 
# Drive

## Stephanie Fournet

### Contents

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Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Epilogue

A note from Stephanie

Books by Stephanie Fournet

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DRIVE

By Stephanie Fournet

Blue Tulip Publishing INC

www.bluetulippublishing.com

* * *

© Stephanie Fournet 2017

This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are fictitious in every regard. Any similarities to actual events and persons, living or dead, are purely coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if any of these terms are used. Except for review purposes, the reproduction of this book whole or in part, electronically or mechanically, constitutes a copyright violation.

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Drive

Copyright 2017 Stephanie Fournet

ISBN-13: 978-1-946061-19-5

ISBN-10: 1-946061-19-0

Cover Art by Jena Brignolia

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For Hannah, because the sea really is a good place to think of the future.

# Chapter 1

Jacques Gilchrist awoke to the strains of his grandfather's accordion and questioned his life choices.

White sunlight blazed through his bare windows straight onto his bed, but that had not been enough to drag him from sleep. Not after a night when he dropped his last rider off at 2:12 a.m.

And there was his problem. As an Uber driver, his busiest hours on Thursday, Friday, and Saturday nights were from 11:00 p.m. to 2:00 a.m. Prime time for bar departures. Which meant he'd slam into bed near three in the morning, but Pere Albert — or "Pal" as Jacques had called him since he was eleven — believed sleeping past eight was a cardinal sin.

_"Joe Pitre à deux femmes... Joe Pitre à deux femmes..."_ Pal bellowed from the bottom of the stairs, his accordion a merry assassin to the quiet of the morning. _"C'est Rose et Rosa... Et moi, j'en ai pas."_ Pal stomped his foot in time with the traditional Cajun song, and for a seventy-six-year-old man, he was still strong enough to make the windows in Jacques's room rattle.

Jacques pushed himself up and scrubbed a hand over his face, wondering for the ninety-third time why he didn't get his own place.

Pere Albert, pronounced the French way (Al- _bear)_ , went to bed every night at nine sharp. He rose at five on the dot, and Jacques knew the old guy did so without an alarm clock. He just sat up, stepped into his brown scuff slippers, and shuffled to the kitchen to make coffee. Pal had probably done this his whole life, but Jacques could only vouch for the last fourteen years — the span they'd lived together.

_"Eight hours a sleep and a good wife,"_ Pal used to say on weekend mornings when Jacques would stagger downstairs as a grumbling teenager. _"Das all a man really need."_ Other than cringing in embarrassment at his grandfather's thick Cajun accent, Jacques usually had no reply.

Of course, that was before they'd lost Grandma Lucille.

So, for the last five years, every time Jacques managed to get up before eight, he'd come down and find Pal sitting at the kitchen table, staring at the empty space across from him. And in those moments, Pal wasn't in his seventies. And he wasn't Jacques's grandfather. He was just a man missing the woman he loved.

Which was why, at the age of twenty-four, Jacques Gilchrist still hadn't moved out. Without Jacques sleeping past eight, Pal would have no reason to rattle a cast iron skillet on the stove for a good two minutes. Or have a sudden coughing fit in the hall right outside Jacques's bedroom.

Or stand at the foot of the stairs with his accordion, singing "Joe Pitre" at the top of his lungs.

Pal wrapped up his song with a flourish as Jacques descended the stairs and stepped into the kitchen.

"Morning," he mumbled to his grandfather before heading for the coffeepot.

"It almost nine," Pal cautioned, setting his accordion down on an empty chair. Not, Jacques noted, in Grandma Lucille's old spot. "Dat gonna taste like crank case oil by now."

Jacques just nodded, poured the coffee dregs into the sink, and cleaned out the basket.

"Might as well make enough for the boat of us," Pal observed, taking his seat at the head of the kitchen table and flapping open the newspaper he'd surely finished reading an hour before.

"As if I'd do anything else," Jacques said, waking up a little now.

Pal just snickered into the newsprint.

"No gig last night?" Pal asked after Jacques filled the reservoir and flicked the button that read "Brew."

"No gig last night," he confirmed, moving to the table and sitting across from his grandfather. "Without the band, I'm not 'brand specific' for some of my usual venues."

His band, Epoch — the central focus of his life — had fallen apart a month ago, and Jacques hadn't quite recovered. When word spread that he'd be playing solo, Jacques Gilchrist could gather a crowd, but not as many venues wanted a one-man act. People had flocked to the stage when he had drums and a bass to back him up. They'd danced. They'd sung along. They had made him believe it might happen for him.

But Chris, his bass player, was getting married in June and said he needed to _"cut that shit out."_ Jacques had asked him more than once why getting married meant he had to give up performing, but his buddy's only response had been, _"C'mon, man. We gotta grow up sometime."_

He should have seen it coming. Chris had been missing the odd rehearsal to go look at houses with Courtney, and he'd been working later at H&R Block and talking about finishing the coursework for his CPA certification.

Not cutting another album.

Pal lowered the corner of his newspaper and raised a brow. "What you gonna do 'bout dat?"

Jacques met his grandfather's gaze and refused to shrug, even though he wanted to. At least Jacques hadn't been surprised when Blake bailed after Chris. They weren't tight. In fact, Blake barely spoke to him outside of rehearsals and gigs. The drummer had found a new spot in a folk-rock band so fast, Jacques wondered if he'd been planning a move even before Chris pulled out. Jacques knew a few musicians who could spot him now and then, but they were all committed to other bands on a regular basis, and, frankly, the ones who weren't just sucked.

Which meant for now, he was screwed.

"Find a new band," he said. "It just has to be the right band." He didn't kid himself. The noose of time was tightening. He was in his mid-twenties. Make or break time. And he wanted to make it more than anything. He was good. He knew that, but he needed the right act to be great.

Pal gave up the pretense of reading the paper and set it down. "Well, I know you been writing songs," he said, his mouth twitching. "You think I don't hear you playin' without the amp, but I do."

Jacques rolled his eyes. So much for trying to be quiet on his Gibson after his grandfather went to bed. But Pal was right. He was writing something. It just wasn't coming together. The melody stirred in his blood, but so far, no lyrics rose to meet it. And he'd waited for the words to hit him like they usually did in odd moments of the day, but the moleskin he always carried in his pocket in case inspiration struck hadn't been opened in days.

"Sorry if I kept you up," he muttered, pushing away from the table. He snagged his grandfather's empty mug and brought it back to the counter where his waited.

Pal just made coughing, snuffling noise to dismiss Jacques's apology. Even though it was his house, Pal never held that over his head. He refused to charge his grandson rent — though Jacques covered the utilities and helped out with the groceries. And Pal had never treated Jacques like a child — even when he had been one. But the two of them hadn't quite reached the point where they lived strictly as roommates either.

Maybe because they both knew the situation would have to change sometime. Jacques wouldn't always be an Uber driver looking for music gigs — at least he seriously hoped not. And Pal wouldn't need a two-story — albeit modest — house on Saint Louis Street as he approached eighty.

Jacques stirred sugar into his coffee and tried not to dwell on what the next step for each of them would mean.

# Chapter 2

"I need another book," Holi said over the phone.

"But we packed a book." Rainey pinned the phone between her ear and shoulder so she could finish her crochet stitch without losing her place.

"And I've been here twenty-four hours—" Holi's cough burst over the line, and Rainey immediately winced in guilt. Her sister cleared her throat and talked through her straining voice. "... and I finished it this morning. Could you please bring me the next one? I'm dying here, Rain."

"You're not dying," Rainey scolded. "You have pneumonia. And you're going to get better."

"More books," Holi whined. "It's _so_ boring. Besides, what are you doing? Crocheting on the front porch like some granny?"

Rainey leaped off her favorite front porch settee as though it were on fire. "No..." she lied unconvincingly. "Isn't there... like... a lending library at the hospital? Couldn't you find something to read there?" She was terrible. She knew she was terrible. If their roles were reversed, Holi would already have keys in hand and a stack of books ready to go. She'd zip across town in her Mini Cooper and be at Rainey's side in fifteen minutes tops.

But for Rainey Memphis Reeves, it wasn't so simple.

With Archie, her four-year-old golden-brown poodle mix at her heels, she opened the screen door and pushed her way inside the custom-built house she shared with her sister. Technically, the house belonged to their mother — after her parents' divorce. And technically, Rainey and Holi were only half-sisters — the Reeves' half — but Rainey couldn't remember a time when her big sis, Billie Holiday Reeves, wasn't a part of her life.

"I don't _want_ just any old book. I want _The Wayward One._ It's by Danielle Harmon. It's—"

"I thought you read that one already," Rainey said, tucking her crochet hook into the body of her unfinished slipper-sock and stuffing it into her craft bag with its mate.

"No—" Holi's protest ended on a cough. "You're thinking of _The Wild One._ That's the first in the series. I want the last one."

"How many are there?"

"This is number five, and I want to finish the series before I die." Holi tried to heave a resigned sigh, but a coughing fit overtook her.

"Stop it," Rainey begged in whisper.

"Please," Holi begged in return. "I know I'm asking a lot, but Ash won't get off work until six, and I can't just lie here for another nine hou—"

"Fine. Fine. I'll bring more books. Where are they, and which ones do you want?"

Holi cheered and then coughed before instructing Rainey to go upstairs to her room. She then rattled of a list of five titles, and Rainey wondered just how long her sister planned to be in the hospital.

Rainey stayed on the phone until she found each new book. "You really need a Kindle," she muttered, shoving each into the purple and gray slouchy backpack she'd crocheted for Holi last fall.

"You know I'm a purist. Paper forever," Holi vowed.

"Yeah, but if you had a Kindle, you wouldn't need to wait on me." _And I wouldn't need to figure out how to get there,_ Rainey added silently.

"So... how are you going to get here?" Holi asked as if she'd read her mind. The forced casual tone of her voice was as subtle as a neon sign.

Rainey flopped down on Holi's bed and sighed. Archie jumped onto the mattress beside her and curled up with his head on her thigh. Running her fingers through his supple curls, she sighed again.

Her bike was out of the question. Lourdes Hospital was too far away. If Holi had been admitted to Lafayette General, she could bike there in about ten minutes — and do it without risking her life on Ambassador Caffery Parkway. But Holi's insurance listed Lourdes as the preferred provider, so when her bronchitis — the second bout she'd had this spring — upgraded to pneumonia, that was where they'd gone. By ambulance. And Rainey had taken the bus home.

"I could take the bus," she hedged. Rainey hated taking the bus, but if Holi couldn't drive her somewhere she absolutely had to go, and if she couldn't ride her bike to get there, she'd wrap herself up in her mocha-brown, worsted-weight, cashmere cape cardigan, put on her sunglasses, and walk to the bus stop in front of their neighborhood by Our Lady of Fatima Church.

"Why don't you just Uber?" Holi suggested, her voice softening in sympathy.

Rainey's response was immediate. "Because I've never done that," she snapped, and then immediately regretted it. "Holi, I'm sorry. It's just... you know how hard this is for me."

She heard Holi's sigh over the phone and then waited out the accompanying cough. "I know how hard this is for you, Rain," she said, and Rainey could hear the hard-edged, deep rooted love in her voice, and she knew she was about to get a lecture from her sister. "But as I've been lying here all morning — _not reading —_ I've been thinking that maybe it's a good thing I'm sick. Without me—"

"Don't say that. God—"

"Rainey," she interrupted. "Listen. Without me there to drive you, maybe you'll — I don't know — start thinking about driving a—"

"Fine. I'll Uber," Rainey bit out, stopping her sister's words and pulling them away from the subject. "I'll download the app, get a ride to the hospital, and bring you more books."

"Rainey, I didn't mean—"

"I'll be there as soon as I can," she said, cutting her off again. And because she felt bad about that, she added a quick "Love you" before disconnecting.

Rainey gripped the phone in her hand for a solid minute, petting Archie while she willed her breath to come slow. Then, pulling in a breath and releasing it evenly, she tapped the App Store, downloaded the Uber app, and filled in her profile and payment information. She opened the app and watched the little blue dot pulse over her neighborhood.

As she typed Lourdes Hospital into the _Where To?_ window, Rainey could feel her heart clutch without mercy. She hated being able to feel her own heartbeat. It seemed like a countdown. And the more she thought about that, the faster the damn thing went.

Without completing the request, she scooted out from under Archie's curly head, stuffed her phone in her back pocket, and sped across the hall from her sister's room into her own. Rainey dropped down on her knees beside the giant wicker basket she kept in one corner of her room for future projects. Skeins of yarn filled the basket to such an extent that a yarn avalanche seemed imminent. But Rainey didn't have to disturb the pile to find what she wanted.

The black cashmere was the softest yarn she'd ever handled. Rainey had no idea what she would do with it, but it was like feathers, buttery soft, and she hadn't been able to resist it when she'd touched it months ago at Jo-Ann Fabrics. Though the name of it was Midnight, it reminded her of raven wings, and touching it made her heart slow and her breath come even without her having to tell it to.

Most of her yarns had the same effect in her hands, but the Midnight's power was unrivaled when she was unraveled. Its softness reminded her of childhood Saturday morning breakfasts and her mother's favorite robe. For the hundredth time, she wished her mom and Kendall hadn't moved to Galveston last November.

It wasn't their fault. Rainey understood that. The oil industry had taken a hit, and Kendall was lucky to be transferred instead of laid off. Galveston wasn't that far. Just a four-hour drive. And Rainey wasn't a kid anymore. She was twenty-three. But that didn't matter. Some days, she really just wanted her mom.

Shaking her head to banish the pathetic thought, Rainey plucked out her phone again and tapped Request Ride.

# Chapter 3

" _M ais_, Jacques, you been playin' dat song two days, yeah," Pal said as Jacques descended the stairs Monday afternoon. "Soun' good, but I can't hear da words."

"Soun' sorrowful." The second voice, high pitched and nasally, could only be one other person.

"Morning, Floyd." Jacques nodded to their next-door neighbor and Pal's closest friend before turning to his grandfather. Floyd usually popped in two or three times a day, but he rarely missed his after-lunch cup of coffee with Pal. "No words yet. I'll play it for you when it's ready."

Pal shrugged mutely at Floyd. Jacques ignored their silent conversation. "How's Mrs. Netty?"

Floyd Cloutier pursed his lips. His face was a bed of wrinkles, but his eyes always shone. "Not too good. Better dan most. Dat hip's a bother."

"Words for the day?" Jacques asked, moving to the refrigerator for a soda. He grabbed his favorite. Swamp Pop Satsuma Fizz.

"For you? Books, bags, and blues." Floyd tipped his chin toward Pal. "Albert didn't like his words none."

Jacques had known Floyd and his wife Netty as long as he could remember. Floyd had a gift that defied understanding, but no one who knew him questioned or doubted it. For every person he'd meet on any given day, Floyd rattled off a list of three words that — as he explained it — just came to him. Those words were a kind of premonition for the day. Always alliterative, and often confusing, it usually gave people a _frisson_ when the foretold words popped into their lives.

It had happened to Jacques on countless occasions.

_"Dollar, D, and Dalmatian"_ had been particularly grim. He had been a junior in high school at the time, and he'd lost the first in a stupid bet. He made the second in chemistry. And he'd killed the third in Emmie Hartfield's driveway that afternoon. The bet, with his best friend Brady, was over if he could work up the courage to ask Emmie to Homecoming before lunch. He couldn't. The D was scrawled in red ink across a test on covalent bonds and, disgusted with himself over his cowardice and his stupidity, Jacques had driven to Emmie's house. The girl had been the object of his crush since the first day of school — and he'd shown his affections by hitting Tonks, Emmie's Dalmatian puppy, who had darted from the bushes into the path his truck as he pulled into the drive.

Needless to say, Emmie did not go with him to Homecoming.

Floyd's three words usually weren't so damning, but it was about a year before Jacques asked for his predictions again. But by then, he'd won Emmie's heart. It had only taken six months and a purebred Cocker Spaniel Jacques had worked all winter at Subway to purchase.

Emmie had named the puppy Olive because she was Jacques's peace offering. And then she'd dated him for three years.

Jacques shook the unbidden memory from his thoughts. "What were his three words?" he asked Floyd, grasping for anything to clear his head.

Floyd snickered through his nose, a squeaky sound he often made. "Pipes, pills, and piles."

Pal threw up his hands. "What you doin' dat for? Why you gotta tell him I got piles?"

Floyd's laughter ran away with him. "I didn't. You did, _mon ami!"'_

"Piles of what?" Jacques asked, frowning.

Floyd scrunched up his eyes and hooted at the ceiling. "You don' know what piles is, _cher?"_

Scowling, Pal swiped at Floyd and caught his knee with a smack. "Quit bein' _coo-yon,"_ he grumbled, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. "You had piles before you was even twenty-five?"

Wiping his eyes, Floyd sobered. "Naw, I guess maybe not." Then he frowned at Jacques. "Boo, piles is—"

Jacques shot out his hand. "Wait. Never mind. I don't want to know," he said. To his relief, his phone chimed with a ride request. He clicked _Accept_ and quickly popped the top on his soda. "Gotta go anyway."

Within six minutes, he pulled up in front of a rustic modern house, its walls unpainted cypress, and its inset porch spilling over with potted plants. A steady morning rain had darkened the natural wood, setting it apart from the rest of the neighborhood as much as its architecture did. The other houses on Oakview behind Fatima Church were more stately and traditional. But this one had character.

No one was waiting outside for him, which didn't surprise Jacques since it was raining. He picked up his phone and looked at the fare info. The rider had no rating information, and the spot for the first name just listed _R.M_., so Jacques guessed it was a fairly new account. He tapped the clipboard icon to call his rider, and just as he did, Jacques saw movement out of the corner of his eye.

A flash of black. Boots. Skirt. Umbrella.

And then the rear passenger door opened and glittering hazel eyes met his.

"Are you Jacques?" she asked, frowning a little, her plump lower lip vanishing between her teeth.

Jacques cleared his throat, his voice — the best thing about him — suddenly AWOL. "Uh... yeah... that's me."

