Beyond The Music (The Rock Gods Book 7) (10 page)

Aaron was leaning against the doorjamb with his arms folded across his chest and grinning at Lincoln who was standing at the toilet about ten feet away. “Do whatever you need to do, because I’m not leaving until I know you’re safe from falling.”

“Jesus! You are some kind of kinky, crazed voyeur, that’s for sure,” Lincoln complained. Instead of waiting until after he urinated, Lincoln decided to remove his boxers first, just to spite Aaron. He shoved the garment down his thighs and kicked them off his feet. The wobble in his legs was brief, even still, Aaron was quick to move closer. “Stay the fuck over there,” Lincoln barked. “I’m capable of pissing on my own.” A beat later, the sound of Lincoln’s urine hitting the water in the toilet bowl could be heard. Lincoln’s eyes darted back to Aaron. “Do you get hard watching men piss? Or maybe your particular kink is golden showers. Is that it?”

“It’s part of my job, Lincoln, so no, I don’t get aroused watching you or any of my patients urinate.” Aaron’s tone was tight, but still cordial. “I’ll start the shower for you,” Aaron added.

Lincoln moved to the sink and brushed his teeth. His eyes found Aaron in the large oval mirror above the basin. Lincoln wasn’t sure which surprised him more: the sudden flush on Aaron’s face, or the fact Aaron wasn’t looking at the back of his head. Lincoln could clearly see Aaron’s gaze scanning the naked length of his backside from his shoulders down to his hips. Perhaps Aaron wasn’t made of steel after all.

“Like what you see?” Lincoln’s voice dripped of awareness. He waited for Aaron’s eyes to lift and meet his in the mirror. When they did Lincoln expected to see shame or guilt on Aaron’s face for being caught looking at a client in what appeared to be a less than professional manner, but he didn’t. Instead Lincoln saw . . . curiosity? Interest? What the fuck was running through that pretty head of Aaron’s? The fact Lincoln couldn’t be sure what Aaron was thinking drove him crazy.

“I’ve always had an appreciation for ink.” Aaron shrugged off. “Your tribal tattoos are intricate and extremely detailed. Whoever worked on you was very talented and the artwork is beautiful.”

Lincoln had an X-rated vision flash inside his brain of Aaron’s tongue tracing the ink patterns on his back . . . all the way down to his crack, and then maybe a little bit lower. Lincoln gripped the edge of the sink and closed his eyes. “Do you have any tatts yourself?” he asked to distract himself.

“Yeah, I’ve got a couple,” Aaron answered. “Nothing as nice as your work though.” Aaron opened up the glass shower door and motioned Lincoln inside. “Grab my forearm for balance as you lift your foot.”

“Will you be joining me?” Lincoln sarcastically asked.

“No, that job is all yours,” Aaron commented. “But I’m going to stand here in case you need me should you fall.”

“Wow, so I guess I am gonna have an audience while I rub one out.” Lincoln knew he was being an asshole, but he couldn’t help himself. He’d never experienced being under a microscope like this before and it didn’t help matters he was attracted to the one staring at him. He reached for the bottle of body wash and began to create a lather in his hands. Then he worked the creamy foam into the hair on his chest and down lower over his muscled stomach before his hand wrapped around his cock and made a tight fist. More than anything, he wished he could give Aaron a real show, maybe end by blowing his load against the guy’s leg or something equally as pornographic to state a point for his dislike of the lack of boundaries with Aaron. But that wasn’t going to happen today or any day. The thought of that part of his life being behind him was painful on every level. Lincoln squeezed his eyes shut and rolled his forehead against the cool tile wall and swore loudly.

“Problem?” Aaron asked over his shoulder.

“Fuck you.”

Aaron’s chuckle seriously pissed off Lincoln and he cut his shower short because of it. He couldn’t take much more of this personal humiliation and a part of him was fearful he’d snap. The fact Aaron jumped when Lincoln unexpectedly kicked open the glass door offered Lincoln a tiny amount of joy though. Lincoln stepped out onto the soft mat and made no attempt to hide any part of his body. If Aaron wanted to be all up in his business, fine, he’d get that and then some. So, Lincoln stood there with dozens of rivulets cascading over his muscled body like tiny waterfalls. Aaron seemed transfixed with the sight; his eyes following each drip down Lincoln’s body.

