Chapter 11 #3
Emmett couldn’t stand the intensity in Lincoln’s expression. The way he focused in on Emmett’s feelings and making sure Emmett was all right, when all of Lincoln’s current issues were his fault.
He’d spent the entire night tossing and turning, unable to sleep, seeing Adrian’s video over and over in his mind.
Seeing Lincoln’s face as the car spun, careering into a telephone pole.
Hearing the crunch of metal and shattering of glass, and phantom screams of pain that weren’t Lincoln’s, but his little sister’s.
Waking up in a cold sweat, positive he smelled gasoline and smoke.
He’d tried to eat the scrambled eggs Adrian made them both—some kind of solidarity peace offering, or something—but he couldn’t keep them down.
They’d set off a long round of vomiting, until Adrian shoved him into bed with a glass of water and a barf basin.
Calling Van had been torture. Canceling on Lincoln had hurt worse than any of his burns.
Seeing him in his bedroom doorway had hurt, too, but more than that, Emmett had felt such a sense of joy and relief that he’d clung to Lincoln when he should have turned him away.
They were already too emotionally involved as it was, and the moment Lincoln knew what Emmett had done, they would be over.
Lincoln would hate him for taking away his musical dreams and sticking him with debilitating migraines and dizzy spells.
Emmett had been drunk. He’d been high. He’d fled the scene of an accident, and he’d made his cousin an accessory to it all.
He completely and totally sucked as a human being.
And yet somehow Lincoln was able to look at him with compassion in his eyes.
Because he doesn’t know what you did.
He had to tell Lincoln the truth. Nothing else would remove the heavy boulder of guilt that was crushing his heart into a bloody pulp. Lincoln deserved to know what Emmett had done. Lincoln deserved the truth.
I don’t want to lose him.
Lincoln was the best thing in his entire life.
The best friend he’d ever had since elementary school.
The closest thing to a boyfriend he’d ever managed, even though they’d never discussed the label.
Someone who listened, accepted, and came back for more.
Despite all of Emmett’s hesitations at the start, Lincoln had continued to pursue him.
And for an entire day, they’d been a beautiful thing.
A beautiful, fragile thing that Emmett could destroy with one confession.
Adrian had urged him not to, arguing no good would come of it.
Emmett would lose Lincoln. Lincoln could even turn them in to the police, press charges.
Ruin both of their lives. Emmett couldn’t stomach the idea of sending Adrian to jail, not even for a night.
Adrian had tried to protect him from the truth for a year.
Emmett owed him nothing less than the same.
“Em?” Lincoln said. “What did Adrian tell you?”
“He told me more about a party we went to last summer.” Emmett’s brain spun that confession out, searching for more than I got strung out on coke and sent you headfirst into a wooden pole.
“It was the first time I ever drank, and on top of my antidepressants, I got truly wasted and blacked the whole thing out. At the time, Adrian swore up and down that nothing bad happened.”
Emmett barely registered the motion. He found himself suddenly upright, Lincoln’s hands on his shoulders, his expression fierce and protective. It made Emmett’s heart soar and weep at all once.
“Did something happen?” Lincoln’s blue eyes searched his. “Did someone hurt you?”
He could lie, make something up. Only that might backfire if Lincoln decided to take his temper out on Adrian and accuse him of not stopping something that hadn’t actually happened. “No, I hurt myself.”
“What do you mean?”
“I always prided myself in never having tried illegal drugs. It was something my parents constantly drilled into my sister and me, just like alcohol.”
Lincoln’s eyebrows dipped low. “What did you try?”
“Coke. Adrian said he wasn’t there to stop it, but one of his friends gave it to me. He didn’t want me to know. He was trying to protect me.” So far, so true.
“I guess I can understand that.” Some of Lincoln’s anger shifted into confusion. “Still doesn’t explain why he was so antagonistic to me, though.”
Emmett tried for a casual shrug. “He didn’t say anything about that.” Not directly. Emmett had inferred it. Adrian didn’t want to be Lincoln’s friend, not when he was protecting such a huge secret—a secret that could obliterate Emmett and Lincoln’s relationship.