"Sorry," she said, wrinkling her pixie nose. "I'm not really sure how this works. I've never Ubered before."

He watched her slide into his back seat, and he craned back to keep her in view. "The hard part's over," he said. Jacques glanced back at the house. A Mini Cooper sat in the open garage, but no one else emerged from the front door.

"Just you?" he asked, watching her retract her umbrella and shut the passenger door. She had a weighted-down backpack on one shoulder and a long-strapped satchel over the other.

She scooted into the middle seat and shook off the straps of both bags. "Just me," she said, and her eyes flickered to his before she looked away. "And I hate—"

Jacques waited, but she didn't finish. "You hate what?"

The girl gave a tight shake of her head and put on her seatbelt. "Never mind." Then she muttered almost inaudibly. "Let's get this over with."

So she was cute and maybe a little nervous. Both were reasons enough to keep her talking. "Let me guess," he mused, putting the car in reverse. "You're headed to Lourdes, so I'll bet you hate hospitals."

"Well, I mean... yeah, I don't like hospitals..." She scanned the back and side windows as though she were the one driving.

Jacques made sure the road was clear before pulling out. There wasn't a car in sight, but his passenger looked around like they were backing onto the Autobahn blindfolded.

He put the car in drive, but he allowed himself to steal a glance at her as he wove through Twin Oaks. Most of his riders weren't interested in small talk. They were content to keep their eyes locked to their phones and thank him quietly once they reached their destinations. Some, of course, were the extroverted, chatty type, and he was just as happy to humor them. He gave his passengers what they wanted, which was probably why he could boast a 4.9 rating on Uber.

This girl might not _want_ to talk, but it looked like she _needed_ to. This became obvious when he made a left onto Johnston Street, and he heard a smothered whimper from the back seat.

"You okay?" he asked, meeting her eyes in the rearview. He could see far too much white around her irises, and her lips had all but disappeared, but she nodded anyway.

So she was cute, nervous, and a terrible liar.

"You sure?"

This time she nodded before speaking. "Could you turn up the music, please?"

When he drove, he usually kept his music on shuffle, the volume turned low, and the balance in the front of the vehicle to keep from disturbing his passengers. And when he turned up the sound on Radiohead's "Karma Police," the last thing he expected to see was the easing of her face. The girl's eyes closed softly, and her shoulders lowered a fraction.

"Classic," she said under her breath, her eyes still closed. "I saw them in Austin in 2012."

Jacques felt his brows climb in admiration. "Cool. So, like a year after _King of Limbs_ released?" he asked, coming to a stop at the light on South College.

"Yeah... Hearing 'Codex' live moved me to tears." The softening in her voice made him glance up. In the reflection, he saw her gaze had moved to the left window, but he could tell that she wasn't seeing the scenery. He thought about the lyrics of the song, the way Thom Yorke sang of innocence — as though he missed innocence like one misses a friend.

When they stopped at the light at Doucet, he saw she still stared, seeing something he couldn't. She didn't look nervous anymore, but whatever had claimed her eyes — a memory, a feeling — didn't seem happy, and Jacques found himself wanting to lead her away from it.

"I've never seen them in concert, but that wouldn't suck," he said, and he watched her blink back to the present.

She offered him a half smile in the mirror.

Even by half, she had an arresting smile that hit Jacques with a jolt.

Her phone bleeped with a text then, and she pulled her eyes away. He drove. "Karma Police" ended, and his iTunes library, which held more than eight hundred songs, switched over to Pearl Jam's "Just Breathe." Jacques fingered the opening chords on the steering wheel and hummed along with Eddie Vedder.

The light rain fell, slowing traffic, but at least the roads were clear. As the song reached its refrain, Jacques realized he was singing, not humming. He stopped and glanced in the rearview mirror to find the girl's eyes on him again. The look they held was penetrating but unreadable. Had his singing annoyed her? He silently cursed himself. Uber riders didn't want a serenade. His steering wheel wasn't a microphone.

But right after he clamped his mouth shut, she spoke up. "You sound _just_ like him."

Jacques's cheeks grew warm. Other people had compared his voice to the American rock god that was Eddie Vedder. It had never made him blush.

_She's prettier than other people,_ he decided. And she was pretty. Beautiful, in fact. Her honey-brown hair was pulled into a barrette, but a single loose curl fell against her cheek, the forerunner of those that spilled down her back.

"Thanks," he managed, his eyes connecting with hers again in the rearview.

"It's a good song," she added. She was right. For some reason, Jacques had never thought of covering it, but picturing it now, the idea flung a blanket of chills over his shoulders. With the right crowd in the right place, it would bring down the house.

He brought his eyes back to the road an instant before a red Dodge Durango knifed into his lane, tires screaming. Jacques hit the brakes, and the rear of the Impala sailed over the wet asphalt for a terrifying moment before he steered into the spin and corrected. Horns blared around them, and he narrowly missed the car one lane over, but he didn't miss the cry of fright from his passenger or the sound of objects tumbling and spilling onto the floor of the back seat.

"Jesus," he hissed. When he knew it was safe, he looked back at her, making sure she was okay.

Her eyes were closed, her face the color of ash.

_"Hold you 'til I die... Meet you on the other side..."_ Eddie Vedder sang.

She did not move. She just sat, rigid and pale, wearing a look of trauma. Jacques considered pulling over. "Hey, you okay?"

He watched her eyes flutter open, but they didn't lose the look of terror.

Jacques put his focus on the road and immediately ground his teeth as he spotted the Durango ahead of them, weaving in and out of traffic, the driver oblivious to the threat he posed on the wet roads. "You're all good... right?"

Shifting his gaze between the traffic and the mirror, Jacques caught her blinking half-a-dozen times. Drawing in her lips, she gave a jerky nod, but she looked far from okay. The urge to reassure her overtook him.

"I promise, I'll get you there in one piece," he told her. He forced a smile at her reflection, and the tightness around her mouth and eyes softened.

"I was sure we were going to hit him," she said on a shaky breath. Then she blew out a sigh. "We _should_ have hit him. That was some quality driving."

His own relief surprised him. Not because they'd missed an accident, but because she clearly knew the near miss wasn't his fault. That he had not been careless. Because as far as Jacques as concerned, there were few worse things than being careless while in control of two tons of metal.

Behind him, she folded over and began picking up the items that had spilled onto the floor. A quick glance showed him they were paperbacks. Romance novels, by the looks of the covers. _Steamy_ romance novels.

_Bodice rippers._

He couldn't remember where he'd heard the term, but bodice ripping was definitely what those book covers promised. The stack of books she now stuffed back into the backpack was far from small.

Had she read all those books? _Would_ she read all of them? Did she read them for the bodice ripping?

This onslaught of questions — and the image of the beautiful girl in his back seat reading bodice rippers — left him almost dizzy, so Jacques swallowed and tried to focus on the music. "This is How it Feels" by Richard Ashcroft followed Pearl Jam, and he made himself hum along. The light rain became a squall just as he pulled into the hospital parking lot. Luckily, Lourdes had a covered drive in front of the entrance.

He came to a stop near the automatic doors and turned, facing the back seat. He wanted to say something to her, to find out more about her, but the right words abandoned him. She slung the straps of both bags over her shoulders and cast her eyes around the car, finally meeting his, frowning.

"Do I... What do I do now?" she asked, looking a little lost. "I don't have to pay you, right?"

Jacques smile had a will of its own. "Nah, you're good. Hopefully, you'll give me five stars on your app."

She smiled back at him, and the sight of it made his chest rise. "I'll give you five stars," she said with certainty. She opened the door and started to scoot off the seat.

"Don't forget your umbrella," he said, nodding to it on the seat beside her.

He watched her cheeks color. "Right." She bent to retrieve it and met his eyes again. "Thanks, Jacques."

And then she was gone, but the sound of his name in her voice seemed to linger in the car. In spite of himself, Jacques watched her trot to the hospital doors — her boots light and fast on the concrete, her skirt dancing with a tempting swish — and then she disappeared inside.

He'd never hesitated after dropping off a fare, but he hesitated now. Sighing in resignation, he pressed the gas pedal, and the car moved forward.

And something in his back seat slid back along the floor before stopping with a curious _thunk._

Jacques pulled the Impala to the curb, threw it in park, and craned back for a look. And there, unmistakable, lay a bodice ripper. Without hesitation, Jacques reached around his seat, snatched up the book, and killed the car's engine — not caring in the least that he'd stopped in a No Parking Zone. In the next instant, he was out of the car and running full tilt toward the hospital entrance.

As soon as he was through the automatic doors, he scanned left and right for her black-clad figure. He moved farther in, following the signs for the elevator.

"Hey—" he called as he watched the elevator doors close in front of her. She'd been looking down at the control panel as the doors met. He doubted she'd even heard him. Jacques stopped in front of the double doors, watching the numbers above light up.

The elevator halted on the fourth floor.

He waited and then watched as it moved down to three. And then he took off for the stairwell to his right, taking two steps at a time until he emerged breathless on the fourth floor. Corridors stretched out in front of him in three directions. Panting, Jacques scanned the first two, seeing no sign of her before moving his eyes to the left and spotting the girl all the way at the end of the hall before she turned right and slipped away again.

He thought better of breaking into a run. Running in a hospital might attract unwelcome attention. And if someone questioned him, what would he say? He didn't know her name. He didn't know the reason she was here. All he had was a romance novel. He looked down at the book in his hand. The cover featured a couple in period dress wrapped in a passionate kiss, behind them a stormy sea. The man, a hulking beast with jet-black hair, had his hand behind the woman's raised, white-stockinged thigh, a hint of bare flesh peeking out from her emerald skirts just beyond his fingers.

_The Wayward One,_ the title proclaimed, surely referenced the swooning blonde. She looked pretty wayward. Jacques wondered if the girl he chased longed to be touched like—

"You lost, honey?"

A nurse in blue scrubs had come up from behind him. Jacques watched her take in the book cover before giving him an amused smile. "Well, that looks _ interesting."_

He cleared his throat. "I'm not lost... and it's not mine."

The nurse, still grinning, gave a sigh. "What a shame," she murmured as she continued her way down the hall.

Jacques unglued his feet from the floor and followed the hallway. He slowed when he reached a dead end, expecting to see another hallway where the girl had turned right, but he was met with a row of private rooms. Had she walked all the way to the last one? The second to last one? He studied the names on the patient doors as if this would give him some kind of clue. The last one read "H. Smith" and the second to last "B. Reeves." He stared, frozen.

_What the hell am I doing?_

He was about to turn on his heel and leave when the second to last door flew open.

"It must have fallen under the seat." The girl burst from the room, phone in hand, facing backward and talking over her shoulder. "There's an Uber Help Li— Oh!"

She saw him then and halted in her tracks. The heavy hospital room door swung closed behind her, knocking her forward. Jacques caught her by the elbow before she could slam into him. And for an instant, she braced a hand against his chest.

"Sorry—" She righted herself. The hand over his heart was gone, but he could still feel it.

"You okay?" he asked, making sure she was steady before releasing her elbow. When he did, he could still feel that too.

"Yeah, I'm—" Her eyes flew to the book and then back up to his. "Oh my God. Thank you! You're a lifesaver."

The book left his hand, and she clutched it to her chest, her look of relief breaking into a stunning smile.

"I'm glad—"

"My sister was about to kill me," she plowed on, bringing the back of her hand to her forehead. "I had no idea if I'd be able to reach you. Jacques, you are the best!"

She remembered his name. It amazed him that she remembered his name. Most of his riders forgot it the moment they stepped into his car. He loved that she remembered it. Technically, he could leave now, but he wasn't about to. Against all odds, he'd found her in the six-story hospital that likely held hundreds of people. He wasn't about to walk away until he found out more about her.

"So the books are for your sister?" he asked, nodding toward the cover. She looked down at the scandalous image, her cheeks went scarlet, and she burst out laughing.

The sound, weightless and bright like a tambourine, fell around him. He smiled.

"Um, yeah. Historical romance isn't really my thing."

"Oh." Jacques wondered if she heard the disappointment in his voice. But he rallied. "What _is_ your thing?"

Her eyes rounded a little, and she tried to hold down her smile. "Um... suspense... romantic suspense."

He felt his brow arch. "Romantic suspense?" That sounded a lot more exciting than corsets and petticoats.

"Yeah... books are... my escape."

_What do you need to escape?_ The question nearly leaped from his mouth, and he remembered the look of trauma she'd worn after the near miss they'd had in traffic. Did her life frighten her? Was she safe? The urge to stand closer to her, to shield her came out of nowhere.

"Books are a good escape," he ventured, testing the waters. "If your life's intense."

Her head drew back in surprise. "Intense? I don't think anyone could say that about my life." And as he watched, her cheeks colored again. She glanced down at the book and then back up at him. "Thank you so much for getting this back to me. If you wait right here, I'll get my purse and give you—"

"Oh, no," Jacques said, raising a hand. He couldn't let her tip him. That would suck. "That's not necessary. I—"

"I insist." She put her hand on the door lever, and before she could push it, he covered it with his own.

"No, really. That's not—" He stalled, got a hold of himself, and asked for what he wanted. "What's your name?"

She blinked at him for a second. She looked down at their hands, hers completely hidden under his. Jacques let go. Then she met his eyes again.

"Rainey," she said softly. "Rainey Reeves."

Rainey Reeves. It sounded like music. He could write a song called "Rainey Reeves." A damn good one.

"That's a pretty name. It sounds like a song," he said, smiling.

Rainey rolled her hazel eyes, looking half-amused and half-annoyed. "Yeah, my dad's a musician. I think he thought it was fitting."

Jacques frowned, the thought dawning on him too incredible to be true.

_Books, bags, and blues,_ Floyd had said.

"Rainey Reeves? Is your dad... Is your dad Doc Dylan Reeves?"

# Chapter 4

She couldn't escape him.

No matter what, living blues legend Doc Dylan Reeves commanded the spotlight — even from five hundred miles away.

On a sigh, Rainey nodded. "Yep. That's my dad."

"He's a genius," he said. Then he shook his head. "I mean the blues aren't really _my thing_ , but what that man can do with a guitar..." His voice trailed off in awe.

Which was too bad. The Uber driver was __ cute. So cute. And the way he'd talked her down in the car when she was silently freaking out had been more than sweet. It had taken all the courage she could muster just to climb into his car and ride with a stranger across town in the first place. When that Durango asshole had nearly sideswiped them, Rainey had almost suffered a heart attack.

For what seemed like ages after, she hadn't been in the Uber at all. She had been trapped behind the wheel of her old Jeep Wrangler, driving through her worst nightmare. The rain... the screech of tires... the sickening loss of traction...

It wasn't until she heard his voice cut through the workings of her mind that she felt centered. Safe. By the time they reached the hospital, she'd stopped shaking, but the incident made one fact undeniable.

Despite her sister's prodding, Rainey Reeves was not ready to drive again. If the experience had taught her anything, she might never be.

It had also taught her that a stranger's deep voice resonating through the car could bring her back to the present better than any meditation technique she'd ever tried. So it was a shame that same stranger had gone all doe-eyed at the mention of her father. Because who didn't?

Except, he wasn't really _doe- eyed._

Yes, his eyes were a deep brown, and his lashes so thick they gave him almost a smoky appearance. But they weren't innocent and clueless. They were bottomless. Timeless. Even cloaked in awe and respect, the look they held was grounded.

And that voice. It was like having a sub-woofer pressed to her chest.

She tucked Holi's book into the crook of her left arm and stuck out her right hand. "Like I said, Rainey Reeves, and you are Jacques...?"

His hand engulfed hers, and those deep, serious eyes smiled. "Gilchrist. Jacques Gilchrist."

With her palm pressed to his, Rainey realized she hadn't so much as grazed the hand of a man in months. Not counting Ash, Holi's boyfriend. And Ash definitely did not count. She liked him, of course. He was quality brother-in-law material — should he ever decide to propose and Holi ever decide to accept — but except for passing the salt or handing her the remote, even the times he'd touched her were pretty limited.

But Jacques Gilchrist's hand — for the three seconds she held it — felt heavenly. She would have held on longer, but he was saying something.

"...sister's here?"

"Huh? What?" She released his hand, and he used it to point to the door behind her.

"Your sister's a patient? Is she okay?"

"Y-yes," she stammered. "Yes, she's a patient, and, yes, she's going to be okay. She has pneumonia."

And Rainey found herself shaking her head because why on earth was Holi so sickly of late? Rainey had been plying her with vitamins and natural supplements for months, since the first of her cough had come on in February, but Holi just couldn't seem to shake it. Rainey's guess was she was working too hard and sleeping too little. Of course, when she told her sister that, Holi always said the same thing.

_"One of us has to work, Rain."_

"Are you going to hang here a while? Or do you need a ride back?" Jacques asked.

Was that a hopeful look in his dark eyes? Rainey hardly knew. It had also been a long time since a guy so much as gave her a second glance.

Because she almost never left the house.

"Oh. Um... I'm going to stay with her for a little while," she said, her stomach clenching with unfamiliar excitement even at the thought of riding back with him. "The boredom is killing her."

He gave her a lopsided smile that was all kinds of cute. "That explains all the books."

Rainey's answering smile was full-scale. "Yeah, that'll last her a day or two, and then she'll be sending me to the library or Barnes & Noble."

Jacques tilted his head to the side, and his eyebrows rose just a little. "Well, then maybe you'll need a ride," he said with a shrug.

Her cheeks flushed hot, and she tried to pass it off with a nod. "Maybe so."

And then he took a step toward her, even though he was already standing pretty close. Rainey felt her breath come shallow.

"But in case you don't..." His incredible voice rumbled low. "Maybe you could just give me your number."

Five minutes later, in a daze, she sat slumped in the chair beside Holi's bed. The unfinished slipper lay in her lap, but she couldn't focus on it.