“Jesus fucking Christ!” Lincoln finally yelled. “Stop staring at my junk and hand me a fucking towel! I’m getting cold.”

Aaron grabbed a towel from the shelf beside the shower and handed it to Lincoln. “For the record, I wasn’t staring at your . . .”

“Oh, save your breath,” Lincoln seethed and yanked the towel Aaron offered from his outstretched hand. Lincoln quickly wrapped the towel around his waist and stomped his way back into his bedroom. He didn’t bother to spend too much time drying off; just a quick swipe of the towel over his body before he threw it across the room, not even close to the clothes hamper. Then he pulled a pair of sweatpants from his dresser and attempted to step into them. When he faltered with the process, Aaron was right behind him to keep him steady. The deep growl of dissatisfaction that rumbled from Lincoln’s throat was weighty. “Do you have any fucking idea how emasculating it is to have you following me around to catch me at every turn?”

“That’s not how I see it,” Aaron replied.

“Oh? And how do you see it?” Lincoln asked as he angrily tugged a clean t-shirt over his head.

“I’m working with you, Lincoln, and I take that job very seriously,” Aaron stated concisely. “I should also point out that this is much more than a job to me. I really care about the progress my clients make from one day to the next.”

“Is that right?” Lincoln finger combed his long, wet hair and grabbed on to his hips.

“I’m here to help, not babysit,” Aaron said. “But you need to decide right now if you’re willing to do the work involved to get stronger, because the one thing I won’t do is waste my time. So, if you’re not looking to better equip yourself to deal with this MS, then I’ll leave.”

“And if I fire you first?” Lincoln raised one eyebrow at Aaron.

“I’ve done nothing to warrant being fired,” Aaron proclaimed.

“Are you sure about that?” Lincoln asked.

“I’m positive,” Aaron replied. “So, why don’t you tell me what this is really all about?”

Lincoln pressed his fingertips into his eye sockets and released a drawn out sigh that sounded way more like an animal growling. Then his shoulders slouched and his anger turned to an emotion that he refused to show to Aaron. “I want you to leave so I can be alone,” he said softly. “I can figure out this MS bullshit as I go along, but I can’t do this with you all up in my personal space.”

“Why not?” Aaron pushed.

The question floated between them for what felt like an eternity as Lincoln’s brain fumbled through various answers to find one he thought Aaron might buy. Telling Aaron the truth was not going to happen. Lincoln’s cell phone buzzed on top of his dresser before he could answer Aaron. Thankful for the distraction, he reached for it and it slipped right through his fingers and fell to the floor. Aaron was able to retrieve it from the carpet first and handed it over to Lincoln. Lincoln glanced at the screen on the phone and read the text message from Dagger.

“Are you fucking kidding me!” Lincoln growled, then he flung the phone onto his bed.

“What’s wrong?” Aaron asked.

“That was a text message from Dagger,” Lincoln explained. “He’s asking me to show up for a band practice on Monday.”

“Is that a problem?”

“Problem?” Lincoln held onto his head. “Fuck no! I’m good to go! I mean, it’s not like I actually need to feel the neck of my bass in order to practice with my band! Maybe I could stand there and hum my bass parts. Do you think anyone would notice if I’m not really playing the music?”

“Let me see your hands,” Aaron directed.

“Why?” Lincoln asked. “Do you wanna hold hands so we can pray? Is that it? I fucking hope not, because I don’t think praying is gonna help me.”

Aaron ignored Lincoln’s protest and grabbed on to his hands without invitation to do so. He flipped one over with the palm side facing up and scraped his fingernails over the surface. Lincoln had very little reaction to the harsh touch. “Did you feel that at all?”

“Not much,” Lincoln answered.

“Sit on the bed,” Aaron directed.

Without arguing, Lincoln sat down on the end of his bed. He watched Aaron move across the room and take the acoustic guitar he had sitting in a stand beside the door to the deck and come back to him.

