Chapter 19
NINETEEN
The next two-ish weeks passed in a blur for Lincoln.
The best kind of blur. He spent his afternoons onstage at Off Beat, playing everything from soft rock to country to jazz, with Emmett often singing along.
Only one session had ended with a migraine, and he was starting to understand the cocktail of stress, lack of sleep, overheating, and too many yellow lights that would end in serious pain.
And maybe beer, too, so he avoided beer and stuck to the occasional Jack and Coke on the evenings he spent at Off Beat off-the-clock.
Beatrice had agreed to put him to work three nights a week as an extra bar back, prepping garnishes and running food.
He enjoyed having something to do other than sit at the bar and watch other people perform by night on the stage he haunted by day.
Plus he was finally earning his own money again, instead of relying solely on the Bounds’s generosity.
Melody didn’t make another public appearance until the Fourth of July barbecue that Beatrice threw in her backyard.
Van had helped her find another apartment—not easy in the middle of summer at the beach, but apparently he had connections—and she’d moved at the end of June.
Her face was healing well, but she caked on the makeup to hide what was going to be a dime-size scar on her left cheek.
She was in good spirits for the barbecue, though, mostly chatting with Van and Adrian.
Beatrice had invited the entire Off Beat staff—cooks, bartenders, servers—plus friends from other area businesses, so the backyard was packed with people.
The whole production made Lincoln a little nervous, Emmett doubly so, so they spent most of their time indoors and out of the heat.
Emmett’s hair had grown out a little since they first met over a month ago, the black roots slowly overtaking the medium-brown ends that he kept trimmed short, and he never had bothered replacing his colored contacts. Lincoln loved watching Emmett embrace himself again, instead of hiding.
They were eating plates of burgers, coleslaw, potato salad, and corn on the cob at the kitchen table without really talking about anything, which was pretty cool.
Lincoln couldn’t remember the last time their silences had been awkward.
Sometimes it was nice to simply exist in the same space without expectations of conversation or physical affection.
Not that Lincoln was opposed to physical affection, but after that one moment, Emmett hadn’t broached the subject of anal sex again. Which was fine, because the sex they did have was fucking amazing. The right time would come along, and it would be perfect.
“Unbound’s coming up soon,” Emmett said. He’d been staring just past Lincoln’s shoulder at the Star Wars calendar on the wall.
“Eighteen days.”
“You’re counting down?”
“Wouldn’t you be?” Lincoln was equal parts excited and terrified about Unbound. Excited to play onstage with his closest friends; terrified that he was going to fuck it all up and embarrass the band.
“I guess so.” Emmett poked at his half-finished corncob. “You really should do a rehearsal run.”
“Isn’t that what we’ve been doing for the last few weeks? Rehearsing?”
“I mean in front of an audience larger than Adrian and Aunt Beatrice.”
Lincoln’s chest tightened. “What do you suggest?”
“How about today? There’s about sixty people outside, and you won’t have to worry about the lights.”
“Just the sun.”
“Which is why you have sunglasses.”
Lincoln both loved and hated the idea, and he wasn’t sure which part of him was going to win. He couldn’t use the excuse of not having his QChord, because he lugged that thing everywhere he went lately. It had become an extension of his body, and it felt weird not to have it close by.
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, or who 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, some going 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.”
Emmett never turned or acknowledged the audience. He kept his attention laser-focused on Lincoln while Lincoln sat down, and then set his synthesizer for “Bridge Over Troubled Water,” a song he could play in his sleep. “You didn’t give me a chance to warm up.”
His voice was caught by the mike, and a few people laughed.
“You’ll be great anyhow,” Lincoln said, loud enough to be heard, as well.
“I will get you for this.”
Lincoln winked, then took a deep breath of his own.
Along with his nerves over tricking Emmett, Lincoln was just as scared about playing tonight.
He’d done this song with Emmett a dozen times on this stage, and the lights were doing a great job in creating the illusion of it only being the two of them, but he knew.
He knew the audience was there. He knew they were going to judge them both.
And he knew, without a doubt, that if he fucked up tonight he’d never be able to walk onstage at Unbound in two weeks.
His fingers began a practiced dance across the strumplate, pulling all of the right notes in order for Emmett to join him with the lyrics.
Emmett’s voice shook on the first few words, but he quickly found strength, and the music surged forth from them both.
Lincoln sang backup in the appropriate parts of the chorus, his less practiced voice barely making it to the mike, and that was okay.
The room was full of Emmett’s beautiful tenor as he coated every word with emotion and affection.
He sang to Lincoln like they were the only two in the room, and for three glorious minutes, they were.
Until the song had to end, and the final notes disappeared beneath the weight of thunderous applause.
Someone wolf-whistled. Several people shouted for an encore, but Emmett shook his head.
His cheeks were red, his eyes shining, but he also looked ready to snap now that the illusion of privacy was over. He didn’t like attention.