Drive

by Stephanie Fournet

  Rainey held her breath, her lungs hiccupping still as her sobs tried to wrest back control. How much of this was true? Did he somehow know how much she cared? How could that be?

  “The time that we had… It can’t just be me… Who would dare to turn their back on magic?

  I’ll save it for you… The girl with rain in her name.”

  The verse wrecked her, and she completely fell apart.

  “Rain, what the hell?” her sister croaked.

  Rainey shot up from her chair, wiping her eyes, unable to speak. And at that moment, Dr. Lambert, Holi’s hematologist, came through the door. At the sight of Rainey, the doctor jerked back with a look of alarm.

  “Excuse me,” Rainey muttered as she flew to the bathroom and shut the door behind her. She still wore the ear buds, so Jacques’s voice thanking the crowd filled her head. Again, he was saying all the right things, but even as she couldn’t manage her feelings, she could hear it. The strain of emotion in his voice. It was just a hint, and it was there for only a second before he mastered it, but she heard it.

  Jacques Gilchrist might have given up on contacting her, but he hadn’t stopped thinking about her. And he felt everything she felt.

  Standing with her back pressed to the door of the hospital bathroom, Rainey resolved to call Jacques after his show. If nothing else, she knew she needed to explain her silence. And she needed to tell him she’d heard the song and loved it more than she could express.

  Judging by how the crowd had responded, it would soon become another fan favorite, and Rainey could only shake her head at the irony. She had pulled back because it was obvious to her that Jacques’s trajectory would soon take him out of her reach. As far as she could see, those actions had only spurred the inevitable. He’d written a beautiful song that people would adore. Of course, that only proved to her that Jacques was destined for greatness. Nothing could stand in his way, and she wouldn’t wish that anyway.

  Rainey went to the sink and splashed water on her face. She patted her eyes dry, but one glimpse in the mirror told her there was no hiding her distress. Holi would demand an explanation as soon as the doctor left.

  She opened the bathroom door and stepped back into her sister’s hospital room, doing her best to pretend that nothing had happened, but Holi’s questioning gaze landed on her anyway. Thankfully, the doctor only gave her the briefest glance and kept talking.

  “… concerned about continued infection. And being in the hospital puts you at risk of things like tuberculosis and MRSA,” she was saying. “You aren’t responding to drug therapy, so it’s crucial we find a stem cell donor.”

  Dr. Lambert turned to Rainey again. “I was just explaining to your sister that you aren’t a match.” She gave her a sympathetic shrug. “The best bet are full siblings, but we sometimes get lucky with half siblings, parents, cousins, and other blood relatives.”

  Rainey bit her lip. The list of Holi’s blood relatives wasn’t long. Not long at all.

  “It’s my understanding,” the doctor continued, her tone softening. “That your only other sibling is deceased?”

  Even as Rainey felt the blood leave her face, she saw Holi’s expression tighten as their eyes locked.

  “Yes, that’s correct,” Holi said.

  “I need to sit down,” Rainey muttered, finding her way to the chair while her thoughts ran away with her.

  What if John Lee had been a match for Holi? What if the brother they’d lost was the only person who could save her? Wouldn’t that accident then cost Rainey two siblings? Losing John Lee had gutted her, but to lose them both—

  “Stop it, Rainey,” Holi ordered, wearing a frown that told Rainey she knew exactly what she was thinking. “Don’t go there.”

  “But what if—”

  “Let it go. This isn’t helping.”

  Rainey shut her mouth. Holi was right about that. Being strong didn’t come naturally to her, but she had to try if she was going to help her sister. And if Rainey couldn’t be a donor, then she needed to help Holi find one.

  Dr. Lambert’s eyes shifted between the two sisters before she continued speaking. “Of course, we’ve started a search in the national donor database, but I recommend you get word to all of your blood relatives and ask them to get tested.”

  She explained to them the health and age requirements for donating — which took both their father’s and Holi’s mother’s parents out of the running, along with Holi’s Aunt Donna. But Donna had two grown children, Holi’s cousins Garrett and Louisa, so that left four potential donors.

