Chapter 15
FIFTEEN
Lincoln descended the cement stairs into Off Beat in the best mood of his life.
His friends were with him, his boyfriend clung to his hand, and Melody had even said she’d try to make an appearance after her date.
A guy she’d met after finally giving one of those apps a try.
He’d texted back demanding details, but she hadn’t responded.
Things must be going well for radio silence.
Their arrival caused a bit of a stir, since it was VJ time between the end of the ten o’clock act and the start of the midnight show.
Fading Daze had gotten their start here, and XYZ had played once.
They had a bit of local celebrity going on, thanks to Unbound, and it didn’t hurt that everyone except Lincoln and Emmett were on tour.
It also didn’t matter, because they were treated just like active band members.
Beatrice poured their first round of drinks herself, and Lincoln didn’t mind sticking to Coke.
Van appeared from the back room and instantly began flirting with Benji.
Benji flirted right back, intensely so, and it made him wonder if he and Joshua were on the rocks again.
The crowd began to chant “Fading Daze!” with enough growing fervor that Beatrice shrugged, then threaded her way to the stage.
“Apparently we have some folks in the audience that you guys want to hear?” she said.
Folks cheered and whistled.
“Well, I wouldn’t want to disappoint my patrons. Fading Daze? Care to entertain us?”
Bobby, Danielle, and Andy headed toward the stage with their drinks in hand. Benji was otherwise occupied, and he waved them off, so Trey joined them. The original members of Fading Daze.
Lincoln had hated them so much for a brief period of time.
Mostly because the band had come backstage after XYZ’s show and tried to piss a circle on the floor, claiming Off Beat was their venue.
Trey had mouthed off a bit, and Lincoln had taken the comments personally.
Funny how he now thought of Trey as one of his best friends. Part of his family.
And he wasn’t even the tiniest bit jealous that they were up onstage, joking with the audience about what they should sing, pretending to be unfamiliar with the house instruments. The crowd ate it up.
Dominic watched Trey perform with his heart in his eyes.
Lincoln watched the quartet perform three of their original songs like not a day had passed since they’d last been a group.
Trey didn’t miss a lyric or a note, and they had fucking fun.
It was the thing he missed most about being onstage—the thrill of being watched, of being adored, of doing something he loved with people he cared about.
“You’ll get it back,” Emmett said in his ear. “I believe in you. You will.”
He squeezed Emmett’s hand tighter, not trusting himself to speak.
On Fading Daze’s fourth song choice, his phone buzzed with a text.
Melody: Need help. No one else to ask. Please.
The second popped up as he was trying to digest the first—an address and a room number.
Concern and adrenaline made typing out a reply a little hard: On my way. Stay put and be safe.
“Linc? What’s wrong?” Emmett asked.
“I’m not sure. A friend needs me.”
Van was suddenly in his face, leaning so far across the bar he practically lay on top of it. “Which friend?”
The ferocity in his tone made Lincoln say it. “Melody. She said she needs help.”
“Wait for me.”
Van bolted out from behind the bar, seeking out Beatrice in the crowd. Something about Van’s intense reaction made Lincoln stay put until Van returned, keys in hand. Emmett followed them without a word, and their trio tumbled into Van’s sports car.
The drive north was frustrating as hell, given beach traffic on a Saturday night. Lincoln resisted the constant urge to call Melody, but she hadn’t called him. Only texted. He didn’t want to accidentally make a situation worse. The idea of her being in a bad situation made his skin feel too tight.
The address was a hotel, but not the fancy high-rises that tourists paid a pretty penny to stay in.
It was an older motel tucked into a corner of those high-rises, the cheap kind that tended to house locals or the summer workforce.
The parking lot was weedy and needed relining.
Van grabbed a tire iron out of his trunk before leading the charge up the exterior stairs to room 206.
Lincoln knocked. “Melody? It’s Lincoln.” A shadow moved near the front window curtain. “I’m here with Van and Emmett. Let us in, honey.”
The distinct sound of a chain lock sliding came a moment before a deadbolt switched back.
She didn’t open the door, though. Lincoln did, pushing it slowly inward.
Melody was climbing back under the covers of her queen bed, hiding herself away.
Concern overriding his sense of safety, Lincoln barged inside.
“What happened?” He knelt on the bed next to her shaking lump, but didn’t touch her. “Mel, talk to me, okay?”
“I’m so stupid.” The words came out on a choked sob. “So stupid. Fuck.”
