Drive

by Stephanie Fournet

  Put your back to mine.

  Put your back to mine.

  Every voice in the house joined Jacques’s for the repetition. Two girls emerged in front of the stage and started dancing together with the beat. The words became a chant two hundred voices strong, and the dancers moved with an unlikely combination of passion, grace, and speed.

  Soon, all eyes seemed to be on them, even Jacques’s. He regarded them with both recognition and amused surprise.

  Both girls were attractive — the tall black one more than attractive. The short one with the curly hair looked too young to be in a bar. Rainey didn’t want to feel jealous, but the feeling took hold all the same. She also wished she had their courage and their freedom. Why couldn’t she stand in front of the crowd and dance to Jacques’s song that touched the heart of her and promised hope?

  Well, she knew the answer to that. Because it was terrifying enough just to stand pressed against the rough pillar and watch him. Jacques commanded the crowd like each among it were foot soldiers in his battalion — drunken, raucous foot soldiers, true, but they obeyed him just as well. His power and his talent awed her to an almost alarming degree.

  Rainey took a deep breath and let it go, trying to shake off her self-doubt. In the grand scheme of things, tonight was a major personal triumph. She’d left the house by herself, and it wasn’t because she had to, and it wasn’t to run an errand. She’d ventured out to meet a guy. A really cute, incredibly sweet guy.

  One who could sing like he was born for it.

  The song ended, and the crowd roared with applause and whoops. Rainey joined in, smiling at Jacques when his eyes found her again. He gave her his knee-buckling, lopsided grin, and Rainey could actually feel his touch on her skin.

  When he’d kissed her in the courtyard, it had intoxicated her just as much as the first time, but what she loved most about his kiss was how hungry he seemed for her. The way he held her in his grip, the bunching of his muscles, the roughness of his breath, all suggested an urgent desire.

  Had she ever felt wanted like that? If so, it was in another life. One she no longer claimed.

  From the stage Jacques quelled the crowd, picked up the mic stand, and moved it to the left of the stage. “Alright, alright. Well, I was saving a surprise for you—”

  Cheers interrupted, some of them particularly high pitched.

  “But seeing as a couple of these girls up here have already grabbed your attention—”

  More cheering and screaming.

  The two girls who’d been dancing front and center twirled back to face the crowd, arms outstretched, fingers splayed and waving. Ecstatic, mouths open wide, they both let out screams that sounded like war cries. From the crowd, another girl joined them, the three of them hugging and laughing. The new girl looked even younger than the short one, and that gave it away.

  These three girls — so confident and at home in their own skin — were the members of Heroine. Or the original members of Heroine, now that Jacques had joined their ranks. And he was calling them on stage.

  The kernel of jealousy inside Rainey changed color but didn’t soften any. She didn’t want to examine the feeling, so she shook her head, swept her hair up off her neck, and let the still, tepid air of the bar hit her skin. Now that the place was full, the heat and humidity of the Louisiana spring had started to creep in and cozy up with the crowd.

  Jacques set down his acoustic and picked up his Gibson. “Ladies, why don’t y’all come up and join me for a few songs,” he said, his voice a low rumble that promised satisfaction.

  The sound of it affected Rainey as much or more than anyone else. The crowd roared, but she blushed.

  All three ascended the stage, and that was when Rainey noticed their instruments tucked against the back wall outside of the spotlighting. With easy grace, the two shorter girls — the heart shape of their faces was so similar they had to be sisters — carried forward a synthesizer while the tall one with the beautiful brown skin grabbed her bass guitar.

  “Guys, I want to introduce Kate and Kara Crawford and Desdemona Lewis—”

  “Yeah, Kara!” A guy near the stage shouted. The demure way the youngest-looking girl smiled made it obvious that she was Kara Crawford, which meant the short, determined one must have been Kate, and the tall one was Desdemona, or Des as Jacques had said when he first told her about the band.