  Unfortunately, two of them were Holi’s parents, Doc Dylan Reeves, their blues legend father who couldn’t be bothered to visit more than twice a year, and Denise Gonzalez, the woman who’d given birth to Holi and practically dropped her on their doorstep when she was two years old. And before she left her, Denise had cursed Doc Dylan for saddling her with a child and ruining her dancing career.

  Denise had been twenty-two at the time. She’d reached out to her daughter when Holi turned sixteen, apologizing for her immaturity and selfishness, and asking to be a part of her life. The two had forged a relationship that wasn’t exactly close, but at least they kept in touch. Denise lived in Florida. She’d married, but she never had other children, and she never made any noises about moving to Lafayette or suggesting that Holi try living in Miami.

  The woman Holi called Mom was Melinda, Rainey’s mother. She’d come in from Galveston the weekend after Holi got out of the hospital, and she called to check on the girls every day. It was a shame she wasn’t a blood relative because Melinda Hagen would bleed herself dry for Holi, just as she would for Rainey, if it would have helped.

  Basically, Holi had four people who shared her blood and might be able to save her life.

  Rainey took a deep breath. “I’ll start making calls.”

  “Kendall and I will get tested too,” her mother said over the phone. “You just never know with these things.”

  “That’s sweet of you, Mom, but Dr. Lambert says genetic background has a lot to do with it. Holi’s bio mom is a Cuban-American. I doubt you and Kendall would work. Your family is Irish and… where’s Kendall’s family from?” she asked.

  “Well, Cajun on his mother’s side and Norwegian on his father’s,” Melinda supplied.

  “Yeah, somehow I don’t think Irish, Cajun, and Norwegian stem cells are going to work.”

  “We’ll see,” Melinda said, clearly not wanting to give up hope that she could help her stepdaughter. “But if you ask me, I really hope that woman is a match.”

  That woman was how the woman who raised Holi referred to the woman who’d given birth to her. Melinda Hagen could forgive Denise Gonzalez for having an affair with her husband, but she could never pardon the way she’d abandoned her child without so much as a backward glance. When Denise had contacted their father years ago in an attempt to reconnect with Holi, Melinda had wanted to refuse, but Dylan Reeves had left it up to his daughter.

  “It’s about time she contributed something to her daughter’s life. That’s the least she could do,” Melinda murmured, making Rainey laugh.

  “I just hope someone can donate,” Rainey said on a sigh.

  “And if none of the four of them are a match? What then?” Melinda asked, worry edging her voice.

  Rainey blew out her breath. “Then we have to hope someone turns up in the national registry.”

  “Someone with a similar genetic history?” her mom asked.

  “Yeah, more than likely.”

  “So, Cuban-American deadbeat and self-absorbed coonass, is that right?” Melinda leveled.

  Rainey laughed again. “Something like that.” But even though her mom was making a joke, Rainey knew the general population of people with the same genetic mix as Holi had to be small.

  “So you reached all of her people?” her mom asked.

  Rainey rolled her eyes. “Everyone but Dad.”

  Over the phone, she heard her mother mutter a curse.
“You get Larry?” she asked.

  “Yep.” Larry Wilson was her father’s manager. Nine times out of ten, Larry was the one who’d answer when she or Holi called their father. “I told him the score. He apologized for Dad and said he’d call back.”

  “Well, what the hell was he doing that he couldn’t answer his own damn phone?” Melinda asked, clearly losing her temper.

  “Mom, just leave it. He’ll call back. He’ll get a blood test. We all know he will,” she said, trying to calm her mom down and settle herself at the same time. This was a matter of life and death, after all. Dylan Reeves might be a lousy father, but he wasn’t cruel. “Expecting him to suddenly behave differently because Holi is sick is just dumb.”

  Her mother gave a sad chuckle. “I suppose you’re right.” She went quiet for a moment. “Holi says you’ve been moping around the house lately. Everything okay?”

  Rainey forced a laugh. “Wh-what? That’s ridiculous.” In her own ears, her voice sounded two octaves too high. “She’s just not used to being home with me all day.”