“Hold this,” Aaron said.

Lincoln took the instrument and draped it over his lap. The embrace was intimate, like that of a man holding a familiar lover, as he curled his fingers around the neck of the guitar and his other hand dragged over the strings.

Aaron dropped to his knees in front of Lincoln. “How much of that can you feel?”

Lincoln’s eyes lifted from the guitar and met Aaron’s beautifully odd colored gaze. The concern floating in Aaron’s eyes seemed genuine and it pulled at something deep inside Lincoln. He wasn’t sure he’d ever seen that expression on someone close to him, so seeing it now on Aaron’s face stirred something.

“I can feel some of the vibration in the strings, but that’s about it,” Lincoln mumbled.

“That’s good,” Aaron replied. He inched closer to Lincoln’s knees. “What if you focused on that sensation and played the music that way? Give it a try and we’ll hear what it sounds like.”

Lincoln tried playing the intro to “Heavy Heart.” After a few fumbled notes he stopped. He was about to toss the instrument behind him on the bed, but Aaron stopped his forward momentum.

“Do it again,” Aaron stated. “I’m not letting you quit.”

Lincoln had fire in his eyes because of the struggles he now had for something that came as natural to him as breathing. “What’s the fucking point of playing it again? Do you really think the outcome is going to be any different than the last time?”

“The point is you have four days to work before practice and I intend to make the most of that time,” Aaron said. He pressed the neck of the guitar firmly into Lincoln’s palm. “Do it again and tighten your grip here and on the strings.” When Lincoln didn’t move, Aaron slapped the wooden body of the guitar. “Do it.” Lincoln rolled his eyes and played the sequence for Aaron again. This time he only missed two of the notes, which was a small improvement.

“Again!” Aaron demanded. “Slow it down and press the strings on the fret board with more force. Exaggerate the fingerings.”

“What the hell do you know about this?” Lincoln asked.

“I’m approaching this from a medical perspective,” Aaron explained. “It seems reasonable that I could apply the same methods I’ve shared with other clients and make it work for your situation. Holding a glass isn’t much different from the grip you’d need to hold an instrument. The main difference is the tension you keep in your fingers. You already know the process of playing the music. You just need to relearn some of the grips and add a little more force to the strings, so the touch stays firmer than you’d expect to need.”

Lincoln nodded. Some of what Aaron said actually made sense. However, relearning anything at his age was annoying, but if it meant keeping his job, he’d do it. Aaron kept working with Lincoln for the next hour until Lincoln was visibly starting to show fatigue from the intense focus required for this lesson.

“What time is practice on Monday?” Aaron asked Lincoln.

“One in the afternoon.”

“That’s plenty of time,” Aaron said. “I know you can do this.”

“Aw, thanks Dad.” Lincoln mocked.

“Still want me to leave?” Aaron asked.

“I haven’t made my final decision yet,” Lincoln offered Aaron a half-smile.

“Jesus, you’re not going to make this easy, are you?” Aaron laughed. He held out his hand and took the guitar from Lincoln to place back in the stand, then returned to help steady Lincoln on his feet. “Come with me. It’s almost lunch and you haven’t had breakfast yet.”

“Whose fault is that?” he grumbled as he followed Aaron out of the room.

“Isn’t everything my fault?” Aaron teased.

“Finally! We fucking agree on something,” Lincoln said and grasped the handrail as he slowly followed Aaron down the stairs.

Chapter Nine

Lincoln followed Aaron into his kitchen. He watched the man remove various fresh ingredients from the refrigerator and began preparing their meal. Aaron laid two thick pieces of fresh salmon onto the stovetop grill and then started whisking eggs into a large bowl. A small amount of shredded cheese went into the bowl next, along with several different spices before Aaron poured the entire mixture into hot skillet. The smells that filled his kitchen were impressive to say the least, and Lincoln’s mouth began to water.

“What are you making that smells so good?” Lincoln asked.

“I don’t have a name for it,” Aaron said. He folded in a couple handfuls of baby spinach into the pan. “I’ll call it an egg and salmon toss, I guess.”