his doorstep.
“Come on in,” Adrian said.
“I have to get going,” Van said. “Good luck, Lincoln.”
Lincoln shook the hand offered to him. “Thanks for your help.”
“Anytime.”
All of Adrian’s animosity toward him seemed to have evaporated since yesterday. He seemed almost contrite as he shut the door. “Emmett’s in his room.”
“We were supposed to meet today, but Van said Emmett’s sick. Is that true?”
Adrian shrugged. “He’s been in his room all morning. Could be.”
“Can I talk to him?”
“Go for it, dude. It’s a free country.”
Lincoln hesitated a beat before trekking across the living room to the short hallway leading to Emmett’s room and the downstairs bathroom. His door was shut. Lincoln knocked once. No answer. Taking his chances, he tried the knob. It turned easily, so he let himself in.
The curtains were drawn against the daylight, and a big lump lay beneath the sari blanket covering the bed.
“Emmett?”
The lump jerked.
Lincoln sat and put a hand where he guessed Emmett’s shoulder to be. “Talk to me, okay? Please? What’s wrong?”
Emmett shifted beneath the blanket, which moved enough to reveal his head. Pale, almost gray-skinned, with dark smudges under his eyes, he definitely looked like a guy who’d been sick to his stomach a few times. Misery dripped off him in visible waves, and it socked Lincoln in the gut.
“Oh, baby, what can I do?” Lincoln asked.
For a brief moment, Lincoln thought Emmett was going to burst into tears. Instead, he blinked hard a few times and the sheen vanished. “Hold me?” he whispered.
Lincoln toed off his flip-flops and slid right under the covers.
He pulled Emmett into his arms, tangling their legs, stroking his back.
Emmett pressed his face into Lincoln’s neck, hot breath fanning over his clavicle.
Emmett’s heart beat so erratically that Lincoln feared for him actually passing out.
Except it eased, as did the tension in his shoulders, the longer they existed in silence with the blanket tucked up to their necks.
No one spoke. Lincoln refused to let his brain go nuts with reasons for Emmett’s state. Eventually Emmett would talk to him. He knew it without a doubt. He simply had to be patient.
His patience ended up taking a brief nap, and when Lincoln woke up, he was flat on his back, with Emmett using his chest as a pillow.
They were still tangled up close, touching everywhere possible, and even though there was nothing remotely sexual about the moment, Lincoln really loved waking up with Emmett in his arms.
“Thank you.” Emmett’s whisper surprised him.
“You’re welcome. Feeling better?”
“A little.” He lifted his head. His color was better, but he still looked haunted. “I’m sorry if I scared you.”
“You did a little bit. Van said he didn’t think you were actually sick, but you sure looked it to me.” Lincoln ruffled Emmett’s messy hair. “You do look better.”
“I didn’t realize how much I needed you until you were here.”
That confession did funny things to his insides. “Then I’m glad I came. So was it something you ate?”
“Huh? Oh, that. Kind of.” Emmett chewed on his lower lip—a familiar quirk when he was pondering something. “Honestly, I’ve felt awful since last night.”
“What happened last night?”
“I talked to Adrian about you.”
Lincoln’s entire body jerked, because even though Emmett said he would do it, he hadn’t expected the conversation to upset Emmett so much. And that pissed him off. But not at Emmett. Never at Emmett.
At Adrian. “What did Adrian have to say for himself?”