What the hell had just happened? She'd given a guy her number. Because he'd _asked_ for it. Rainey couldn't believe it. No one would believe it. She turned to look at her sister who already had her nose in _The Wayward One._

"You won't believe what just happened," she said.

"Hmm?" Holi responded, but she didn't pull her eyes from the page. Typical. It was probably the most annoying thing about her sister. Once she had a book in her lap, the rest of the world fell away. And it was probably the reason she was with someone like Ash. Adam David Ashy was not a man easily ignored.

"The Uber driver just asked for my number."

Holi slammed the book shut and shot her gaze to Rainey. "You're kidding."

Rainey shook her head, and she watched a wicked smile crawl across her sister's face before Holi succumbed to a coughing fit. Once she could breathe again, Holi cleared her throat, shook her head, and said, "I was about to say I should get sick more often, but this sucks."

Rainey arched a brow. "Not funny."

"Oh, c'mon," Holi sighed. "At least you're out of the house. One day out in the world, and a guy asks your number. That should be encouraging... So, was he hot?"

Biting her lip so she wouldn't smile, Rainey only shrugged.

Holi gasped. "He _was_ hot. Rain, what was his name?"

Rainey studied the ceiling and asked herself why she'd said anything. She knew better, but it was so rare that she had news of her own. Reading everything she could get her hands on meant that she always had something to talk about, but not much of it had to do with her. And Holi could be relentless with her encouragement, so if she knew Jacques's name, she'd never stop slipping it in conversation.

Chances were he'd never call anyway.

"Tell you what. If he ever calls, I'll tell you his name."

"You're no fun," Holi accused before her cough returned. Holi's usual caramel-brown coloring was even more washed out today than it had been yesterday. And yesterday, she'd been lightheaded and struggling to breathe.

Rainey winced. "Aren't you getting better?"

Holi nodded, but she still coughed.

_Liar,_ Rainey thought. But Holi had been on IV antibiotics for more than twenty-four hours now. She should have started to improve. Shouldn't she?

"Don't look so worried," Holi scolded.

"What did the doctor say?"

Holi gave her a tired look. "No doctor since yesterday, but the nurses are great."

As a development officer for United Way, Holi knew hard work when she saw it. If she said the nurses were great, it meant she saw them busting their behinds for her and their other patients. "I'm sure someone will see me later during rounds. Maybe they'll send me home."

Rainey found herself hoping they wouldn't. Her sister looked terrible, and Rainey wouldn't know what to do with her if they sent her home. She was about to say as much when a knock sounded at the door.

"Come in—" Holi called, the words choking off in a cough.

A doctor, tall and thin as a reed, poked his tufted gray head around the door. "Seems I've found the right room," he said lightly, smiling just a little.

Rainey stood and drew back from Holi's bed, relieved that someone with expertise was finally there to help.

"I'm Dr. Roberts. How are you feeling, Ms. Reeves?" he asked, stepping into the room and setting a tablet on the rolling table by Holi's bed. He took up the stethoscope draped around his neck before she even answered.

"Not great, Doc," Holi admitted.

Rainey bit her lip. Holi almost never cried _"Uncle."_ Even the day before when Rainey had insisted they call the ambulance. That was when Holi's lips had turned gray, her fever had reached 102, and she was wheezing for breath.

Dr. Roberts hooked the earpieces to his ears and pressed the diaphragm of the stethoscope to her chest. "Slow, deep breaths," he said.

Rainey knew Holi couldn't take slow, deep breaths without coughing, which was exactly what happened. Dr. Roberts helped her sit forward so he could listen as he held the instrument to her back, frowning the whole time.

Rainey sat on the end of the bed and put a reassuring hand on Holi's blanketed foot. Of course, she wasn't sure if she was trying to reassure her sister or herself.

The doctor draped his stethoscope around his neck again and reached for his penlight. "You say this respiratory infection has been lingering for some time now?" he asked, using his thumb to draw down Holi's lower eyelid and shining the light on the exposed flesh.

Rainey frowned now. It should have been pink. The tissue under her eyelid should have been pink, but instead, it was pale.

"As you know, we did some blood work when we admitted you yesterday," he said, clicking off the penlight and sitting on the edge of the bed. Rainey sucked in a breath. This wasn't good. A doctor wouldn't sit on the edge of the bed if the news was good. "I'm concerned about your numbers. Your white blood cell count is quite low, which by itself doesn't really alarm me..."

By itself? Did that mean there was more to alarm him? Holi's foot wriggled under her hand, and Rainey realized she was gripping it tightly.

"A low white blood cell count could be a result of infection, and we know you have one of those," he said diplomatically, but Rainey knew he was just leading up to something else. Something worse. Her heart thudded a beat of dread in her chest. "But your red blood cells and platelet counts are also low — low enough to make me want to look into underlying causes of the pneumonia."

The room had gone airless. Rainey gulped for a moment before finding enough oxygen to speak. "What kind of causes?"

The old doctor gave her a sympathetic look. One couldn't call it a smile. Rainey wished he would smile. Because that would mean everything was going to be okay.

"Things like leukemia, aplastic anemia, or autoimmune disorders." He looked back at Holi. "I'd like to order a bone marrow biopsy. That should give us the answers we need to move forward."

Holi's eyes went round. "Biopsy?" For the first time, she looked scared. It was a sight Rainey almost never saw, and it made her own fear — ever-present and quick to respond — triple in size.

The doctor nodded. "It's a procedure that takes about ten minutes. We'll give you a local anesthetic, and another doctor — a hematologist — will make a small incision in your hip and use a needle to get a tissue sample of the bone marrow."

Rainey watched Holi wince, and she could almost feel a needle the size of a drinking straw tunnel into her hipbone.

The doctor smiled then at Holi. "I know it sounds bad, but Dr. Lambert is the best around. You might be a little sore for a few days, but I promise you, if you give her ten minutes, you'll be in and out, and back in your room."

"In my room?" Holi asked. "You mean I have to stay?"

Dr. Roberts pressed his lips together and nodded again. "Afraid so. The low blood cell counts, the fever, and infection — all of those combined can put you at great risk. Life-threatening risk, Ms. Reeves," he said, settling a long-fingered hand on her arm. "I'm also going to order a course of antivirals and a blood transfusion to help us fight this infection."

Rainey's hand flew to her mouth as Holi's eyes bugged again. "A blood transfusion. Are you kidding me—" A coughing fit ended her protest and continued on long past it. Dr. Roberts turned to the little table beside her bed and poured her a cup of water from the plastic pitcher.

_I should have done that,_ Rainey realized, trying to get a hold of her fear so she could actually be of some use.

"Ms. Reeves—"

"Holi," she rasped, clearing her throat. "Please, call me Holi."

Dr. Roberts nodded again. "Holi, with numbers where yours are, even with antibiotics, it's very hard for your body to fight infection. I'm also guessing you've been feeling pretty tired and run down lately."

Holi blinked in a way that told Rainey the truth. She had been feeling tired and run down, but she hadn't admitted it.

"A transfusion will help you feel stronger. And then when we know what we're dealing with, we'll move on from there." The doctor got to his feet. "I'll get you on the schedule for the biopsy as soon as I can. May not be until tomorrow."

Then he looked at Rainey before bringing his eyes back to Holi. "Are you sisters?"

"Yes, we are," Holi muttered weakly. Her whole body seemed to sink into the bed with the gravity of this news. Or maybe the undeniable evidence that she was truly sick — and not just with pneumonia — made it harder for Holi to pretend. She looked absolutely frail now.

"I usually suggest bringing someone with you for the biopsy. Distraction and comfort help a bit."

Rainey suppressed a shudder at the thought of Holi needing distraction while someone jabbed a needle in her hip, but she spoke up at once. "I'll be here."

"No." Holi shook her head. "Ash'll do it."

"Holi, I want to—"

Holi pinned her with a stare. "No, Rain. You don't need to see something like that. Ash can totally handle it."

"But—"

Holi's merciless cough ended her protest, but this time, Rainey wasn't about to be outdone by the doctor. She offered her the cup of water and a tissue for Holi to wipe her eyes, which watered when she coughed so violently.

"Thank you," Holi croaked, meeting her sister's eyes and seeming to thank her for more than just the water and tissue. She was thanking her for accepting defeat.

Because she'd lost. She was a loser. Rainey was a weak and useless loser who couldn't be relied on to help anyone else because she was too fragile. She'd always been too fragile.

The doctor explained a little more about the blood transfusion, which they would perform immediately. Rainey listened, but she also bit the inside of her cheek and tried not to give ground to the tears that wanted to form behind her eyes. When Dr. Roberts left them, Rainey tried to busy herself by stacking the books on Holi's bedside.

"Don't sulk," Holi said.

"I'm not sulking," she said too quickly. Rainey couldn't make herself face her sister.

"You know why I did that, right?" Holi asked gently.

Rainey brushed invisible dust from the stack of books. "You think I can't handle it." She tried to keep her voice steady, flat. But even she could hear the hurt in her words.

Holi sighed. "I just think you don't need to go through that. I mean... there may be blood... and pain." Her voice softened, and still it felt like a blade piercing Rainey's gut.

She turned away, facing the door, and screwed her eyes shut, silently ordering herself not to cry.

"But I still need you," Holi said.

_Right. To fetch books and water the plants and go to the grocery store._

"In fact, I need you to call Ash." The tremor in her voice made Rainey spin on her heel. "I'm scared, Rain. Can you call him and tell him what's up?"

Shoving her self-centered feelings aside, Rainey reached for her sister's hands and sunk into the chair beside her. "Of course," she said, talking past the lump in her throat. "Of course I'll call him."

# Chapter 5

Four times.

The morning after he'd met Rainey Reeves, Jacques sent her a text to see if he could take her to lunch. It was approaching noon, and she hadn't responded. He knew this because he'd checked his phone four times that morning.

Which was four more times than he'd ever let himself check his phone. For anyone. For any reason.

Jacques had learned young that chasing after someone who didn't want to be caught was a job only a fool would undertake. He'd watched his father be that fool, and Jacques decided long ago he wouldn't follow in the man's footsteps.

So when he caught himself checking his phone a fifth time after he dropped a rider off at the Volkswagen dealership on Johnston Street, he knew he needed a distraction. He allowed himself to stop at Guitar Center on his way home. He needed a set of strings, and he could always use an extra pick, but he really wanted to look over the store's bulletin board for musician postings and leave his own notice in hopes of assembling another band.

Thinking about building another band was an excellent way, Jacques decided, to stop thinking about the girl he'd picked up yesterday. The girl who'd made him lose his voice at first sight, made him blush — of all things — when she'd said he sounded like Eddie Vedder, and praised his driving skills when he'd almost gotten her killed.

Stepping into a music store, whether it was Guitar Center, or Lafayette Music, or Prof Erny's, always gave him the same feeling — like a shot of caffeine. They all smelled the same, like wood polish, crisp paper, and ozone. Clean and full of promise. Jacques walked through the entrance, inhaled through his nose, and felt his mind clear.

Jacques borrowed a Sharpie and a sheet of paper from the cashier — a kid who looked too young to be behind a shop counter before the end of a school day — and he neatly penned a notice. He tacked it up on the message board and scanned the other flyers with waning hope. Zilch. No drummers looking for a gig. No bass players trying to connect. But then his eye fell on a hot pink sheet of paper tacked to the board.

* * *

ALL FEMALE BAND

SEEKS MALE VOCALIST

TO ENHANCE SOUND

WE'RE NOT FUCKING KIDDING

ASSHOLES NEED NOT APPLY

* * *

Jacques barked a laugh. Who the hell was this? The band's name wasn't included on the flyer, nor were the names of any of the members. He stared at the sheet of paper, telling himself he'd be crazy to take it seriously.

He wrote his own songs, and he had his own sound, a rough, soulful, alternative sound he was trying to establish as a brand that was recognizable and sought after. Branding, he knew from his two years in UL's business program, was critical for product success, and even though Jacques thought of himself as an artist first, he knew if he was going to make it beyond bars and music festivals, he had to see his music as a business too.

Still, the flyer piqued his curiosity. What would he lose by calling the number?

He tapped the digits onto his keypad, walked out of the store, and dialed.

A girl answered on the third ring. "Yeah?" Her voice was a honeyed rasp, like early Tegan and Sara, and Jacques could already hear music in it.

"Hi... I'm calling about the band. You looking for a singer?" he asked, hoping to sound non-committal and skeptical, because, of course, he was both. Even if he was also desperate.

"Maybe," the girl said, sounding more non-committal and skeptical. Even a little rude.

He'd bet money she was the one who'd penned the caustic notice. When she didn't offer more, Jacques considered hanging up, but something made him press further. Whether it was the intrigue or his lack of options, he wasn't sure.

"What's the name of your band? Have I seen you perform anywhere?" he asked, deciding to vet her if she wasn't going to vet him.

"Heroine," she said.

Leaning against the side of his car, Jacques waited.

"Like the drug?" he asked finally.

"No. With an 'e'. As in 'a brave woman' or 'the central female in a story.'"

He blinked.

"And you want a guy to join your band?" he asked, wondering if he was being pranked.

"Only the right guy."

Stupidly, he waited for her to elaborate. When she didn't, he sighed. This was going nowhere fast.

"What constitutes being the right guy?" Jacques thought of himself as a patient man, but he felt that virtue waning as he spoke to the girl.

"Not an asshole, an egomaniac, a homophobe, a narcissist, or a racist." She listed each item rapid fire, almost startling him with the vehemence in her voice.

"O...kay... that's a list of things you _don't_ want," he said evenly. "And, frankly, no one should want them. Now list what you _are_ looking for."

The line was quiet for a moment.

"Talent. Respect. Teamwork. And, preferably, a baritone or at least a voice that's deeper than mine."

Jacques found himself grinning. "I'm a baritone bass."

"Yeah, that's obvious," she said without humor.

His grin faded. He opened the door to the Impala and dropped inside. "I can't say I've heard of Heroine."

"We're pretty new," she hedged.

He frowned again. "Done any gigs?"

"Um..." It was the first time she'd sounded unsure. "...yeah. We've played at the Hook and Boil..."

"In Broussard?" Jacques didn't think the restaurant even had a stage.

"And The Cajun Heartland State Fair..."

He felt his eyebrows climb.

"And a prom — I mean, a private party," she quickly amended.

"D-did you just say 'a prom?'" Jacques nearly choked on a laugh. Who the hell was this girl?

"Yeah. So?" she asked, hostility lacing her tone.

He fired up the engine and prepared to end the call. "Wow. Okay. You know what, maybe this was a bad ide—"

"Well, who are _you?_ What gigs have _you_ played recently?" she snapped.

"I'm Jacques Gilchrist," he said calmly. "I was with Epoch before we broke up, and my last gig was—"

"You're _Jacques Gilchrist?_ " she asked, her raspy voice now hushed.

"Yeah. Who are _you?"_ His patience was nearly gone, but the sudden change in her tone made what remained just enough to keep him on the line.

"Um... I'm Kate. Kate Crawford," she said. "I'm lead vocals and guitar. My sister Kara is on drums and synth, and my girl Des plays bass."

Jacques decided to give Kate Crawford a taste of her own medicine, so he waited to see what she'd say next.

"Look... I'm not gonna lie to you. We're new, alright?" she admitted. "And we're young... but we're good."

Jacques narrowed his eyes. "How young?"

"Des and I are nineteen. Kara's eighteen. She's still a senior—"

"In _high school?"_ Disbelief pealed through his voice. _What the hell?_

"Yeah? So? After she graduates next month, we'll officially be a _college band,"_ she stressed, her snark returning. "And we're _good._ As in _really_ good."

Jacques shook his head. "I'm sure you are, but—"

"I'm texting you a link to our YouTube channel."

"I don't think that's nec—"

"Too late."

Indeed, he heard the whoop of an incoming text on his phone.

"Just listen for three minutes. If you think we suck, you can roll on. If you like what you hear, call back," she ordered. "That is, if you're not an asshole or the prospect of rockin' with three younger girls — two of which only dig girls and the other who's practically engaged to her high school sweetheart — doesn't turn you into an asshole."

Jacques felt his mouth open and close, but no words came to his aid.

"You cool with that, big shot?" Kate Crawford's voice snapped like a rubber band, and Jacques felt its sting.

But he was cool with that. For a reason he couldn't fathom, he liked Kate Crawford of the fledgling band Heroine, and he found himself hoping he'd also like what he heard on the YouTube channel she'd sent him.

But she didn't need to know that.

"Guess so. If I have time to give it a listen, and I see that you're not full of BS, I'll give you a call."

"Fab," she growled. And the line went dead.

Jacques pulled the phone away from his ear and stared at it. Then he shook his head, laughing.

But before he could tap the link, his phone lit up with a ride request.

"Holy fuck," he muttered as he read the pick-up destination. Lourdes Hospital. He accepted the request and tapped the clipboard icon on the top right of his screen just to be sure. He grinned when he saw the Oakview address. _R.M._ It was Rainey Reeves.

Jacques made a quick left out of the parking lot and changed lanes to turn right onto Ambassador.

What did it mean that she hadn't responded to his text but had ordered another ride?

Nearing the hospital entrance, he spotted Rainey immediately, and — inconveniently — his heart sped up. As he approached, he saw she was wearing exactly the same clothes she'd had on the day before. He pulled up to the curb and caught a glimpse of her face through the windows. Her color was washed out. Ashen shadows stained the skin under her eyes.

To his horror, Jacques realized she'd been in the hospital the last twenty-four hours, and by the looks of her, it had been a long night.

She opened the door to the back seat with a faraway cast to her gaze. And when she ducked her head inside and met his eyes, she gave a jolt of surprise as if she hadn't expected him.

"H-hi," she said, frowning. She looked down at her phone, blinked in realization at the screen, and looked back at him. "Sorry... I'm kind of out of it."

Clearly lost, she looked like she'd had no idea he'd be driving her again.

A protective urge swelled in his chest. "You okay?" he asked as she sunk into his back seat.

Rainey tilted her head back on the headrest. "Yeah... fine," she muttered.