Lincoln looked over his shoulder, completely at a loss. Van, however, looked equal parts devastated and furious. He put the tire iron down on a messy dresser, then approached the bed from the other side.
“Melody, baby, it’s Van. Listen to me, you’re not stupid. You are not.”
“Yes, I am.” She sat up, throwing off the blanket so fast Lincoln had to dodge her fist. Her hair had probably been styled, but was messy and falling out of its pins.
Eye makeup streaked one cheek, and she held a white cloth against her left.
A white and red cloth. Hints of a bruise darkened that eye, and her blouse was ripped.
Rage coiled hot and tight in Lincoln’s belly. “Who did this?”
“Doesn’t matter.” She clutched at her torn shirt with her free hand. “I was so stupid. I knew better. No cars with strangers.”
“No cars with—did your date attack you?” Her nod only stoked the fire of his anger. “Where is he?”
“Who cares? He dumped me here and left.”
Van nudged closer and angled to catch her attention. “Melody, what happened?”
She choked on a sob. “It was all so great at first. We had a nice dinner and talked. Really talked. We got along really well, so we took a walk on the beach. It was so pretty.” Her face pinched.
“Back in his car we started kissing. I told him I didn’t have sex on the first date, and he said he was cool with that.
I should’ve asked him to take me home, but he was such a good kisser.
” She blew out sharply through her nose.
“After a while he tried pushing my face into his crotch, and I said no.”
Lincoln clutched the bedspread so he didn’t reach out and break something.
Some of Melody’s grief was rearranging into anger.
“He called me a tease, said dinner and driving out here to meet me was worth a blow job. I tried to get out of the car and he grabbed me. Ripped my shirt. Then the bastard shoved his hand up my skirt and said he always wanted to make it with a she-male. I smacked the prick, and then he backhanded me.”
Van snarled.
“He said what?” Lincoln asked, perfectly dumbfounded.
Melody held eye contact with Van briefly, who apparently knew what Melody was about to tell him. “I’m trans.”
Reality tilted a little bit. “Really?” The small mounds of breasts peeking out from her torn shirt and the very distinct absence of an Adam’s apple were fucking with his mind.
“Really,” Melody said carefully, like he might freak. “I’ve had a few surgeries, and I’ve done hormones for years. I’ve been transitioning since I was fifteen. I’ve dated enough that I should have fucking known better. Genuinely nice guys like you, Van? You’re a fluke.”
Oh. OH!
That totally explained Melody’s comment about Van being so accepting, and him being her best.
“I’m not a fluke,” Van said. “That guy was a fetishizing dirtbag who doesn’t know a good thing when she’s sitting next to him. You don’t deserve this kind of shit happening to you.”
She blinked hard, and more tears spilled. Lincoln wanted to hug her, provide some sort of comfort, but he didn’t want to startle her so soon after being attacked.
“He cut you?” Van asked.
“He cut my cheek with a ring he was wearing, so I hit the asshole in the face with my beaded clutch, and he finally stopped pawing at me.” She shivered. “I hate blood. I’m scared to look at it. It’s why I texted Lincoln.”
“Thank you.” Lincoln lightly touched her wrist. “I mean it. You can call or text me anytime, no matter what.”
“You were out with your friends.”
“Doesn’t matter. You’re my friend too, Melody. I take care of my friends.”
“Mel,” Van said, so sharp he could cut steel, “did he hurt you anywhere else?”
“No.” She shook her head. “No, after he realized he cut me, he started freaking out about blood and HIV, which I don’t have, thank you very much, and he drove me home.”
Thank Christ.
It was strange to be thankful that his friend had only been hurt to a certain degree. Things with Melody’s date could have ended so much worse than they did. But it shouldn’t have fucking happened in the first place. Kissing had been her limit, and her asshole date hadn’t respected that.
“I don’t suppose you stole his wallet,” Lincoln said, surprised at the violence in his own voice. “He needs someone to politely shove a traffic cone up his ass.”
“Fuck politely,” Van snapped.
“Maybe he does, but not by you two.” Melody’s gratitude rolled off her in waves. “I just want one of you to do something with my face so I can take a hot bath and forget about tonight.”
Van cupped her chin. “Forgetting doesn’t make it easier to deal with later. You were assaulted, honey. That doesn’t go away with hot water.”
Lincoln shut his eyes, unable to stop an involuntary shiver. Warm hands squeezed his shoulders from behind. Emmett.
Yes. Emmett can keep the bogeyman away.