“But that was the secret?” Lincoln asked. “You doing coke?”
No. “Yes.” The half-truth burned in his throat like bile. “I was so ashamed of myself for snorting, knowing how disappointed my parents would be, that I made myself sick over it.”
“Oh, babe.” Lincoln pulled him into a warm, wonderful hug. “You were drunk, which isn’t an excuse, but those kids at the party should have known better. They shouldn’t have given you coke if you were that drunk.”
“They wanted to see the uptight Muslim kid lose control.” The confession slipped out without permission, and Emmett went cold inside.
Oh no. Oh no oh no oh no, now he’ll dump me for sure. I’ve lost him.
Lincoln shifted back, and Emmett prepared for a dismissal.
Or worse, some comment about him being a terrorist, his family probably deserving to die like that.
He’d gotten his fill of that nonsense before moving to the shore with Aunt Beatrice.
Hateful things spoken to his face and whispered behind his back.
Police officers, doctors, nurses, lawyers.
No one felt sorry for him. Many of them looked at him like he was the culprit, rather than the victim.
As if he was the one who’d tossed the Molotov cocktail through his own parents’ bedroom window and started the blaze that destroyed his life.
Lincoln didn’t say anything, though. Not a cross word, but not a positive one, either.
He simply studied Emmett, as if searching for the Muslim stamp that would have identified him to Lincoln sooner.
Being uncircumcised probably wasn’t helping, since it was pretty rare among Muslim men.
Lincoln’s expression was mild, more curious than anything else.
“I did kind of wonder about your hair,” Lincoln said. “I mean, it’s brown on your head, but everywhere else it’s black.”
“I dyed it when I moved here.” In for a penny. “And I bought colored contact lenses. My parents were from Syria and I didn’t . . . I didn’t want to be Syrian anymore. I didn’t want to be obviously not-white anymore.”
Sympathy radiated off Lincoln in waves, and Emmett couldn’t believe he’d made this entire conversation about himself. He’d distracted Lincoln from Adrian for a while, but the conversation would eventually circle back.
Lincoln stroked his cheek with his thumb. “That must have been so awful for you. Hiding your sexuality and your religion. I’m so sorry.”
Maybe if Emmett came clean about everything else, the last secret he couldn’t seem to vocalize wouldn’t be so awful to keep. “I changed my name, too. I was born Emilio Sharif.”
“Emilio.” Lincoln spoke the word like he was testing it for size.
“You do look like an Emilio, but to be honest, you look more like an Emmett to me. Maybe that’s because Emmett is the guy I first met at Off Beat a week ago.
The guy who took care of me during a horrible migraine.
The guy who gave me another chance yesterday.
The guy who is opening a vein for me today and trusting me with his truth. ”
Emmett studied the face of the man in his arms who was showering him with so much undeserved loyalty and affection. “Van and Sasha are the only people at the club who know me as Emilio. They’re cool about it.”
“Van seems pretty cool, too. And he’s rooting for us, which is kind of awesome.”
“You really don’t mind that I’m Muslim? Or was, I suppose. I haven’t openly worshipped, or even prayed since the fire. Allah didn’t protect us then, so I have no reason to think He will now.”
“Well, I’m an atheist, so if you can overlook that, I think we’re square. I know there’s fear out there, Em, but you never have to be scared of me, okay?”
That boulder didn’t lift from his heart, but his heart still managed to turn over a little bit at Lincoln’s words. “Promise?”
“Promise.” He sealed it with a kiss, and Emmett melted.
He melted right under and didn’t object when Lincoln drew him down into a loose embrace that turned into long, lazy kissing.
Emmett memorized every touch, every swipe of lips and lick of tongue, committing it to his mind, heart, and soul.
He’d avoided a terrible subject tonight, but like all secrets known to more than one person, it wasn’t likely to stay buried forever.
And until then, Emmett would take what happiness he could find with Lincoln. Allah owed him at least that much.