She was anything but fine. Beautiful — even though she looked exhausted — but hardly fine.

He should have put the car in drive and moved away from the curb, but, watching her, he couldn't bring himself to do that.

"You sure?"

Her watched her close her eyes and run her slender hand over her forehead. "I just want to go home," she murmured, almost inaudibly. He wouldn't make her say it twice. Without another word, he put the car in gear and drove. But he kept glancing at her in the rearview.

Just as he turned right onto Ambassador, heard a soft slap, and he looked back to see Rainey's hands fisting through her hair, her fingers white-knuckled from the strain, her jaw clenched in anguish.

"Why..." Her voice sounded choked. "...why do shitty things happen to good people while shitty people get a pass?"

Jacques resisted the temptation to pull over. Instead, he kept driving and peeked back at her. "Wanna tell me what's wrong?" he asked gently.

She met his eyes in the mirror and dropped her hands, but he could see she was fighting back tears. Rainey shook her head. But then a moment later, she spoke, her voice a little more even. A little stronger.

"My sister's sick."

"With pneumonia? She doing worse?" he asked, recalling their conversation the day before.

In the mirror, she held his gaze with a hint of surprise. "You remembered."

Jacques sniffed a laugh. "Yeah, it was only yesterday."

She watched him for a second, and as she did, he saw something change in her eyes, but he couldn't place what it was.

"It's... not just pneumonia. She found out this morning she has something else... aplastic anemia." Rainey looked away, shaking her head. "I've never even heard of it, but apparently, it can kill you."

He blew out a breath. No wonder she looked exhausted.

"That is shitty," he agreed.

They stopped at the light at Settler's Trace. "I'm sorry," she said.

He craned back to look at her over his shoulder. "What for?"

The side of her mouth turned up just a fraction. "You sent me a text yesterday, and I didn't respond," she said, her hazel eyes locking with his. "I actually didn't see it until about three o'clock this morning, and I figured I'd seem crazy answering it then."

He felt his mouth twitch. Relief settled in his spine. "Not in my world."

She frowned a little. "What?"

Jacques pointed his index finger skyward and rotated it, indicating the car. "Uber drivers have late-nights."

"Oh," she said, giving him a tired smile. "I guess so... Well, I'm sorry for not texting back. It's been a crazy twenty-four hours."

"I believe it." He nodded. "It's okay."

Her eyes softened, and her cheeks colored. "I would have, though."

Before Jacques could respond to that promising remark, the car behind them let out a blaring honk. He jerked back around. The light had changed, and they were holding up traffic. Hitting the gas, he let himself feel the slow slide of warmth that ran down his chest at her words.

He glanced at the mirror. Rainey was leaning back again, her eyes closed. Now was not the time to ask her out. But he would. In a day or two.

Traffic choked as they approached Johnston Street, and Jacques slowed.

"I need a distraction." Her voice came out thready and tired.

He smiled. He'd thought she'd fallen asleep because she hadn't moved. Her eyes remained closed, but the corners of her mouth tipped up slightly as she apparently waited for him to respond.

"Want me to turn up the music?" he asked, putting his fingers to the dial, the low, somber notes of a cello following those of a guitar.

"Yeah," she murmured. "I've never heard this."

He hadn't heard the Los Campesinos! song in while, but he warned her anyway before the vocals started. "It's kind of intense."

She kept her eyes closed. "Turn it up."

So he did, hoping the mood of the lyrics wouldn't be too much for her. The depression. The frustration.

He listened to the words, not singing along this time, though he'd memorized the lyrics years before. He'd play the song on his guitar up in his room again and again. The tension building and building until he could scream the words.

* * *

_" This thing hurts... like... hell..._

_BUT WHAT DID YOU EXPECT?!"_

* * *

Her eyes were open now, but she wasn't looking back at him. She was listening intently, as the cymbals crashed and the voices rose, picturing, he imagined, _"a thousand years in perfect symmetry."_

He had to bring his focus back to the road, so he couldn't read her face anymore. He could only relive what the song had meant to him in his late teens when he was still so angry at his parents. At both of them. And he would play songs like "One Step Closer," "Gray Street," and "Enter Sandman" to leach the anger from his bones.

As the song wound down, she spoke up. "What's it called?" Her voice carried reverence and wonder. He knew what that felt like.

"'The Sea is a Good Place to Think of the Future' by Los Campesinos!"

He glanced back and watched her eyebrows climb.

"That's some title." She dug around in her backpack purse and came up with her phone. "What was it again?"

He told her, and he heard her tapping on her screen.

"Thanks." And a moment later. "There. I bought it."

Jacques pressed his lips together to keep his smile in check. He wished he had his guitar. He felt the sudden urge to play his whole repertoire for her alone. His playlist flipped to David Bowie's "Space Oddity," and she giggled.

"You have great taste in music."

This, coming from the daughter of Doc Dylan Reeves, gave him a head rush. The girl was born into music. For all he knew, she was a musician herself. If she were, what would it be like to play with her?

_"Take your protein pills and put your helmet on..."_ she sang softly from the back seat. The sound of her voice was sweet, delicious, and he found himself chuckling under his breath.

Even delirious with exhaustion, she was adorable.

He sang along quietly as they coasted down Johnston Street. And a few minutes later, he realized he was the only one singing. Jacques glanced back to find Rainey Reeves completely out.

When he stopped at the light at Camellia Boulevard, he nudged down the volume of Melanie Martinez's "Training Wheels." The sound was a perfect lullaby, but he was afraid the prick of music box xylophone might wake her.

She was still asleep when he pulled into the driveway of the rustic modern house on Oakview. Jacques put the car in park and set the emergency brake. She didn't wake. Then he killed the engine. A hushed stillness fell around them.

Rainey slept on.

Jacques turned in his seat to face her. Her head was tilted back against the headrest, her ivory neck angled and her chin braced against her right shoulder. In sleep, her face had lost its worry, its outrage, its humor. She looked completely peaceful.

He knew he shouldn't stare, but with her mouth softly closed, the bow of her lips made him think of raspberries, and his eyes wanted to have their fill.

Just then, another ride request came through on his phone. He stared at it. He could wake Rainey, accept the next ride, and be on his way.

Jacques pressed _Decline_.

Whatever time he had with her, he didn't want to rush it. He tucked his phone in his back pocket, and it was this movement that woke her.

"Oh my God," she muttered, shooting up and rubbing her eyes. "How long have we been here?"

He smiled. "Not long. Not even a minute."

"Mm." She shook her head. "I need coffee... Would you like some?"

"Yes." He spoke without hesitation, and he saw that his quick response made her smile. Even if it was at his expense, it was worth it.

"Great. Let's go in."

Jacques got out of the car just in time to open the door for her. She thanked him, and he followed her up the path to the inset front porch, the one that cascaded with terra cotta pots, each spilling over with herbs and flowers.

She stopped at the orange double doors and pulled out her keys. "My dog Archie might jump on you, but he's harmless," she said, unlocking the door.

As soon as she opened it, a golden blur bounded out, jumped up on Rainey's legs, and then turned and ran to Jacques, giving him the same treatment, before he darted back inside, springing high around them as they followed.

"Archie, calm down." She dropped down to her knees, and the dog, practically vibrating with excitement, hit her with his squirming body.

"Is he a poodle?" Jacques asked, dropping into a squat next to her and reaching out a hand to the dog's curly coat. Archie's brown eyes and nose gave him a friendly look, and his golden curls yielded under Jacques's touch.

"Something like that. Archie was a rescue, so there's no way to be sure," she said, scrubbing the medium-size dog until he stopped squirming and just drooped. Then he flopped onto the floor and gave her his belly. Jacques laughed.

"We used to have a dog," he said, smiling at the memory of Ace, Pal's Catahoula, with his patchwork coat and ice blue eyes.

Rainey shook her head. "I can't remember a time when we didn't. I'd be lost without a dog." Archie gave a sigh of contentment as she scratched his belly.

"Seems like he knows he hit the jackpot."

"Yeah, he's spoiled," she said, giving Archie a pat and getting to her feet. "C'mon."

They hadn't gone farther than the foyer, but once Jacques stepped through that into the open living room, he saw that the whole house — inside and out — was tongue-in-groove cypress. The interior was stained a rich honey — floors, walls, and ceiling. Framed artwork and wall hangings broke up the view, making the power of the woodwork that much more arresting.

His lungs filled. Not simply because of the beauty of her home, but because the surroundings made him feel like he could catch his breath. Breathe deep.

"Wow," he murmured. "It doesn't feel like we're in town anymore."

"Yeah, I know what you mean. I love this house." She gestured to the living area with its welcoming furniture — a deep sectional sofa, moss-colored but scattered with crocheted orange and turquoise throw pillows, and a low coffee table. "Make yourself at home. I'll start the coffee." She turned then to the right where the room opened to a galley kitchen, separated from the living room by a counter flanked with stools.

He was about to take a seat on the sofa when his eye fell on the fireplace, bricked out in rough-hewn slate. Actually, his gaze landed above it to the vintage guitar mounted just over the mantle. Despite its obvious age, its round, aluminum body gleamed, and the gold plating at the top of the headstock teased him with letters he couldn't make out.

"How old is this?" he asked, pointing to the relic.

Rainey turned from the kitchen counter where she was filling the coffee basket and looked at the guitar.

"1930s, I think," she said with a shrug. "It's my dad's."

He gazed back at the beauty. "What is it?" he asked, marveling.

"It's a Rickenbacker Frying Pan, the first commercially made electric guitar."

Jacques's head whipped to face her. "No shit?"

She shrugged again, and this time Jacques caught a hint of impatience. "Yeah, my dad bought it at an auction. He's..." Her voice trailed off as she frowned and searched for the words. "...kind of obsessed with blues history."

"Really?" He walked over to the counter and leaned his elbows against it, hoping she'd see that he was much more interested in looking at her than at any old guitar. Even the granddaddy of electric guitars.

She tucked the coffee basket into the brewer and grabbed the carafe. "Yeah, so much, he named us after blues icons."

_"Rainey?"_ he asked, testing her name with a frown. "I don't get it. Like I said yesterday, I'm not really into blues."

She smiled then, looking pleased, and she carried the carafe to the kitchen sink and started filling it.

"Ma Rainey, or..." Rainey tilted her head and proceeded to recite. "...Gertrude Malissa Nix Pridgett Rainey. She's considered the Mother of the Blues. I guess Rainey is better than Gertrude, Nix, or Pridgett, but I would have been okay with Malissa."

Jacques shook his head. "Rainey is way better than Malissa," he avowed. "Rainey is unforgettable."

He watched a blush stain her cheeks as the carafe filled. He discovered he liked making her blush. Jacques wanted the chance to do it again. She moved back to the coffeemaker and poured the water into the reservoir.

"My sister is Billie Holiday Reeves," she said, seeming to shake off his words. "But everyone calls her Holi."

"Is she older or younger?" he asked, glad she was sharing part of her history.

"She's six months older," she said, and when his face betrayed his confusion, she shrugged again. "She's my half-sister."

"Oh," he said stupidly as if this news clarified things. Six months older?

"It's a long story," she said, easily reading his expression. "Suffice it to say _musicians_ aren't really the most steadfast of men."

Jacques winced at the way she'd hissed the word _musicians._ She'd said it with so much disdain he felt the air leave his lungs.

"I'm going to um..." she started, without looking at him. "I've been in these clothes since yesterday. I'm going to go change while this brews. Okay?"

"Sure, yeah," he stammered, glad for a minute to get his head together. He watched her cross the living room and skip up the stairs, a sight he liked a lot more than he should have. Then he stood staring at nothing.

_How the hell am I going to tell her?_

# Chapter 6

Rainey flew to her closet and proceeded to peel off her clothes. No time for a shower — though she needed one. She'd just have to make do with a bar of soap and a washcloth.

Her thoughts were running along those lines when she sped into her bathroom and caught sight of her reflection.

"Oh, holy hell."

The barrette she'd clipped into her hair the day before had clearly fallen down on the job. What little she'd slept that night had occurred in the armchair of Holi's hospital room, and it showed.

And now, looking at her reflection, she remembered the crying.

"Oh, Rainey, you idiot." She grabbed a clean washcloth from the frosted glass shelf above her bathroom counter, turned on the hot water, and got to work on the dregs of mascara and eyeliner. She never wore much, but even the little she did was bound to smear when she couldn't keep the tears at bay after hearing Holi's diagnosis.

The hematologist, Dr. Lambert, had gone over everything yesterday with the three of them — Holi, Ash, and herself. It wasn't a death sentence, she'd stressed — probably for Rainey's benefit — but hearing that it was life-threatening had been enough to tip her over the edge.

She'd pulled herself together and listened. They'd have to run more tests and then further tests to try to identify the cause of her aplastic anemia, which ranged from anything from exposure to toxins to viral infections to autoimmune disorders. Dr. Lambert had been honest about the fact that they might never know the cause, but that knowing would help them better treat Holi.

For now, the protocol was to continue what they were already doing, blood transfusions, antibiotics, and antivirals to help Holi fight her pneumonia and keep her from getting sick with something else.

Dr. Lambert had gone over the worst-case scenarios — if they could not identify the root cause or if the root cause did not respond to treatment. And Rainey didn't want to think about those. She could only comfort herself with the fact that Holi was in good hands; she was getting the care she needed with the information they had, and they'd move forward from here.

The hardest part was accepting that this was their new reality. No matter what, Holi was going to be sick for a long time. And she was going to need Rainey's help.

So Rainey had to try to be strong.

As she brushed out her tangled hair and swept it into a ponytail, a nagging little voice in her head told her she should be doing something to make herself useful instead of flirting with an Uber driver, but seeing Jacques again that morning had been the one bright spot in the seemingly endless succession of dark hours since she'd arrived at Lourdes.

She'd been able to relax talking to him and listening to his music. She'd been so relaxed she'd actually slept for part of the ride, and it was the best sleep she'd had in two days.

And the thought of coming into the house alone and staying there alone with nothing but her worries had made her shiver, so even though she'd never done anything like that in her life, she'd invited him in.

_And if you don't hurry up and get your shit together, he's going to leave_ , she scolded herself as she loaded up her toothbrush and attacked her mouth while she dashed back to her closet to find something to wear.

Finally, in another five minutes, when she was dressed in a pair of gray leggings, a sangria tunic, and her black ballet flats, she headed back downstairs.

She found Jacques Gilchrist at the cedar armoire, which she had refurbished and retooled to serve as storage for their sound system and all of their music.

His wide eyes hit hers before she reached the ground floor. "This vinyl collection is incredible."

"Thank you," she said, hoping she appeared only half as rattled as she felt. "It's a work in progress. Holi and I are both collectors."

His gaze turned appreciative, and Rainey could only smile with pride. His eyes took on a measure of caution. "So this is all yours? Yours and Holi's?"

"You mean as opposed to my dad's?" she asked, raising a brow at him.

The two points high on his perfect cheekbones turned pink. He nodded.

Her smile grew.

"Yeah. When my mom finally kicked my dad out for good, and he moved to Memphis full time, he took his collection," she explained, talking past the blush that stained her own cheeks. "Which, I'll admit, is about three times the size of ours, but we knew what we wanted and where to find it, so we started building our own."

Jacques gave a slow nod of understanding, his eyes watching her closely. "My dad's doing twenty years at Angola for two counts of vehicular homicide, so if you're pissed at your dad for being an idiot, I can relate."

The words came out in his deep voice so evenly, Rainey thought she'd misheard them. She stared at Jacques long enough for a slow grin to claim his mouth, and he stared back, unflinching.

Rainey was so used to the sting of shame that came with any discussion of her father she didn't think the two could be separated. But with Jacques's declaration about his own father, that sting of shame eased. Not completely, but some.

She kept her eyes on his serene face when she asked her first question. "When did that happen?"

His grin held as something in his dark eyes changed. "Fourteen years ago. When I was ten."

Rainey swallowed. That would have been a hell of a blow for a ten-year-old. "And your mom? Did she have anyone to help her with you after that?"

"My mom?" His eyebrows went up in surprise. "My mom split two months before, which is why my dad soaked himself in Jack Daniels in the first place."

Her mouth fell open. She couldn't help it. And the way Jacques kept his expression so even — that grin never slipping as though it were made of steel — let her know that he might not have felt quite as calm as he appeared. He was gauging her reaction.

"That... that's terrible." A stunned whisper was all she could manage. "I'm so sorry that happened to you." She swallowed again. If he could come out and say that to her after only knowing her all of two days, maybe she could tell him anything. Everything.

She took a breath and opened her mouth...

And knew she couldn't. His eyes narrowed on her, and she was sure he was trying to make sense of her tongue-tied struggle.

"I think the coffee's ready," he said gently, releasing her from herself.

"Right," she said nodding, and then she moved to the kitchen. "How do you take it?"

He followed her to the counter and dragged a stool between his legs. "A splash of milk and two sugars. Thanks." He spoke as though he hadn't just shared the darkest moments of his youth with her. As though they didn't still hold him hostage. He could bring them to light and tuck them away again just like he might try on a shirt.

For Rainey, it was nothing like that.

Shoving those thoughts aside, she opened the cabinet and debated for a second about serving him in an actual coffee cup with a saucer or one of the mugs that she used every day. Looking back and finding him giving her an easy smile in his black T-shirt — which she now realized featured a carton of milk pouring itself into the Milky Way — and army surplus jacket, Rainey decided on two mugs. Jacques Gilchrist was not the kind of guy to be impressed with saucers.

He liked candor. She could already tell.

She poured their coffee, handed over his, and stood across from him, leaning against the kitchen counter.

With his eyes on her, he brought the mug to his lips and sipped.

"That's good," he murmured.

"Thanks."

She sipped hers while her cheeks colored again, and she wondered what they could talk about after his declarations and her contrasting silence. And then there was the rest of her life to consider. How quickly would he figure out that she almost never left the house? How long until he sensed that she was not okay? Weak... damaged... _strange._

"So..." Jacques set down his mug. "You like music, but you don't like musicians. Is that right?" He raised a brow in a way that teased her, and the tension that had been building in her chest melted.