  “They’ve let me join up with them, and together we are Heroine.” More cheers and whoops. Obviously, even if Jacques was new to the band, the girls had followers, and that was a good thing. Rainey told herself that was a good thing.

  Jacques looked back at his band members. Kara stood behind the keyboard. Kate and Des had both donned their guitars, plugged into their amps and were warming up with test chords and making subtle adjustments. Then they looked at each other, glanced back at Jacques, and nodded.

  He faced the crowd, his chin low, his left brow arched, and his mouth close to the mic. “And you guys are some lucky bastards because this is our first live show together.”

  Without waiting for the crowd to quiet, they launched into “Surrounded” by the Silversun Pickups. Rainey had heard the song countless times since 2009, but with Kate on lead vocals and Jacques joining in on the refrain with his baritone bass, the song became new. Haunting. Electric.

  And the crowd in Artmosphere loved it.

  During the song, Kate seemed to command the lead, her eyes moving from player to player as each took a short solo, showing off their stuff. The petite girl looked completely at ease in the role, as though she were made for it, and Jacques seemed happy with that. He didn’t have to be the front man or the center of the spotlight like so many musicians she knew.

  When the song ended, Rainey let out a few of her own whoops. How could she not? They were incredible.

  “This next one some of you might recognize,” Kate rasped into the microphone, her speaking voice even rougher and lower than her singing voice, but there was an alluring quality to it that made Rainey want to lean in to listen. “This is one of Jacques’s that we’ve resurrected. It’s called ‘Lazarus Night.’”

  The first five notes of the song came from Kara’s synthesizer, eerie and a little foreboding. The guitars joined in for the second measure, and then Jacques stepped up to the mic. He sang about a love that needed to die, but the lovers wouldn’t let it go.

  The song cast a spell over the entire crowd, and Rainey closed her eyes and let her body move with the rhythm. But Jacques’s voice and the sheer force of the song made her open them again. Clutching the microphone, he transformed before her eyes from the guy she’d been kissing in the courtyard thirty minutes before into a deity. The raw emotion in his lyrics moved through his voice, overtaking his body, and filling the bar with an anguished, aching, beautiful high.

  As he hit the crescendo, Kate’s voice merging with his, every soul in Artmosphere seemed spellbound. Those who knew the words sang. Those who didn’t answered the zenith with their cheers and screams. And some, like Rainey, just stared in awe.

  She knew with a certainty she didn’t bother to question that Heroine would be famous. They’d win Grammys. Their albums would go platinum. They’d go on world tours. Everyone in Artmosphere was witnessing greatness, and they’d be able to say they saw Heroine’s first live show.

  Rainey swallowed the lump in her throat. In a few months’ time, she’d be able to say she’d kissed the famous Jacques Gilchrist. Of course, she’d never actually say that. Even if no one would believe her — and who would? But she would never say it because if she did, then it wouldn’t belong to her anymore.

  And as she watched Jacques and his band blow the minds of everyone in Artmosphere — some who were already recording the song on their phones and sharing it on social media — she also knew with a certainty she didn’t bother to question that the kisses he’d given her in the courtyard would be their last. Because Rainey knew that world where Jacques was headed, and it had left her behind long ago.
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  She made herself stay until the end of “Lazarus Night.” She wanted Jacques to see her cheering. He deserved that.

  He locked eyes with hers, and she could see he recognized his moment for what it was. The Beginning. So did Kate, Kara, and Des. Everyone there did. Rainey wasn’t the only one with tears in her eyes, so she didn’t bother hiding them as she took in the joy and triumph on his face. She refused to be selfish. The truth of it was Rainey was happy for Jacques, and if this was his destiny — as it surely was — she was grateful for this moment and the handful of others they’d shared.

  She’d never forget them.

  But when the band began their next song, Rainey brushed away her tears, ducked back into the shadows, and left.

  Her phone started blowing up an hour after she got home. An hour after she’d pedaled down Johnston Street through the flood of her tears. An hour after she shut herself in her room, even as Holi called out to ask what was wrong. An hour after she sent Ash away from her door, insisting she was fine although he had to know she was not.