  “Hmm,” her mother murmured doubtfully. “What about the young man you were seeing a couple of weeks ago? Holi said you seemed to like him quite a little bit.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Jeez, Mom, is that all y’all do when you get on the phone? Talk about me? I’m fine,” she insisted. “I mean, I’m worried about Holi, but I’m totally fine.”

  In her mother’s silence, she could almost picture her penetrating gaze. Her green eyes could read Rainey so well she was glad for once that her mom wasn’t in the room with her. “I can come to town whenever you need. I have plenty of sick leave and vacation time—”

  “Save it for when we find a match and Holi gets her stem cell treatment,” Rainey said grimly. “Apparently, that’s not going to be too much fun.”

  Chapter 13

  With Kate’s help, Jacques had written enough songs in the last three weeks for Heroine to produce another album.

  “The only problem is they’re all about your rain girl,” she grumbled as they rehearsed in the pool house.

  “They’re just songs,” Jacques said, letting her reference to Rainey glance off him. Or at least hoping it looked like he had. He hadn’t seen or heard from her since Artmosphere, but as much as he wanted to deny it, he also hadn’t stopped thinking about her.

  Nine songs were proof of that.

  “If they’re just songs, then write us something else. Hell, write about anything else,” Kate groused. “Climate change. Shithead presidents. I don’t care. Just no more songs about the girl who got away.”

  Jacques winced, and Kara, ever-observant, caught it. “Leave him be, Kate,” she whispered, but it was a whisper that everyone in the pool house heard.

  “No, I won’t. I mean we already have a fan club of teenagers who want to know the identity of the girl with rain in her name,” Kate said, pulling a face. “And I don’t think it’s to invite her to a sleepover.”

  This was news to Jacques. “Are you serious?” he asked, frowning.

  Kate shot him a sour glare. “Don’t you read the posts on our Facebook page?”

  Jacques blinked. Kate rolled her eyes and blew out a breath of disgust. “Well, you should. Your little Rainey friend is one of our followers.”

  His eyes bugged. “She is?!”

  “Uh, yeah.” Kate curled her upper lip and gave him a no duh expression. “She only likes everything I post. And I just want to be like ‘Bitch, please, don’t like our shit and leave our dude-bro twisting in the frickin’ wind.’”

  His eyebrows leaped. “Dude-bro?” Jacques asked, choosing what he guessed was the safest part of her statement to respond to. Rainey followed their page and liked all of their posts? What did that mean?

  “Yeah, man.” He could have been wrong, but Kate’s look of disdain might have softened just a little. “You’re the only guy who had enough balls to join Heroine. That means we kind of have to claim you. And no bitch treats one of us like that.”

  Jacques raised a mystified brow. “I think… I’m… flattered?”

  Kate scowled. “Yeah, well, don’t let it go to your head.”

  He bit down on his smile. “I won’t.”

  “Can we play some music now? Preferably not a love song?” she asked.

  “Let’s do ‘Jane Says’ just for fun,” Des suggested. “Dream it up a little.”

  And so they did. The played for another hour before Kate called for a break. Jacques didn’t object. He took his phone and headed outside. Alone, he sat in one of the Crawford’s poolside loungers and pulled up Heroine’s Facebook page. Sure enough, Rainey had put thumbs and hearts on most of their posts. Her Facebook handle was R.M. Reeves, but the picture — even in profile — was undeniably her.

  He tapped the screen to enlarge the picture, and the sight of her forced a groan of longing from his chest. It was a candid shot. Someone had snapped it of her while she wasn’t looking, her chin angled down, her eyes on the book she cradled. She wore a serene smile, completely untouched by the world around her as a world of words held her captive.

  Jacques went back to the band’s feed, noting she’d liked the most recent post, one Kara had sent at the beginning of their rehearsal just a couple of hours before. And seeing that swept aside the last of his doubt.

  He dialed her contact and pressed the phone to his ear.

  Rainey answered on the second ring. “Hello?” Did she sound a little breathless, or was that wishful thinking? And if she was that eager to talk to him, why hadn’t she just called back? Anger licked him with a tongue of flame.