She laughed at herself. "I guess that doesn't make sense, does it?"

"I didn't say that," he offered, but even though he smiled, Rainey could tell he was waiting for more.

"Musicians are fine in the abstract," she tried to explain. "I mean, I love musicians. I would totally fangirl over The 1975 or The Neighborhood or The Lumineers..."

She took another sip of her coffee and watched to see if this satisfied him. By the look in his brown eyes, it didn't.

"It's just that I've lived up close to that world, and it isn't a pretty one. The famous musicians I've known in person — not just my dad — the headliners, the big names..." She shrugged, struggling to sound diplomatic, not like some complaining brat. "...so many of them are too caught up in themselves to be very good for other people."

Rainey knew this wasn't a universal truth, but it was the experience that had shaped her. And she didn't fool herself. Dylan Reeves' absence from her life — as much as his presence in it — had done much of that shaping.

"You don't like talking about this," Jacques said evenly. It wasn't a question; he sounded sure.

She laughed again nervously. "You're right."

"We don't have to talk about it." The left side of his mouth came up, his lopsided smile showing up again. But something in that smile looked guarded.

Rainey stood up straight, realization striking without mercy. "Oh my God."

"What?" He frowned at her.

_"You're_ a musician."

His eyes went wide, and then his lopsided smile wobbled into laughter. "I am."

"Oh God." She joined him, laughing, but she did so covering her face. "I'm such a moron."

She could still hear him laughing when she felt hands close around her wrists. "No, you're not," he said, gently pulling her hands away.

At his touch, the skin of her wrists hummed with feeling. It was as though a bow, silken and white, dragged over a steel-cored cello string. The sensation echoed down her arms and into her chest.

"...I should have said something sooner," he was saying, his hands still on her, her skin still awash in feeling. Thank goodness he kept talking because she certainly could not. "I was just testing the waters... making sure it was safe."

Rainey gulped a breath. Safe? _He_ was perfectly safe. She was the one in peril because now that he was touching her she didn't want him to let go.

"I-I should have known," she managed, shaking her head. "I mean, that voice of yours..."

He brought her wrists down to the countertop, but he didn't release her. "I grew up with music — maybe not the same way you did — but it was a constant," he said.

And because he hadn't let go and his hands now lay on the insides of her wrists, she let her fingers spread under his, feeling the warmth of his skin, the hint of tendons and veins underneath that made up the landscape of his arm. She watched his eyes dart to their hands and come back to hers without missing a beat.

"My grandfather taught me how to play the guitar, the accordion, and the Cajun fiddle, and my dad taught me how to play the banjo."

Her mouth fell open. "You know how to play four instruments?"

Jacques's mouth twitched. "Technically, I know how to play the piano too, but I wouldn't do that live."

"You play live?" she asked, her eyes bugging.

He nodded. "I had a band. Epoch. We just broke up, and I'm playing solo until I can find another group."

"Wow." She tipped her head forward, giving him her most innocent expression. "Have I mentioned how much I like music?"

He threw his head back and laughed at the ceiling. And Rainey could not breathe. The sight was so beautiful. The definition of his jaw, dusted with just a hint of stubble... the lines of his throat... the way the muscles of his shoulders peeked out beneath the crew neck of his T-shirt.

Rainey found herself wondering what those muscles were called. The ones that led from the base of the neck to the shoulder...

"You're funny."

She was sure he'd said something, but it was so hard to concentrate. "Hmm?"

"It's unexpected," he murmured, and the soft look in his eyes made her start paying attention to what he'd said. He thought she was funny? Was she funny?

Rainey spent most of her days alone while Holi was at work. But when they were together, she'd talk to Holi. Probably too much. Rainey thought about their evenings and weekends. She couldn't picture her sister laughing all that often.

"What _did_ you expect?" Rainey dared to ask.

Jacques studied her for a moment before shaking his head. "Well, I didn't expect that bag you had yesterday to be full of steamy romance novels—"

"Which weren't mine," she interjected, the embarrassment of the day before no less for the fact that the books belonged to Holi.

"And I didn't expect you to know the words to 'Space Oddity,'" he continued, his straight, white teeth flashing as he spoke with mirth. "And that should have been evidence enough to prepare me for that kickass vinyl treasure trove over there." He jerked his head in the direction of the armoire.

Then Rainey's breath stuck in her throat, because he leaned forward and used the tip of his calloused middle finger to brush an escaped curl back behind her ear. "I also didn't expect how sweet you'd look asleep in the back seat of my car." He narrowed his eyes at her, and she was sure he could see her pulse pounding in her neck if he couldn't hear it over her jagged breath. "I think it's safe to conclude that you, Rainey Reeves, are pretty unexpected."

It had been years since she'd been kissed. Years. But Rainey was certain she was about to be kissed, and — even as terrified as she was that she'd forgotten how to kiss — she was pretty darn excited about the prospect. His lips, which now weren't far at all, looked like a soft place for hers to land, and she knew that stubble would tickle her chin and cheek.

And she was about to find out how much when "Heathens" by Twenty One Pilots erupted beside her. Jacques looked down at the incoming call on his phone and frowned. He glanced back at Rainey and squeezed her wrists.

"Maybe I should take this."

She nodded because at that moment she doubted she could speak. He let go of her, picked up his phone, and strode across the room, but she could still hear him.

"Hello?...No, I haven't...I was working..."

Irritation clipped each of his words. Rainey finished the last of her coffee, figuring she probably wasn't going to get that kiss.

"Look, Kate, it's been — what — an hour since I called you? I'm interested, but I'm also busy, so if you want me to take you and the rest of your band seriously—" He turned back to face Rainey, his eyes widening with disbelief. She watched his free hand grip his hair at the roots.

That was when she noticed he had great hair. Dark, longish without looking shaggy or stringy, but thick and plentiful. Rock star hair. She should have pegged him the moment she clapped eyes on him.

"At Dockside?...H-how did you manage that?...You're kidding." His eyes met hers again, and the disbelief was still there, but the irritation long gone. She definitely was not getting that kiss.

"Yeah...yeah, I can be there in thirty...I'll listen to it on the way...See ya." Jacques ended the call. He walked back to the bar where Rainey waited, trying to keep her expression impassive. He frowned down at his phone and looked back at her. "I don't really know how to explain what that was about."

Rainey cleared her throat. "You just got the chance to lay down an album at Dockside Studios," she said, impressed with how even her voice sounded, despite the fact that her stomach had fallen somewhere around her knees.

Jacques blinked his surprise. "Yeah... Your dad ever record there?" he asked, mystified.

Rainey nodded. "Many times. It's the best of the best around here, but I thought you didn't have a band."

He shook his head, still looking confounded, his dark eyes wide and a long way off. "I don't." He nodded to his phone. "That was a crazy kid I've never even met, but we talked earlier today. She's looking for what I have, and she knows me, and somehow, her rich-ass daddy managed to get them a slot because Dockside had a cancellation for tomorrow afternoon."

She made herself take a slow, measured breath. "It sounds like a great opportunity." And then she forced a smile, reminding herself that the life she lived with her crocheting, and her potted plants, and her books, and her music collection, and her dog was a contented life.

Jacques shrugged. "Maybe." Then he gave a grim chuckle. "It might be a disaster, but there's only one way to find out."

He shifted his weight, leaning toward her before he hesitated. "I was looking forward to spending a little more time hanging out with you, but I should probably check this out."

She tried not to let his words penetrate, but they did anyway, leaving a trail of warmth under her skin. She nodded again. "I get it."

Jacques reached for his mug before draining it. "You make a damn good cup of coffee, Rainey."

Then she smiled. She had to. The compliment felt nice, but so did the way he said her name. "I'm glad you liked it." And then, because she couldn't help it, "And I'm glad you came in."

He stepped around the counter, moving in front of her. "Look... uh... I don't know how long this'll take today, but I'm playing Thursday night at Artmosphere. My set starts at eight. I'd love it if you could come."

Was he asking her out? On a date? She wasn't sure it sounded like a date. She held her breath, remembering how her mom once told her how she used to spend all of her nights at the foot of the stage when she and her dad were dating.

Jacques reached forward and hooked his right index and middle fingers around her left index and middle fingers. She hoped he didn't hear the little gasp that escaped her.

"I know it's not really first-date-caliber, but I don't know how long this studio thing will take," he said, his fingers squeezing hers, a hopeful glint in his dark eyes. "I have gigs every night this weekend until Sunday... and I'd like to see you before then."

Rainey felt her eyebrows climb. This was new. Her pulse raced, and her lips buzzed, and her fingers tucked inside his tingled.

"I-I need to see how Holi's doing," she hedged. It was a safe-enough response. One that would give her time to think.

Jacques brought the fist of his free hand to his forehead and grimaced. "Right. Of course. Sorry. Of course you do." He looked so sincere and self-chastising she felt a little guilty.

"I mean... I'd love to go i-if everything's okay with her," she stammered, letting her own fingers squeeze back. "I tell you what. If I can make it, I'll see you there."

His hand left his forehead as a smile lit his face. "Great... great. And if you can make it, maybe we could grab a bite after my set."

Rainey swallowed. That sounded a little more like a date. Sort of. "Sure... sure." She nodded like an imbecile.

"Good," he said, still wearing that bright smile. "Well, I hope I'll see you then."

The next thing Rainey knew, he was tugging her fingers, her body moved forward, and his lips pressed against her cheek. The innocent kiss was warm and sweet and electric.

And then he stepped away, releasing her as the cheek he'd kissed blazed.

"Bye, Rainey Reeves," he said, walking backward toward her front door while throwing her a wave.

Mutely, she raised her hand and tried three times to make her mouth work.

"B-bye!"

When the door closed behind him, Rainey leaned against the counter for a whole five minutes trying to process her hour with him. And failing at that, she did what she always did.

She turned to Holi.

Rainey wanted to talk, but she didn't want to wake her sister if she was resting, so she sent her a text instead.

* * *

_R ainey: You awake?_

* * *

She responded immediately.

* * *

_H oli: Yes, unfortunately._

_Rainey: Good. I'm calling you. SOS!_

* * *

Without waiting for Holi to respond, Rainey tapped the first number in her favorites. Her second — and last — was her mom's number. And as she waited for the call to ring through, it occurred to her — not for the first time — that only having two favorites in her contacts was kind of sad.

"What's up?" Holi croaked.

"It happened again."

"What happened again? Please tell me the roof did not leak yesterday, Rain. I do not think I could deal—"

"No, no. The house is fine," she reassured. "I mean the Uber driver."

Silence.

"Another Uber driver asked for your number?!" Holi sounded incredulous. She might have even laughed, but it quickly turned into a cough.

"Uh, no. But is that really so hard to believe?" Rainey asked, feeling a little bruised.

"No, it's just funny—"

"I mean, guys hit on you all the time when you're not with Ash, and except for your darker hair and complexion, we look a lot—"

"Rain, what happened?" Holi interrupted.

Halting her insecure rant, Rainey took a deep breath and blew it out. "Jacques, the Uber-driver guy, picked me up from the hospital... and I think he just asked me out."

"You think? You're not sure if he asked you out? Did you say yes? Please tell me you said yes, Rainey."

"Well, it wasn't... I didn't... I couldn't—"

"Rain, what do I have to do to get you out of the house? Change the locks?"

The words stung. And it wasn't so much the words but the frustration behind them. She was stunned silent.

_I should have called Mom._

Of course, as soon as Melinda Hagen — formerly Melinda Reeves — heard that the first guy to ask Rainey out in two years was a musician, she'd tell her to run like hell the other way. Which was probably what she would do.

At least, what she should do.

But it wasn't what she wanted to do. And that, she admitted to herself, was why she'd called Holi instead of her mom.

"He's a musician," she blurted.

Silence again.

And then, "Oh."

Rainey rolled her eyes to the ceiling, not trusting her voice since the first guy to ask her out in two years was a musician, and the reason he was the first guy to ask her out in two years was because she only left the house alone to ride her bike to the grocery store or take the bus to the library, and even those outings took a day's worth of courage to master. And while she was able to leave the house with Holi and Ash to go out to dinner or the movies or — rarely — to a club, she was so anxious to get back home that — according to Holi — she looked _"about as chill as a junkie in a traffic stop."_

"Sorry, Rain," Holi murmured.

Rainey swallowed hard. "I know I rely on you too much, Holi. I know that—"

"No, that's not what I meant." Her voice softened. "We're sisters, and I love you—"

"I know you do, but I ask for too mu—"

"I just don't think it's good for you. You haven't healed. You haven't made strides in a long—"

"Holi, I can't talk about this," she swore in a strangled voice.

"Rain, John Lee would want you to—"

"I'm hanging up, Holi. I'll talk to you to—"

"Don't hang up—" Holi's voice rose and ended in a coughing fit.

Rainey wanted to, but she couldn't hang up on her sister while she was coughing like that. So while she listened to Holi hack and struggle, Rainey closed her eyes and focused on her breath.

In. Out. In. Out. If she put all of her attention on her breathing, the assault of all other thoughts would wash like waves over a stone and pass over without taking her under. She would be the stone, parting the waves, not being tossed like a hapless skiff.

In. Out. In. Out.

She opened her eyes and searched the living room for her craft satchel. She'd finished the slippers yesterday — two pairs, in fact. She had given Holi the first pair and the second to a nurse, who passed them onto an elderly patient who'd complained of the cold. And she would have started a third, but her last ball of yarn had dwindled to nothing sometime around one in the morning.

As Rainey climbed the stairs on her way to check her room, Holi caught her breath and cleared her throat. "So, this Uber guy — you said his name was Jacques?"

"Mmm-hmm," Rainey murmured, entering her room and spotting the blessed bag on the foot of her bed. She reached inside for her hook kit and found a skein of Pantone's Greenery on the top of the yarn pile in her wicker basket. The bright color had been perfect for a cloche she'd made for her mother's birthday, but there was no reason she couldn't make a headband with the leftovers.

"He asked you out?" she asked softly when Rainey didn't elaborate.

"Sort of," she managed on a sigh, tying off the yarn around her G-hook and starting her chain.

"What does 'sort of' mean?" Holi's voice was still gentle, encouraging.

"He asked me to go to one of his shows Thursday night." She settled cross-legged on the foot of her bed, and Archie jumped up to join her.

Holi had gone silent. Like Rainey, she was probably remembering the years they'd spent as kids touring with their father. Life on a charter bus. In hotels. A different one every night. The way her father and mother would fight about the drinking and the women and the broken promises.

But then Holi spoke, and all of those memories blew away.

"Do you like him?"

Her crochet hook froze mid-loop. "I-I've only known him for two days, Holi," Rainey stammered, caught off-guard.

"You know what I mean," Holi leveled. "Do you like what he's shown you."

Rainey held her breath. Because she didn't want to admit that she, indeed, did like what he'd shown her. Apart from the fact that he was undeniably attractive — in the sexiest devil-may-care kind of way — she found him intriguing. He was open, yet mysterious. He was clearly talented, yet pretty humble. His taste in music was broader than her own, and she wondered what she might discover just by listening with him as she had the two times she'd ridden in his car.

And he was kind.

He'd gone out of his way to return Holi's book to her yesterday. He'd shown concern for her welfare both after they'd narrowly avoided an accident as well as today when she'd been so upset after leaving the hospital. He'd clearly told her about his father to make her feel better about sharing the truth about her own. And the part about his mother tore at her heart.

"I think so," she confessed quietly.

"Then it's simple," Holi said. "You should give him a chance."

"But—"

"Not every musician is going to be like Dad."

"Still, the odds aren't good," she argued.

Rainey heard her sister sigh. "Honey, the odds aren't good for any relationship."

She frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Just what I said. Not every relationship is meant to last. Some men cheat. Some women cheat. Sometimes love fades. People grow apart. That's life."

A twinge of worry took up residence in Rainey's stomach. "Are you and Ash okay? Is that what we're talking about."

"Jeez, no, Rainey. Stop worrying," she scolded. "I just mean you need to take some chances and try to find more people to put into your life."

Rainey bit her lip. "More than you, Ash, and Mom, you mean."

Holi sighed again and coughed twice. "Yes, but let's face it, Rainey. Ash loves you, but the only reason he's in your social circle is because I'm in it."

Holi didn't say it, but Rainey thought it anyway. Holi wasn't _in_ her social circle. She _was_ her social circle. And even though Rainey was nervous about the prospect of moving beyond that — the circle of safety she'd narrowed around herself for the last six years — she knew the burden it put on her sister wasn't fair. And it wasn't healthy.

"I'm not telling you to marry the guy," Holi coaxed. "Just show up on Thursday."

And Rainey realized then that she would. She would be near-terrified of going out by herself. She would expect nothing but disappointment. But she'd go because going meant she'd at least get to see Jacques Gilchrist again.

# Chapter 7

While he'd talked on the phone with her, Jacques had painted a picture of Kate Crawford in his mind. Medium-build girl with an undercut. Probably dyed black. But possibly pink, given the hot-pink flyer she'd posted at Guitar Center. And a nose ring as a definite maybe.

The only thing he'd gotten right was the nose ring.

Kate Crawford, in high-heeled boots, was all of four-foot-nine. Her hair was a springy mass of brown curls that fell past her shoulders. Her lips, painted a vivid red, were full, and her cheeks fuller. Fair skin, freckles, and bold eye makeup rounded out her look.

One glimpse, and Jacques got her immediately. Kate Crawford was rude and pushy because she had to be.

He'd also guessed wrong about her band's musical genre. After their two — albeit short — conversations, he'd been expecting alternative punk. But what he got was dream pop. A little Silversun Pickups, a little Beach House, and a twist of Day Wave. But younger. And female.

Heroine was definitely hard to pigeonhole, and Jacques liked that. With his sound and theirs, they might be able to make something new. And Kate hadn't lied. They were good. By the sound of it, even if they were young, the girls had been honing their talents for years. And the lyrics weren't bad.