  Jacques: Where are you?

  Her phone rang two minutes later. When she didn’t answer, he texted again.

  Jacques: Rainey, where the hell are you?! I checked the bar, the courtyard, and front porch. You’re not in the bathroom. Are you okay?

  “Oh, shit.”

  She’d counted on him being pissed that she’d bolted, but she hadn’t thought he’d be worried. Of course, he already told her he didn’t like the idea of her riding home on her bike, that it wasn’t safe. As someone whose anxieties were constant companions — unwanted companions — Rainey hated that she’d made him worry.

  Rainey: I’m home. I’m sorry. I couldn’t stay.

  His response was immediate.

  Jacques: Are you okay? Gotta say, that wasn’t cool.

  Rainey swallowed. Okay, so maybe he was worried and pissed. But she deserved that.

  Rainey: I started to feel bad. I’m really sorry.

  That was true. She had started to feel bad, and she was sorry that she was so weak that she couldn’t stick around and face him knowing what she now knew. Already, she felt so drawn to him. No one had lit up her world the way he had in only a few days. He’d given her a glimpse of what her life might one day become. A life when she wouldn’t always feel afraid. When she wouldn’t always fracture when she thought of her brother. When she might be happy.

  But that was only a tease because Jacques Gilchrist was destined for something greater than Rainey Reeves. And if she let herself develop feelings for him…

  Who was she kidding? She’d already developed feelings. A host of feelings. But it wasn’t like she’d fallen in love. Not yet. But Rainey could sure as hell see it from where she stood. And if she fell in love with him, her heart — which was already as weak as a human heart could possibly be — would be shattered into a thousand pieces.

  Because. Jacques. Would. Leave.

  And right now, that was okay. She could handle that. Better yet, she wanted that for him. Jacques deserved the record deals and the screaming fans. Secretly, she hoped it wouldn’t change him too much. That after everything fell into place for him, he’d still be a nice guy.

  Rainey hadn’t known him for very long, but she couldn’t imagine him being anything else.

  Jacques: You should have texted me.

  “Yep, even angry, he’s still a super nice guy,” she said aloud. From the foot of her bed, Archie lifted his head and eyed her. “What do I say to the super nice guy, Arch?” She stared at her phone and deliberated.

  Rainey: You’re right. I should have. I wasn’t thinking. I’m sorry.

  And she was sorry. If she’d texted him saying she wasn’t feeling well and had gone home, he would have gotten in touch, but he wouldn’t be offended or — God forbid — hurt. And if he asked her out again, and Rainey already knew that was a big IF, she could beg off, saying Holi needed her. She didn’t expect he’d pursue her very hard beyond that. They’d just met, after all.

  So his next text on the heels of this thought surprised the hell out of her.

  Jacques: I’m wrapping up here. I’ll come by to check on you.

  The sound of her gasp made Archie jump. Why did he have to be so sweet? Rainey knew, though, that if she let him come over, it would be harder still to pull away. And she had to pull away.

  Rainey: That’s sweet, but it’s late. I’m already in bed.

  She held her breath but didn’t wait long for his response.

  Jacques: Can I call you tomorrow?

  For all of its invisibility, the knife that sunk into her heart was no less sharp. Telling him no was not an option. The last thing she wanted was to hurt him. Jacques Gilchrist had been nothing but kind and considerate with her in each of their encounters. She didn’t want to hurt him, but she didn’t want to encourage him either.

  Rainey: Sure thing.

  Was that really better than no? It was so casual it was almost cruel. Rainey hated herself for it. So she immediately followed up.

  Rainey: Did the rest of the show go well? You were mind-blowing.

  Again, his response was instantaneous.

  Jacques: Went great! And thanks. I’m glad you liked it.

  Rainey bit her lip and squeezed her eyes tight before typing again.

  Rainey: I’ll never forget it. I don’t think Heroine will be playing in small venues much longer.