  “So your phone does work.” His words were sharp, but for some reason, he couldn’t make his tone match. Instead, the low rumble of his voice merely teased.

  “Hi, Jacques.” She still sounded breathless, eager, and she let his greeting slide. “I-I’ve been meaning to call you.”

  Meaning to call him? What the hell did that mean? He hadn’t heard from her in three weeks. She didn’t have a chance to call him in three weeks? Jacques clenched his teeth. He wanted to let his words fly, but the relief in her voice — relief, and what sounded like happiness — held him back.

  “Oh, yeah?” he ground out, needing her to give him something — anything — to make her three-week silence make sense.

  “Yes, I-I—” She was obviously nervous, her voice halting. “I’m so sorry for the way I’ve behaved. I’ve wanted to explain…”

  He waited a moment for her to continue. When she didn’t, he gave her a nudge. “You wanted to explain?” His voice was gentler now. He could afford to be gentle. She wanted to talk to him. That much was clear. And she was nervous, which meant she cared what he thought. Maybe this could be salvaged.

  He heard her clear her throat. “I wanted to explain after Artmosphere, but I didn’t think I could.” Her voice went soft and faint, but then she inhaled and seemed to forge ahead. “And then I heard you guys on the radio at Festival, and I knew I needed to.”

  She’d heard the Festival show? Which meant she heard him pour his heart out. But she hadn’t called him. That was nearly a week ago.

  Jacques couldn’t help the sarcasm heavy in his tone. “Well, what’s your hurry?”

  “Jacques, please believe me.” Her voice dropped, and in spite of himself, whatever she’d say next, he knew he’d believe. “I was going to call you last Saturday right after the show, but then things with Holi went absolutely crazy, and everything else had to be swept aside.”

  He didn’t know Rainey all that well, but he still found himself believing her.

  “Okay,” he said, blowing out a breath. “What would you have said?”

  “I would have said,” she began without hesitation, “that the show was amazing, and that your new songs were beautiful songs, and that I didn’t deserve to hear them.”

  Her admission surprised him, but she was wrong. She did deserve to hear his new songs. He hadn’t written them for anyone else.

  “And why would you ha
ve said you didn’t deserve to hear them?” he asked carefully. Jacques heard regret in her voice, and even her attempt to explain was already soothing him. In the days he’d tried to reach her, he had felt himself twisted into tight knots. Writing her songs had eased some of that, but he didn’t recognize until now that a part of him still braced against that tension.

  But as she spoke, he felt a give in his middle that had been missing for weeks.

  “Because I tried to pull away from you without a word,” she whispered. Guilt. Regret. Sadness. Loss. All of those lived in her voice.

  “Why?” he whispered back.

  “I… I think I’m too embarrassed to explain.”

  His eyebrows rose. “Well, what if I promised not to laugh?” He felt a little lighter now, and he wanted her to feel lighter.

  “Maybe I should be,” she said, and he was sure he heard a smile in her lilting voice. “But I’m not worried about you laughing at me.”

  “What are you worried about, Rainey?” Jacques shut his eyes on the question. It felt so good to say her name.

  Her laugh was mirthless. “That you’ll think I’m crazy. Presumptuous. Ridiculous.”

  He opened his eyes and stared unseeing into the Crawford’s pool. Instead, all he could picture was her. “Ah, so, you decided to pull back before I had the chance to, right?”

  “No… no, not really,” Rainey said. “But I’d be lying if self-preservation wasn’t my motive.”

  Self-preservation? Was she afraid he would hurt her? The irony seemed unfathomable, considering how he’d driven himself mad the last few weeks.

  “I promise I won’t think you’re crazy or presumptuous or ridiculous,” he vowed. “Please explain.”

  Her sweet sigh came over the line. In his mind’s eye, he could see the corner of her raspberry lip caught between her teeth. Moments that had been lost to him — the shade of her lipstick, her quick, light step as she walked, the almost translucent skin on the inside of her wrists — came back to him now.