But they could be better.

Those were his thoughts as he approached the front door of her family's palatial home in Bendel Gardens. The white stucco, sprawling two-story smacked of money in a way that the home he'd just left had not.

Jacques smiled to himself as he rang the doorbell, his mind's eye turning inward to the hour he'd just spent with Rainey Reeves. She'd opened and closed a dozen times before his eyes — like a butterfly's wings — and the show had been fascinating. He wanted more.

The door swung wide, punching a hole in his reverie, and he found Kate Crawford scowling in front of him. With the briefest greeting possible, she dragged him through the monstrous house — which also attested to money and lots of it — and she didn't stop talking the entire time.

"Dad's a personal injury attorney and Mom's a pediatric cardiologist, and they are _always_ at work, so Kara and I do pretty much whatever we want." She told him all this as she pulled him past the formal dining room, a service kitchen and a "presentation kitchen" — whatever that was — and then finally outside to a brick patio that led to a custom-designed pool.

"We practice in the pool house," she announced, tugging him by the sleeve past the luxury outdoor furniture. And then he could hear the resonance of a bass guitar and the accompaniment of a synthesizer.

Without hesitation, Kate pushed open the door of the pool house and yanked him inside.

"Heroines, this is Jacques Gilchrist," she said, jerking a thumb back at him. "Jacques, this is Kara and Des."

Des, the girl on bass guitar was an Amazon. Lean, long, with natural hair, clipped close at the sides, light brown skin, and huge dark eyes. Eyes that were trained on Kate after they'd given him the most cursory of glances. Kara moved from behind her keyboard and came at him with an outstretched hand.

"Hi. I'm Kara Crawford, Kate's sister," she said, and except for the dark hair and the full mouth, Jacques wouldn't have known it. Their demeanors were nothing alike. But Kara had a good four inches on her sister — and she had Kate for a sister, so there was bound to be a contrast. Jacques guessed Kara probably never had to fight her own battles since Kate waged them all for her.

"I saw you last month at Agave downtown. You did a cover of Peter Gabriel's 'In Your Eyes' that left me speechless," she gushed, pumping his hand. " _Say Anything_ is my mom's favorite movie, and I love that song."

"Wow. You saw that show?" Jacques asked surprised.

"We all did. It was the first time I had the chance to see you, but Kate and Des have caught a few of Epoch's shows at The Grouse Room." Then she wrinkled her nose. "I wasn't eighteen then, so I couldn't—"

"Enough smoke blowing," Kate interrupted. "Let's see if this shit's real."

They jammed for four hours. The shit was, indeed, real. And Jacques loved every minute. He slipped into Heroine's songs as though they were made for him. Sometimes his voice harmonizing with Kate's. Sometimes singing solo. About midway through the session, Kate handed over her Strat, and he led them through three of his songs, and Kara's synth, Des's artistry with the bass, and Kate's voice made them all new.

Serotonin spiked his blood, and the rightness of the union made his feet leave the ground more than once. He'd heard synergy like theirs up close before— when Pal would play with two of his cousins from Arnaudville — but he'd never been a part of it himself, and it was the closest he could ever claim to a religious experience.

But even though he knew Pal would be able to relate, he didn't leave the Crawford's house eager to share the experience with his grandfather. He wanted — for reasons he couldn't name — to share it with Rainey Reeves.

So much so that he texted her as he walked back to his car, the sun already draining from the sky on the cool April evening.

* * *

_J acques: Have you had dinner yet?_

* * *

He popped the locks on the Impala and waited just a few seconds for her response.

* * *

_R ainey: Not yet. You?_

* * *

He grinned to himself. Her response hinted she welcomed the idea of having dinner with him. Their time that afternoon had been too short, and he wanted to sit across from her and take his time listening to her talk.

In fact, he was ready to start right then. He tapped her number and listened to the call ring through.

"How'd the session go?" she asked.

Her greeting made him smile. Did she somehow know what the afternoon had meant to him?

"Like magic," he said, unable to tamp down on the excitement he felt. "I wanted to tell you about it. Can I take you to dinner?"

"Oh, I... I— Yes." He could hear the anxiety in her voice, but she accepted anyway. Rainey had a blend of nerves mixed with courage he found disarming. The urge to reassure her warmed his blood.

"Do you like Pho?"

"Um... is that Vietnamese?" she asked.

"Yeah. You've never tried it?"

"I... don't eat out often," she hedged and then quickly added, "but I'd love to try it."

The day could not have gone any better. Finding Heroine. Picking up Rainey a second time. Coffee with her. The jam session. And now the prospect of taking her to dinner.

"Great. Can you be ready in..." Jacques looked down at himself. Four intense hours of uninterrupted playing had taken its toll. A shower and a change of clothes were definitely in order. "... like an hour?"

He heard her breathe a sigh of relief. "Thank God. I thought you were about to say 'ten minutes,' and I was going to have to lie to you."

His laughter caught him off-guard. "Why?"

"Jacques, I cannot get ready in ten minutes," she said, not a hint of humor in her voice. "I can do an hour, but in case I can't, I'll leave the front door unlocked. Just come in and make yourself at home."

"No rush." He chuckled.

"Oh, there's a rush. I've been pretty much comatose since you left. I need to shower and rejoin the living."

He laughed again. "That's some nap. You must have needed it."

Jacques heard her sigh. "I did. Sleeping in a chair in the hospital sucks," she said. "I feel a lot better. But enough about that. I have to hurry."

Rested Rainey was adorable. "Okay. See you in an hour."

Ten minutes later, Jacques stepped into Pal's kitchen to discover his grandfather, Floyd, and Netty sipping coffee. One of Netty's chocolate pecan pies sat decimated at the center of the table.

"You missed a good dinner, yeah," Floyd said by way of greeting.

"And a better dessert," Pal added.

"I can still fix you a plate," Netty offered, pushing up from the table with effort. "Got some good peppers an' rice dressin'."

"No thank you, Mrs. Netty," Jacques said, crossing the kitchen to stop her with a kiss on the cheek. "Don't get up. I'm going out."

"Goin' out?! Mais, you just got in!" Pal exclaimed.

"Noodles, North, and neckin'."

All eyes shot to Floyd. Jacques's spine tingled.

"Don't look at me," Floyd said, making a shooing motion with his hands. "Them's his words."

Pal pinned him with a sharp look. "You gotta young lady, T-boy?"

Jacques rolled his eyes. He hated when Pal called him T-boy. At six-foot-one, it had been a long time since the nickname fit him.

"I'm having dinner with someone, yes," he hedged. "And I need to get ready."

"You feedin' her noodles?" Netty asked, her nose wrinkling with disapproval. "You should bring her here for some stuffed peppers."

Jacques fought his smile. "I'm sure they're delicious, Mrs. Netty. Maybe another time, though," he sidestepped. "Besides, between Albert and Floyd, there'd be too much competition for her attention."

The three old folks tipped forward with laughter.

"Mais, Net, I think we'd be gettin' in da way of dat neckin','" Pal said. His two friends howled with laughter while Jacques cleared his throat and made his excuses.

Upstairs, Jacques turned on the shower and stripped down while the water warmed up. He stepped under the hot stream and let the spray spill over his hair, his scalp, his neck.

_Noodles, North, and neckin'._

A shiver danced over his shoulders. Floyd's prediction didn't necessarily mean he and Rainey would kiss, though if he were honest with himself, he had every intention of doing just that as soon as the right moment arrived.

Jacques poured shampoo into his palm and scrubbed it through his hair, letting his fingertips work along his scalp and down his neck. He snickered at Floyd's old-fashioned expression for making out, but when he closed his eyes and pictured the porcelain skin of Rainey's long neck, the term suddenly fit.

The thought of putting his lips and teeth to that delicious, white flesh sent his blood rushing south. Jacques rinsed the suds from his hair and grabbed the soap, resisting the urge to take matters into his own hands.

Not losing any time, he finished his shower, dried off, and went to his closet in search of a decent shirt and a clean pair of jeans. By no means was Jacques a slob, but laundry always seemed to be an afterthought, something he did when the need arose. And the need had arisen. He managed to find an olive-green Henley and a pair of black-washed jeans, trading his army surplus jacket for a charcoal blazer.

Checking his phone, Jacques saw he still had a good twenty minutes before Rainey expected him, and their neighborhoods weren't far, so he descended the stairs and headed for the living room. He moved to the middle shelf on Pal's bookcase. The structure held a few books, but mostly it held music.

Sheet music, vinyls, CDs, even some old cassettes.

The middle shelf housed Pal and Grandma Lucille's old records, but it also held what belonged to his father, Xand. Jacques hadn't touched them in years, but he knew exactly what he was looking for. It just took him a little while to find the U2 album, and judging by the dust that lifted from its neighbors as he pulled it free, it hadn't been touched for years. Probably not since Grandma Lucille got sick and stopped emptying the shelves yearly to _"clean behind and below,"_ as she used to say. Maybe not even since his dad's collection had been stored there after he went away.

The jacket, with its brick-red border, gold lettering and central image of a ruined castle, wasn't in perfect condition, but it was close. Jacques nodded in approval, tucked it under his arm, and made his way to the kitchen.

"What you got dere?" Pal asked as Jacques grabbed his keys and tucked his phone in his pocket.

He held up the album. "The girl I'm seeing tonight has all of U2's albums except this one. I thought she might like it."

The line of Pal's mouth crimped as he pressed his lips together. "Das your pop's?"

"Yeah," Jacques admitted.

Pal nodded. "Don't think he'll mind none."

"Nope." It was all Jacques would let himself say. He failed to add that he didn't care much whether Alexandre Gilchrist minded or not. If the album helped Jacques win the attentions of a beautiful girl, it would be one less thing his father owed him for throwing his life away and jettisoning Jacques's in the process.

He walked over to Pal, kissed his balding head, and tucked the album under his arm. "Goodnight, y'all."

"'Night, _cher_. Be careful on da roads," Pal told him.

"Will do."

As Jacques drove, he listened to "Space Song" by Beach House, hoping its slow-drip rhythm and his own thoughts of Heroine would take his mind off the butterfly tremors in his stomach. That quickening in his gut he hadn't felt since high school.

He didn't question what it was about Rainey that did it. What little he knew about her called to him. And he wanted to know more.

When he pulled into her driveway, he remembered her saying she might not be ready. So, when he knocked on her door and was met only with the sound of Archie's lone bark, Jacques tentatively turned the knob and pushed the door open. Archie stood in the foyer, tipped his golden chin up, and gave a longer, baying bark, but the dog didn't approach or growl at Jacques, so he stepped inside.

As soon as he closed the door behind him, Archie whined and trotted up to sniff his shoes, wagging nervously.

Jacques reached down a hand to pet his curly head. "I hope she doesn't leave the door open all the time," he said aloud. "You're not much of a guard dog."

He stepped into the living room, the warmth of it filling him again with a sense of peace and contentment, and he took a seat on the sectional and put the U2 album on the coffee table at his knees. Archie jumped up beside him and laid a paw on his arm.

"What? You want me to pet you now?" he asked, lifting a hand and patting the dog twice. As soon as he dropped his hand to his thigh, Archie dragged a paw over his wrist, attempting to rake his arm back toward his little dog body. Jacques laughed.

"Okay, buddy, I'll pet you." This time he ran his hands down the dog's back, liking the bumpy texture of his soft curls. As soon as he did, Archie flopped onto his side and gave Jacques his belly. "Wow, you're easy."

With his free hand, Jacques reached into his pocket for his phone.

* * *

_J acques: Just wanted to let you know I'm here. Archie let me in._

* * *

He listened for sounds of activity upstairs but heard nothing. Then his phone trilled.

* * *

_R ainey: I'll be another few minutes. That okay?_

* * *

He grinned. So, she'd been telling the truth about needing plenty of time to get ready. Jacques wasn't in any hurry. He hadn't driven much that day, so he'd need get in some rides before he called it a night, but for now, he was glad for the hours ahead of him that would belong to her.

* * *

_J acques: Take your time. Archie insisted I pet him, and then he showed me his privates, so I've got that going for me._

* * *

He pressed send and then hoped his joke wasn't too much for her. The sound of her laughter from upstairs set him at ease.

* * *

_R ainey: You can ignore him, and he'll eventually get the hint. I'll be down in 5. I swear!_

* * *

Shifting his fingers, he found a spot on Archie's ribs that set the dog's hind leg into full-on phantom scratch. With a bittersweet sting, Jacques remembered Ace doing the same thing. Ace wasn't a puppy when Jacques had moved in with his grandparents after his dad was arrested. And he'd lived to be an old dog, dying in his sleep the winter before Grandma Lucille got sick, when Jacques was sixteen.

They hadn't owned another dog since, but Jacques wondered now why they couldn't get one. Maybe not a puppy, but a rescue. One that was already housebroken. Pal would probably get a kick out of that.

A noise on the stairs pulled him from this daydream, and he turned. Breath stuck in his throat at the sight of Rainey descending. She was slipping on a leather jacket over a little maroon dress with lace sleeves. Black tights skimmed her legs, and her feet stepped lightly in black-suede ankle boots. When she came closer, he saw that the maroon lace of her dress was an overlay that covered the bodice as well, letting the porcelain skin at the top of her chest and shoulders peek through. The dress drew in at her waist and flared out again in a short skirt with soft pleats. It fit her so well, he longed to run his hand down its length so he could touch every slope, every curve.

As good as her outfit looked, the best thing she wore was her smile. She must have noticed his appreciative gaze because she beamed as much as she blushed, and the effect left him dumb. Since his tongue wouldn't work, he got to his feet and smiled back at her. And by the time she reached the foot of the stairs, he thought he could speak, but she beat him to it.

"You look great."

Jacques shook his head. "No, you look great... stunning... amazing." He closed his mouth before he could embarrass himself further, and then he remembered his gift. Jacques tagged the album and stepped around the coffee table. "I brought something for you."

He handed it to her and watched as her eyes went from curious to astounded. "Jacques! Oh my God! _Unforgettable Fire?_ You brought this for me?" Her gorgeous eyes, sparks of green and gold, lit for him and filled with a look of delight.

"Yeah, I noticed it was the only one you were missing. We had it at home," he said, letting his voice drop. "I want you to have it."

She didn't need to know it was his dad's. Probably something he'd bought during his junior year of high school. Before he met Jacques's mom. When he had his whole life ahead of him. Picturing his dad at that age — young, dumb, but carefree — made something hard inside Jacques's chest soften just a little.

And then softness, warm and sweet-scented, crashed into him. Rainey's arms wrapped around him in a hug, and his took the chance to close around her.

"Thank you so much!" she said.

"You're welcome," he muttered, dropping his nose into her hair. He breathed her in. She smelled like lavender, wild orange, and woman. In the two seconds their bodies connected, the synapses in his brain lit with a billion imprints. He learned that holding her felt like singing. The way he could get lost holding a long note and forget for a moment that his breath would run out because belting out the words with his mouth wide open felt so right.

And just like the long notes, it ended too soon. She pulled away and clutched the album to her chest. "I'm going to put this right where it belongs, and I'll listen to it from start to finish tomorrow morning," she said, walking backward toward her music armoire.

"I like the sound of that," he muttered. She'd have to think of him, wouldn't she? He watched her flip through her collection and tuck the album between _War_ and _The Joshua Tree_. Then she spun on her toes to face him.

"Ready? I'm starved."

Jacques let her lead them out to the front porch, and he stood beside her as she locked the door. Rainey halted a few paces away from the Impala, and when he glanced at her expression, he saw hesitation.

"You okay?" he asked, reaching forward and opening the passenger side door for her.

She gave him a tight nod. "Mmm-hmm."

He watched her slip into the front seat, but instead of looking back at him, she kept her eyes hidden.

Jacques shut her door, his head crowded with thoughts. He'd seen her look that way the first time she rode with him. Tense. Preoccupied. Afraid.

He made his way to the driver's side, slid in beside her, and fired up the engine. After he backed out and put the car into drive, Jacques braked, reached for her left hand, and clasped it in his.

"You don't like cars. They scare you." He met her eyes when they shot to his, clearly stunned. She said nothing, but she looked wary. "I don't know why they scare you, but I want to tell you I'm a really good driver. I've never had a ticket or an accident."

She blinked up at him, and he squeezed her hand.

"You're safe with me."

The wary look in her eyes changed. He watched her mouth work, but she didn't say anything. Finally, she nodded and squeezed back. Whatever had happened to her, it wasn't something she could discuss, and he didn't want her to feel like he expected her to.

"What should we listen to?" he asked.

A tentative smile played on her lips. "Surprise me," she said. "You're good at that."

"Okay." He thumbed through his library before making a selection and hitting the gas. As they rolled down her street, the opening guitar and synths built up the beat, welcoming the drums.

"What's this?" she asked, her hand tightening around his fingers.

"Bad Suns' 'We Move Like the Ocean.'"

"Oh, yeah," she said with recognition. "I've heard 'Cardiac Arrest' on Spotify, but I don't think I've ever listened to this one."

Jacques grinned, glad again he'd given her a song she'd never heard.

"It's good," she added a moment later. She'd lost most of the tension that had stymied her when she approached his car, but Jacques could still see a contrast between the Rainey who sat next to him now and the one who'd hugged him in her home only minutes before. She'd told him earlier that she didn't eat out often, but if Jacques's guess was right, she didn't go out much. Period. She was a little homebody who loved her music, books, and her dog.

A beautiful, funny, brave homebody who'd agreed to go out with him.

As he drove, Jacques was filled with the sudden need to prove himself to her. He'd told her she was safe with him, but he wanted to give her more than that. Yes, keeping her safe was paramount, but he wanted her to feel secure and enjoy herself too.

After turning onto Jefferson Street, he found a spot across from Pho'tastic. The Vietnamese restaurant had only been open for about a year, and because it was small and located downtown, he knew they might have to wait for a table. But it was a Tuesday night, and when they stepped inside, Jacques was relieved to see the place wasn't crowded.