  Jacques: :) I hope you’re right.

  She could see him smiling. He had to be on a cloud. Heroine’s future success was practically guaranteed. So her next words were honest too.

  Rainey: I’m so happy for you.

  She closed her eyes and sighed. Her phone chimed again.

  Jacques: Thanks. Really.

  Jacques: I hope you feel better. I’ll call tomorrow. Goodnight, Rainey.

  Tomorrow, Rainey would hide her phone in her sock drawer so she wouldn’t be tempted to pick up when he did. She’d focus all her attention on Holi. She’d clean the house from top to bottom. She’d crochet a bedspread. She’d do anything but look at her phone.

  Rainey: Goodnight, Jacques.

  Rainey wanted to tell him something more. To thank him for wanting to spend time with her. For getting her out of the house and out of her head — at least better than anyone else had ever done. She wanted to thank him for the music he’d shared and gifted her. And she especially wanted to thank him the kisses and for reawakening a part of her she didn’t think existed anymore.

  She couldn’t say it, but she wanted him to know that when she said goodnight, it was really goodbye, and it was the hardest of goodbyes.

  Chapter 11

  Jacques awoke to the bars of “Jolie Blonde” on Pal’s accordion, and he didn’t even groan. Instead, he rolled over in bed, checked his phone, and saw that it was just after nine. His grandfather had let him sleep a little.

  He thumbed through his messages, but there was nothing from Rainey. Shutting his eyes, Jacques tried to snatch at the hem of the dream he’d just left. He felt sure she was in it. He was almost certain she’d been in his arms.

  He’d lied to her. When she’d asked how the rest of the set went, he’d told her it was great. Heroine might have sounded great, but he hadn’t enjoyed it so much after “Lazarus Night” because he couldn’t find Rainey.

  He hadn’t missed her tear-stained cheeks after the remastered song that had brought down the house. The sight of her moved him like he couldn’t believe, and he had to stop himself from flying off the stage and kissing her in front of the entire crowd. When they rolled into Kate’s song “Pilot,” and he’d noticed Rainey wasn’t leaning against that lone post, he figured she’d gone to the bathroom to dry her eyes and maybe get a drink.

  But with the next song, she wasn’t back. He could see a line at the bar, and he knew the restrooms blocked his view of the right side of it, so he hoped she was simply out of sight, waiting on a drink or talking to someone she knew.

  Three songs later, his gut was in
knots, and he wanted to call a break before one was scheduled. But the crowd was in full swing, and Kate said she’d kill him if they stopped then.

  “Man, chill. She’s in the courtyard or something,” Kate had scolded.

  And Jacques had hoped she was. He knew Rainey didn’t go out much, and the bar was packed wall to wall. He’d told himself to relax, finish the set, and then go looking.

  When he’d texted her in a panic, he also knew she’d lied to him.

  At least, she hadn’t been completely honest. If she didn’t feel well, it wasn’t because of a headache or too much to drink. His guess was that she’d used up all her courage, so he wasn’t going to make her fess up. Next time she came to one of his shows, he’d be sure she had a safe exit strategy, and that she’d give him a sign if she needed to bail. He’d make sure she was okay. He wanted to make sure she was okay.

  And when he called her today, he’d say as much. If she had anxiety issues, she didn’t need to hide them from him.

  He tapped their conversation on his phone.

  Jacques: You up?

  He waited a few minutes for a reply, but when he didn’t get one, Jacques rolled out of bed and left his room so Pal could give “Jolie Blonde” a rest.

  “Morning,” he called as he came down the stairs.

  From the kitchen table, Pal’s arms froze around the accordion mid-squeeze. “Well, cher, bon matin a toi.”

  Jacques ignored his affected look of surprise and instead went to the coffeepot, sniffed the dregs in the decanter, and poured them out.

  “Want a fresh cup, Grandpere?” Calling his grandfather Pal had started as a joke, but it stuck, and both of them had liked it, but when he wanted to show Pal respect, he’d use the more formal French title.