They chose a booth along the side wall, and since Rainey said she was hungry, Jacques placed an order for winter rolls that he knew would arrive in minutes.

"What can I get you guys to drink?" their server asked, smiling at him. The wait staff at Pho'tastic was also a small group. He'd had the server with the septum half hoop before, and he'd seen her at a few of his shows.

Jacques glanced at Rainey to see her eyeing the shelves on the bar lined with sake sets. She looked back at him.

"Do you like sake?" she asked. From the look in her eyes, it was clear she did.

"Please bring us an order of sake and two waters," he told their server, watching Rainey smile as he did.

"Thank you," she said when they were alone again. She pulled the menu toward her. "What do you usually get?"

Before he could answer, a couple approached their table. Jacques looked up to see Casey North, the lead singer of Ripple Effect and a Grade-A asshole.

"Damn you, Floyd," Jacques muttered under his breath.

"Heyyyy, J-man," Casey said, coming at him with an extended hand. Clenching his teeth, Jacques had no choice but to offer his back or risk Casey clapping him into a man hug.

"Hey," he muttered, giving a nod of greeting to the woman on Casey's arm.

"Haven't seen you around much, man," Casey said, releasing his hand and pulling a fake look of concern.

Jacques knew he was referring to the end of Epoch. Lafayette was a college town with a vibrant live-music scene, but there were still only so many venues. The places he'd headlined solo since the breakup had been on the small end, not the most coveted stages like Blue Moon or Warehouse 535 or The Grouse Room. And Casey was rubbing it in.

"I'm playing at Artmosphere Thursday night," he returned, ignoring the intended slight.

Casey wrinkled his nose. "Ouch. Sorry, man."

At the words, Jacques witnessed Rainey's spine stiffen. Her eyes locked with his across the table, and before she broke her gaze, she winked at him.

"What do you mean by that?" she asked, aiming her question at Casey. She thrust her hand at him. "Hi, I'm Rainey. My aunt owns Artmosphere. What'd you say your name was?"

Casey's eyes flew open, and his mouth actually gaped. The guy was an idiot on top of being a Grade-A asshole, but he was smart enough to know better than to insult the proprietor of _any_ live-music venue in town. Successful bar owners and restaurateurs generally owned two or three places that catered to different demographics. Jacques bit his lip to keep from laughing when Casey blanched.

"Casey," he muttered, shaking Rainey's hand with obvious trepidation.

"Oh, Casey what?" she asked, narrowing a piercing stare at him.

"North?"

Jacques watched Rainey's mouth twitch at Casey's feeble tone, and it was a thing of beauty.

"Well, Casey North," she repeated with confidence, "Jacques is laying down an album with his new band tomorrow at Dockside Studios, but if you and your friend don't like Artmosphere, you can catch him Friday at Agave and Saturday at the Biergarten. We'd love to see you there. Wouldn't we, honey?"

It was the _honey_ that nearly did him in. His smile threatened to do him harm, and he was trying so hard not to laugh, he risked breaking a rib. And not only was it hilarious to watch her put North in his place, but Jacques also knew he hadn't told her where he'd be playing the rest of the week, and she'd nailed his schedule. Which could only mean she'd looked him up after he left her house that afternoon. That had to be a good sign, right?

It sure as hell felt good. And so did hearing her call him _honey_.

Casey seemed to choke for a minute before he stared back at Jacques. "You have a new band?"

Before Jacques could answer, Rainey's hands shot across the table and clasped his. "He does, and they're awesome, but as you can imagine with a schedule as busy as his, this is the only chance we've had in forever to go out to dinner, so I'm sorry, but I'm pretty jealous about the time we get together. He can tell you about the band another time. I hope you understand."

In the face of that unmistakable dismissal, Casey North could only nod like the tool he was. "Yeah. Sure, I understand. Excuse us." He gave them both a wave and grabbed his date's elbow as though it were the last parachute in a flaming plane. "Y'all have a good night."

And then they were gone.

Jacques watched the door close behind them before he turned back to Rainey, unable to mask the worship that lit his being from the inside. She still held his hands in hers, and Jacques clasped back so she couldn't slip away.

"I've been on a lot of stages, but that was the best performance I think I've ever seen."

# Chapter 8

Rainey's face flamed as she met his eyes. He probably thought she was an absolute nut.

"Well, let me explain first," she began, but Jacques just burst out laughing.

"Did you see his face?" he asked through his laughter. "I thought his eyes were going to jump out his skull when you said your aunt owned Artmosphere."

Rainey bit her lip, not sure if she should be relieved or ashamed. Jacques's laughter halted on an inhale. "Wait, is she your aunt?" he asked wide-eyed.

She blew out a breath and leaned forward to whisper. "No, the only aunt I have is married to my mom's brother Bill, and they live in Denver," she said, shaking her head. "But I do know the owner. She's a friend of my dad's. Besides, Artmosphere is a cool place, and Casey North is an assaholic."

Jacques's laughter boomed through the tiny restaurant, and he squeezed her hands. "Do you know him?" he asked, letting go with his right hand to wipe his tearing eyes. As soon as he had, he claimed her left hand again.

Rainey shrugged. "Sort of. He chased after Holi for a while in high school, but he clearly doesn't remember me. He never did, which was only one of the reasons she'd never go out with him," she unloaded. "But primarily it was because he was always trashing people he found threatening — which was practically everybody."

Chuckling, Jacques nodded. "That doesn't surprise me. Where did you go to high school?"

"St. Thomas More. You?"

"Lafayette High." He squinted at her. "So North went to STM?"

Rainey shook her head. "I'm pretty sure he was at Acadiana. But because of our dad, a lot of high school musicians found their way to Holi, hoping to get an inside track or some advice for making it big." She made herself look at him then even though she didn't want to. Rainey hadn't let herself think about it, but she prayed to God that wasn't why Jacques Gilchrist was interested in her. That would utterly suck.

Their bejeweled server came back to the table and set down a plate of winter rolls — which looked to Rainey exactly like spring rolls. Jacques thanked the server before releasing Rainey's hands and pushing the plate toward her.

"Here. Try one. The peanut hoisin is really good," he said, indicating to the dish of sauce. As if on cue, her stomach growled, and Jacques gave her a pointed look. "Eat."

Red in the face, she picked up one of the rolls and dipped it into the sauce. It tasted just like a spring roll, fresh, not fried, but the sauce was crazy good.

"Mmm," she moaned. "Thank you."

Their server returned with the hot sake and poured them each a cupful. After she left, Rainey picked up her cup, and Jacques slid his across the table to her. "You can have mine," he said.

Rainey frowned. "Why? You don't like sake?" If he didn't like sake, why had he ordered it?

He shook his head. "I only drink when I'm not driving."

A gasp escaped her throat. His father.

"Oh my God," she squeaked, setting down the white porcelain. "Your dad. I'm so stupid. I shouldn't have—"

Jacques eyebrows climbed, and he waved out a hand. "No," he said firmly. "I drink, and I like sake. But tonight, I'm driving you, and after I drive you home, I'll drive three or four other people home." He picked up her cup and pushed it back into her hand. "But even if my father hadn't killed two people fourteen years ago, I still wouldn't drink on nights I work. Strangers are entrusting their lives to me, and most of the time, they're doing it because they're trying to be responsible. That means I have to be responsible."

She blinked at him. Jacques Gilchrist was a good man. He was a principled, trustworthy, and thoughtful man. He put the straw from his water glass between his lips and took a long sip, and Rainey thought it was the sexiest damn thing she'd ever seen.

"I think I'll send it back—"

"Don't you dare." His dark eyes were completely no-nonsense. He held her with his gaze for three long seconds before his lopsided grin emerged. "I had the best jam session of my life today, and somebody ought to toast that."

"It was that good?" It had to have been that good. Happiness seemed to radiate from him.

"It was frickin' amazing," he said, his voice hushed. "I can't wait for tomorrow. And when we get the tracks nailed down, I want to share them with you."

She tried to inhale, but her lungs wouldn't work. She swallowed once. Twice. And then she could breathe. "I'll drink to that," she managed on a hoarse whisper.

Rainey tipped back the contents of her sake cup and swallowed the warm rice wine — so light it was almost ethereal. As she did, she watched him watch her with a satisfied smile that sent warmth pooling in her lap. And Rainey had to revise her scale because _that_ was now the sexiest damn thing she'd ever seen.

Their server came back to the table, and, heated and flustered, Rainey hurried to choose an entree, asking Jacques what he liked. Because she was clueless, they wound up ordering his two favorites, the Pho Chicken and the Egg Noodle Soup and sharing both.

As soon as their server left, Jacques reached across the table and claimed her hands again, and a thrill swept up her arms, setting off her pulse. She remembered how he'd touched her almost the same way that morning. It felt just as intimate now, and Rainey knew she could get used to holding hands across a table with Jacques.

The thought terrified her as much as it left her exhilarated.

"So, I have a question," he said, his deep voice now a low caress.

"Yeah?" Her own voice was just short of a squeak.

"You told North exactly where I'd be playing the rest of this week, but I only told you about the Artmosphere show."

Rainey froze in horror, realizing her slip. His face lit with intrigue, and Jacques seemed to attempt to keep his smile in check.

"Did you look me up?"

Rainey scrunched her eyes shut as though she could hide from the sting of embarrassment. And she tried to cover her face with her hands, but Jacques's grip tightened around them. The low rumble of his laugh sounded so happy she chanced opening one eye. When she did, he squeezed her hands and leaned across the table, dropping his voice just above a whisper.

"You. Are. Adorable."

She shut the treacherous eye with a groan. Rainey felt one of his hands release hers a moment before it settled on her left cheek.

"Open your eyes," he whispered, stroking her cheek with his thumb. Rainey slowly obeyed. He was staring straight into her. "I've had the best day today, and it just got better. Thank you."

Rainey sighed. She hadn't at all planned to let him know she'd Googled him. A website and a Facebook page had told her where he'd be playing for the next week, and the gallery of pictures had kept her mesmerized for the better part of thirty minutes. She'd planned to keep that little search to herself, but when Casey North started giving Jacques crap about the loss of his band, Rainey had snapped.

Well, a little humiliation was worth it. Jacques, at least, seemed pretty thrilled about the whole thing.

He ran his thumb along her cheek again. Maybe he was weaving some kind of spell over her because she no longer felt all that humiliated.

"So if I looked you up, what would I find?" he asked.

The magic spell broke like a bubble. Rainey pulled back just a little, and Jacques dropped his hand.

"Not much," she said flatly.

_What's the point of posting to social media if you don't have a social life?_

He tilted his chin up just a fraction, narrowing his gaze at her. "No book blog? Or music blog?" His brow arched at this possibility. "It would probably take you two years to cover everything in that collection."

Well, that was true. And Rainey liked how much he was clearly paying attention.

"I used to post a lot of reviews on Goodreads," she said absently.

"Why did you stop?"

His question pulled her up short. Rainey hadn't consciously examined why, but the underlying sense she had was that putting her thoughts down for others to read didn't really matter all that much. But admitting that aloud would sound pathetic, so she just shrugged.

And she thanked God an instant later when their server set down two soup tureens and two bowls. She took the interruption as a chance to shift the focus from her.

Rainey grabbed the ladle from the pot of Pho Chicken and began filling their bowls. "Tell me about your new band."

It was nearing ten o'clock when Jacques walked her up the drive to her house. Not a late night, but he said he still had to work and would probably be driving for a few hours. Rainey couldn't imagine that. Years of living as a hermit meant that she almost never stayed up late.

For a twenty-three-year-old, it was kind of sad.

Rainey studied Jacques out of the corner of her eye, wondering if he'd guessed how small her life was. And if he had, what did he think? Did he feel sorry for her? Did he assume she was desperate? Or did he see her as a challenge?

Before she could look away, he glanced down and caught her staring. He stopped at the foot of her steps. "What are you thinking?"

Rainey gulped and shook her head. "Nothing."

He narrowed his gaze at her. "It didn't look like nothing."

"It was nothing important," she amended.

He didn't press, but he didn't take his eyes off her either. Up close, his height was imposing. It could have been intimidating, but instead of feeling dwarfed, she felt shielded. Rainey also felt like she couldn't move.

"Wh-what were _you_ thinking about?" She heard herself ask.

He didn't flinch. And he didn't look away. But the seconds stretched on. Endlessly.

"I was thinking that I want to kiss you."

How could they be standing outside when there was no air? She could hear wind in the trees. The spring night was alive around them. Clouds floated like ghosts across a waxing moon. But no air for her lungs could be found.

Jacques's knuckle met her chin and tipped it up. He leaned in, and for the second time that day, Rainey was certain she was about to be kissed.

His whispered breath feathered over her lips. "When was the last time you were kissed?" His question threw her, demanding too much of her brain that was now focused on his proximity, the heat she could already feel from his body, the way his dark eyes now looked like black pools.

"I..." She swallowed and tried again. "About two years."

A flicker of surprise registered on his face, and then a look she couldn't quite name replaced it. He moved his hand and cupped her cheek, running his thumb over her skin the way he had in the restaurant. Then his fingertips slid to the back of her neck.

"That's a long time," he whispered, but even on a whisper the rumble of his voice moved through her.

Rainey nodded since no words came to her aid. It was a long time, and the loneliness she kept locked down and silent with her crocheting and books and plants and music threatened to break free from its chains and trample her.

His eyes searched hers, and his focus was so keen she felt stripped bare, as though he could see everything she felt.

"I'll try to make up for it," he said. And then his lips landed on hers as the hand on the back of her neck pulled her in.

Rainey's eyes fell closed at the touch of his lips, firm but silken. Hungry. She heard his sharp inhale that sounded a lot like her own, and when his other hand pressed into the small of her back, closing the distance between him so her chest pressed against his, Rainey grabbed onto his shoulders and held on.

Jacques smelled like sandalwood soap, clean and real and warm. His mouth on hers tasted like peppermint and promises. When he tilted her head and the tip of his tongue asked to be let inside, she opened for him, her knees going spongy. His tongue in her mouth signaled more than a mere kiss.

His tongue in her mouth was the end of loneliness.

At the same time, it was the definer of loneliness because it made her feel the sharp edges of her solitude in a way she never had. Years of folding in on herself had left her almost numb, and Jacques's tongue in her mouth was the reawakening of sleeping limbs. And onslaught of sensation. So much feeling.

Too much feeling.

Too much. Because she wanted to giggle and weep and collapse at the same time. And when his tongue awoke hers, and she let hers dance with it, the sound of his moan carried So. Much. Wanting.

It spoke a language she knew. A language she thought only she knew. And hearing it from his throat did her in. Rainey couldn't handle any more.

So she pulled back, panting.

"I... I..."

How in the world could she explain that she'd lost the capacity to feel everything he was making her feel? How could she tell him that his electric kiss had fried all of her circuits? How could she admit that she was so broken there was no fixing her?

Even though she wanted to be fixed.

Jacques's thumb sailed across her cheek again. "Too fast," he murmured, still holding her in his embrace. "I get it. I can go slow."

Too fast? He could go slow? A thread of hope started to weave its way up from her heart. What would happen if he went slow? Might she survive that? She had no way of knowing since nothing like this had ever happened. Yes, she'd been kissed in the years since her life had closed like a clamshell. But those kisses had only gone skin deep. They hadn't left her shell-shocked and torn between making a run for it or offering the guy a piece of her soul.

Rainey marshaled her courage. "Slow might be okay," she managed.

Jacques studied her, unmoving, his gaze intent but his expression unreadable. What the hell was he thinking about her?

"I can go slow," he said again. "But knowing how your kiss feels, it'll be torture." His mouth curled into a smile as he spoke, and Rainey wanted to throw caution to the wind and kiss him back, no matter if it left her immolated.

She was about to do just that when his phone pinged. A groan rattled from Jacques's chest, and the hand on her cheek dropped away. She watched him wince as he read the screen.

"I should take this," he said. "Uber starts to route requests away from you if you decline too many."

Nodding, she slid her hands from his shoulders down to his chest. "Of course. Thank you for dinner and..." She wanted to thank him for the kiss.

_You can't thank someone for a kiss, you idiot._

"...and everything," she finished lamely.

Jacques raised a brow and gave her a wolfish smile. It was hot enough to singe her skin. "Thank you for dinner." He pressed a chaste kiss to her forehead. "And thank _you_ for everything."

And then, before she knew it was coming, he pressed another kiss to her lips. Though it carried force behind it, his mouth never parted hers. Yet it was as though he was pushing meaning into her flesh, a message she'd have to decipher later when her head cleared.

He released her just as quickly. "Goodnight, Rainey."

Jacques was already on the steps with his back to her when she squeaked out her reply.

"Goodnight, Jacques."

# Chapter 9

If their introductory jam session had been amazing, their recording session was epic. Stellar. Cosmic.

They laid down seven tracks, five songs Kate had composed and two of his own that they had adapted for the band the day before. And recording at Dockside — the studio of legends — was like Disney World on Ecstasy.

The drive to Maurice had taken only twenty-five minutes, but impatient with excitement, it had felt like an eternity to Jacques. When he pulled up to the sprawling fourteen acres of oak trees and bayou, he'd understood the studio's motto: " _Move in. Make records._ " The place was huge. Fishing pond. Tennis courts. Poolside suite. Cypress decks. Vermilion Bayou.

He'd driven the Impala, tailing Kate, Des, and Kara, and when they parked and stepped out into the quiet, all four of them looked at each other without a word. On their faces, he could see the certainty he felt.

This was the closest they had ever come to magic.

Thirty minutes later, after meeting Gil, the sound engineer, taking in the studio — that really looked more like a TV set of a comfortable home — and running sound checks, they were doing it. They were making a real album in a bona fide recording studio, and Jacques couldn't stop grinning.

He'd made a CD with Epoch, but that had been laid down in Chris's parents' den with a sound mixer they'd borrowed from the high school music department where Chris's mom worked. They'd had nothing close to the custom console, the outboard gear, and the professional caliber mixing Dockside would give them, and already Jacques could feel a shift in his life.

After they knocked out the first song, his muscles and bones were humming with euphoria. And before they rolled into the next one — one he'd written — he took out his phone and held it up. In the background, he captured Kara tucked away in the alcove that held synth equipment, Des and Kate standing on the oriental rugs with their guitars, the alligator sculpture hanging over the double doors, and his joy-drunk grin. He tapped Rainey's contact because...

Because she was the person he wanted to let in on this moment.

* * *

_J acques: Check. It. Out. If I'm dreaming, don't wake me up._

* * *

He pressed send, and they launched into his song, "Lazarus Night," and playing it with Kate, Kara, and Des felt better than any song he'd ever played with Chris and Blake. The four of them had an energy that was palpable. He could feel it. He could hear it. And judging from the way each one of them checked in with one another as the song unfolded, so could the girls. When the song ended and Gil took off his headset, the look on the sound engineer's face confirmed it.

The band was something special.

Two songs later, they took a break and headed out to the cypress deck with bottles of water. Gil joined them.

"I only see one problem," he said, swiping a palm down his salt-and-pepper goatee.

"What's that?" Kate asked, the beginnings of a scowl already forming between her brows.

"The name," Gil said, nodding his head in Jacques's direction. "How can you be called 'Heroine' when you have a dude?"

Jacques thought he could actually see hackles form over Kate's spine. He jumped in before she could say a word.

"We're keeping the name," he affirmed, making sure to catch Kate's eyes. "What's better than a heroine? Sure as hell saved my ass."

Kate raised a sardonic brow at him, but Kara and Des both smiled. Kate swiveled her head to face her two female band members. "I guess we have to keep him now."

"Fuck, yeah," Des murmured. In the two days he'd spent with them, Jacques had heard next to nothing from the bass player, so her welcome, terse though it was, hit home.

"Like there was any doubt," Kara gushed.

Gil, effectively silenced, could only fight his grin and nod. "Yep. I'll be telling this story one day to _Rolling Stone,"_ he said with certainty. Then he pushed himself up from the wooden glider where he'd been taking his break. "C'mon, then. Let's finish that future Grammy winner."

Jacques was still coasting on his high the following night as he set up his amp and two guitar stands on the stage at Artmosphere. It was a quarter to eight, and the place was only a third full. Most of the patrons sat at high top tables, nursing their beers or enjoying plates of hummus or Sonny Sliders. People didn't go to the bistro for the food, but food was a plus. As the name suggested, the place was chill, inviting. Folks could sit on the front patio and still hear the band, or they could dance at the foot of the stage. The vibe was cool, and the drinks were cheap — enough. And even though the crowd wasn't big, it was Thursday night. Jacques knew it wouldn't be long before UL students and the twenty-something crowd in Freetown, the sketchy, Boho neighborhood downtown, turned out in droves.

But tonight, Jacques wasn't worried about a packed house. He didn't care how many UL students or Freetown hipsters showed up. He just wanted to see one person in the crowd, and when he stepped up on stage to start his set, she was nowhere to be seen.

Rainey had told him she'd meet him at Artmosphere, explaining that her sister was being released from the hospital that day, and she'd need to be with her until Holi's boyfriend got back from work. Jacques hadn't asked when that would be, and asking now would make him seem like a selfish jerk, so with one final glance at the door, he launched into his cover of "Wonderwall."

People liked hearing songs they knew, so when Jacques was playing solo, he'd always start with covers to get the crowd warmed up before he offered them his own songs. With Epoch, the draw was different. They'd still play plenty of covers, but with the force of a full band, they could open with one of their popular, high-tempo songs, and a core of followers would dance and sing along, whipping up the rest of the crowd with them.

After their kickass recording session, Jacques had asked the girls if they wanted to join him for the last hour of the night's set. They'd accepted as he knew they would. Jacques had asked them to come for the end for two reasons. He wanted time to warm up the crowd and remind them of what they liked before offering them something new.

And he wasn't dumb. He knew Heroine had limited live experience. A crowd — any crowd — could make a young band nervy. And while the four of them seemed to have a good thing going, they were untested live. If the set was a little rough around the edges or if Kate, Kara, and Des got spooked and had trouble pulling it together, he wanted it to be after the patrons at Artmosphere had plenty of time to finish a third or fourth drink. A later crowd was a more forgiving crowd.

So when he introduced his second song, he led with a teaser.

"How's everybody doing tonight?" He let his low baritone bass roll over the room. Cheers and applause made up his answer. "Everybody got a full glass?" More cheers and whoops accompanied the lifting of many a cup. Jacques used the opportunity to lift his plastic water bottle in a toasting gesture before taking a sip.

"It's a beautiful night. It's a beautiful life," he teased, letting the seduction of his voice flirt with each ear. His listeners answered back with their own joy. "I got some songs I know you like—"

Cheers interrupted him.

"—and I got some songs I know you're _gonna like."_ Again, cheers followed his words.

"—and if you stick around..." He let silence slip in as he raised a brow and made eyes at the room. "...I've got a surprise for you."

Whoops and hollers reached a fever pitch. "Epoch!" he heard shouted a few times from different corners of the bar. Jacques shook his head, putting on bedroom eyes and giving a low chuckle.

"It's way better than Epoch," he murmured, and the crowd went nuts. "But first, how about a little of The 1975 first?"

He broke into an acoustic rendition of "Chocolate" to the screams of about thirty female voices. On the second refrain of _"No, we're never gonna quit it, now we're never gonna quit it, no,"_ Jacques spotted her.

For a split second, the sight of her made him lose the words. She wore a pale blue sweater that left her shoulders bare. Both shoulders. An expanse of porcelain skin he knew he'd have to taste before the night was over.

This need announced itself in his brain, and, thank God, his fingers kept playing, and the lyrics came back to him a second later. Rainey stood leaning against the pillar that was up front and to his right, and when he was sure he had his rhythm, he smiled at her.

The smile she gave him in return he felt in his chest. A slow sweep of warmth that filled him and went deep.

He finished the song, and she didn't move, just kept her eyes trained on him. Jacques realized then she was alone. It shouldn't have surprised him, and, in truth, it didn't. Rainey had a nature that projected an air of solitude, but most girls went to bars with a group of their friends.

It hadn't occurred to him that she'd be alone, and the knowledge worried him. Would she have good time? Would the countless single guys in Artmosphere leave her alone? Would she be safe?

These questions had their say in the back of his mind as he played the last chords of "Chocolate," and the crowd cheered. Jacques murmured his thanks, but he kept his eyes on Rainey. And without taking them from her, he mentally edited his set list and rolled into "Here and Now," a song he'd written for Epoch, but one he'd played on his acoustic at least a thousand times.

He held her gaze, and she didn't once look away as he repeated the refrain.

* * *

_I 'm happy that you're here._

_I'm happy that you're doing okay._

_I'm happy we ain't lost the now._

_There's no place I'd rather stay._

_Then right here next to you._

_'Cause the way you look at me_

_Is nothing short of beauty._

_Nothing short of beauty._

* * *

Even in the dimness of the bar and the colored stage lights, he could tell she was blushing. And even though there were probably a hundred-other people in the room, for the three minutes of "Here and Now," it was just the two of them, and a song he'd written two years before suddenly held new meaning for him.

He played until the top of the hour. The crowd had grown, and he could see that Sam and Mags behind the bar were jumping, slinging drinks and making change like the world would stop if they missed a beat.

"Let's take a break, fill up our cups, and tip the bartenders," he called before setting down his guitar and hopping off the stage.

Jacques wanted to walk straight to her, but even though she wasn't far from the stage, his path wasn't clear. People — some he knew and some strangers — stepped in front of him to shake his hand, slap him on the back, and congratulate him on a great set.

Arnie, a regular at Artmosphere, thrust his hand in front of Jacques when he was just three feet from Rainey. "Never heard you play 'Here and Now' like that, man. Sounds good acoustic."

"Thanks, Arnie." He was already leaning away, trying to get to her. "See ya around—"

But Arnie kept talking. "Kind of reminded me of the time Epoch did that unplugged version of 'Last November.' 'Member that?"

Jacques did remember, but he didn't care. He wanted to get to Rainey. And Arnie liked to talk. And he liked beer even more, so when he did talk, he took his time, coaxing his beer-soaked tongue around each word like a mother bathing an infant.

"Yeah, Arnie. I remember. Excuse me for—"

"Shame y'all broke up," Arnie said, looking pretty broken up himself. Jacques wondered how many beers the guy had already guzzled. Arnie was a regular, but that didn't mean he was particularly popular. Probably because the guy was a drunk. A friendly drunk. An easygoing drunk. But there wasn't a whole lot more beneath the surface. More than once, Jacques had given him a ride home after closing time, and the guy lived in a tiny little apartment on Amelia Street. Maybe he worked. Maybe he was on government assistance. Jacques had no idea, but it seemed like a sad way to live.

So even though the person he wanted to talk to was just out of his reach, and his break between sets wouldn't be very long, Jacques didn't have the heart to just brush off the guy.

"Yeah, it's a shame," Jacques echoed, but for the first time, he didn't feel the sentiment behind the words. Heroine had something, and when he thought about the band and the potential they brought together, he felt the air around him charge with an almost sentient energy. Maybe Arnie would feel that too. "But I got something new in the works, Arnie."

The barfly — who wasn't drunk yet but had a good start — cocked his head and seemed to read the light in Jacques's eyes.

"Whatchoo mean?"

"Can't talk about it now. There's somebody here to see me, and I don't want to keep her waiting, but stick around tonight, and you'll find out what I mean."

As he said the words, he felt a hand settle on his forearm. Jacques turned and there was Rainey, her eyes smiling a shy smile, and at the sight of it and the touch of her hand, his heart turned over.

"Hey," he said, reaching his arm around her waist and hugging her to him. And this, too, the feel of her softness pressed into his side gave him a heady rush.

"Hey," she murmured, leaning into him.

"Yep, I wouldn't want to keep her waiting either," Arnie muttered just loud enough for Rainey to hear.

He felt more than heard her body laugh because just then the house sound system came on, blaring Robin Schulz to keep the party going between sets.

Jacques nearly had to shout over the noise. "Want to go outside for a minute?" he asked Rainey.

She gave him an eager nod, and that was all he needed.

The front patio would be packed. With its own bar and wooden tables close enough to the music, it would only be slightly better than staying inside, so Jacques pulled Rainey to the back of the bistro, turned past the long bar, and took her outside to the courtyard. A few people lounged in wrought iron chairs, smoking and laughing, but Jacques moved past them to a bench along the back fence.

"Thanks for coming," he said, gesturing for her to sit. She did, and he settled himself beside her.

"Thanks for asking me," she said, the shyness still there in her voice, in her eyes. To dispel her nerves, Jacques claimed her hand, and he was rewarded when she spread her fingers and let his slip in among them. Then she looked him square in the eye. "You're really, really good."

And when she said this, he heard no shyness, only certainty. She liked what she'd heard, and that felt amazing.

"I'm glad you liked it. You should stick around," he said, hoping like hell she would. "The girls from Heroine — my new band — are joining me later, and that's going to be even better."

Her eyes rounded in surprise. "Really?" But the look behind her surprise wasn't excited. It looked... _worried._ "That's... that's great."

Her expression disappeared so quickly he wondered if he'd imagined it. Letting it go, he squeezed her hand and tried to make the most of his break.

"How's your sister?"

Rainey gave a one-shoulder shrug. "She's okay. She's home, and she's over the worst of the pneumonia, but she's going to have to keep taking blood transfusions," she said, wincing. "And she's weak. When she's a little stronger, they're going to start trying some treatment meds, but I hear they aren't fun."

"I'm sorry to hear that," he said, meaning it. She looked worried, and her look made him feel restless. At least Rainey wasn't alone in looking after her sister. "Is her boyfriend with her now?"

She nodded. "Yeah, but I waited for him to take a shower first. He works for Iberia Bank, and he's getting his MBA, so I wanted to give him a few minutes," she explained with a shrug. "Holi's not the easiest patient. She's always trying to do things she shouldn't, and I didn't want her going downstairs by herself. She's so sick of being sick, she'd probably try it if given the chance."

"Man," Jacques muttered, shaking his head. He figured one day he'd have to help Pal just like that, but he wasn't looking forward to it. Not because he wasn't onboard. Because Pal would hate it as much as Holi seemed to. "So, how'd you get here? I'd like to drive you home after the show if that's not too late."

Even in the dimness of the courtyard's fairy lights, he could see her eyes twinkle. "I'd like that, but I rode my bike."

All thoughts of fairy lights and shining eyes fled his brain. "You rode your bike?"

"Mmm-hmm," she murmured with a nod.

"Down Johnston Street?"

"Yep."

"In the dark." This time, he wasn't asking, and he was sure his tone told her he wasn't merely curious. Johnston Street had a bike lane, but it also had no shortage of asshole drivers. Jacques wanted to kick himself. He should have known she'd need a ride.

"Yeah, it's only like a mile."

Jacques frowned, and he asked the question he'd been wondering about her since they first met in his Impala. "Why didn't you drive?"

Her face went blank. Her eyes that sparkled a moment ago turned opaque like a statue's. She took a few seconds to respond, and she looked away when she did.

"Because I don't drive," she said quietly.

Jacques thought of the Mini Cooper in her garage. After driving her twice, he'd assumed it must have been her sister's. He'd guessed that Rainey simply didn't have a car, which didn't really make sense in a town like Lafayette, but what did he know?

Still, she didn't drive?

"What do you mean? Like you don't have a car... or you don't drive at all?"

She looked up at him then from under her lashes, and the corner of her bottom lip disappeared between her teeth. "Neither, really."

_Touchy subject,_ Jacques warned himself. But he also guessed it was an important subject, so he let go of Rainey's hand in order to wrap his arm around her and pull her close. Then he gentled his voice.

"Babe, why don't you drive at all?"

She looked down at her knees, and he felt her sigh against him. "A while back, I was in a really bad car accident." She brought her gaze back to his, and all he could see was a bottomless well of pain. He'd seen pain like that up close. In his father's eyes. In Pal's eyes. Both after they'd lost what could never be restored.

"Really bad," she added in a choked voice. Maybe he imagined it, but he thought he saw her shoulders tremble.

Jacques nodded, pulled her tighter. "You lost somebody? Somebody close?"

Her eyes went wide, her look almost startled. "H-how did you know that?"

He felt his brow crease. "Rainey, it's written all over your face."

She closed her eyes and tipped her face up to the night sky, inhaling deeply. Then she exhaled and faced him again. "I don't really talk about this."

He shook his head. "Then don't talk about it. I don't need you to," he whispered. He leaned in and pressed his lips to her forehead. When he drew back, the relief in her expression told him he'd said the right thing.

Jacques gambled and hoped his next move would also be right. Slowly, giving her plenty of time to pull away, he leaned in closer to her lips. And the only move she made was to tilt her head in welcome, so he accepted.

Since Tuesday night on her front porch, he hadn't been able to forget the taste of her. He'd swear on his life she tasted like raspberries. Like raspberries and longing. And the urge to have her again now sang in his blood, and it might sing there forever for all he knew.

When his lips met hers, and the tip of his tongue ventured lightly between them, the tip of her tongue was there, ready and waiting. She opened further, welcoming him and drawing out the moan of pleasure that rattled through his chest and quickly brought him to his senses.

He wanted to make out with Rainey — like for about a week — but he didn't want to do it in the courtyard of Artmosphere while God-only-knew who watched. He pulled back as slowly as he'd advanced, but he ran one hand down the softness of her cheek and held her tight in his other arm.

"The first time I kissed you," he whispered, loving the feel of her skin under his fingertips, "I couldn't linger. Now I have a little more time but no space. I'm hoping next time I'll have more of both."

He watched her swallow in a flustered, ridiculously cute way, and she nodded. "Yeah, me too."

His eyes fell to creamy expanse of skin that her sweater left bare. He wanted to bring his mouth to it, but he resisted. "I really like that sweater," he said instead.

"Thank you," she whispered. "I made it."

Jacques's jaw unhinged. "You made it?" He took the hem of the sweater between his fingers and tried to study it in the dim light. "You knit?!"

"Crochet," she said, pride evident in her smile.

He rubbed the woven cashmere of the hem between his thumb and forefinger. "It's incredible," he said in a hushed voice. "You're really good. This is what you should blog about."

Her light giggle rippled through the night air, tickling him and making him chuckle. She could so easily turn him into a fool, and for the first time in his life, Jacques didn't care. With the fingers of his right hand, he traced the scalloped edge of her sweater where it hugged her left shoulder. When she shivered beneath his touch, it was all Jacques could do not to kiss her again. But he wouldn't be denied long.

Between driving and getting things going with Heroine, Jacques knew he'd be busier now than even when he was with Epoch, but he had no doubt about it. Making time to get to know Rainey was now a definite priority. And that thought returned him to the one that had been nagging at him for the last five minutes.

"We'll leave your bike here, and I'll come back for it in the morning," he announced.

Jacques watched her blink at him, her head inching back so she could take him in. "Why?"

He moved his fingers from her shoulder and took the hand in her lap. "I don't like the idea of you riding it at night. Not down Johnston Street."

A crease appeared between her pretty brows. "I do it all the time," she said.

Squeezing her hand, Jacques laid it out. "Rainey, I like you, and I like where I think this is going." He watched her eyebrows lift in surprise, and her lips parted on a slight gasp. _Fucking adorable,_ he thought, wanting to taste them again. But he kept going before she could speak. "But I don't like to worry. And, baby, I'd worry if I let you roll out of here on your bike. It's not safe. If I know anything about anything, it's how easily some wasted asshole can ruin lives. You've got no protection from that on a bike."

Rainey's lips disappeared between her teeth. Her eyes rounded, and she nodded quickly. "Okay."

"Okay," he said, nodding too. "Glad that's settled."

She cracked a shy smile then. "You like where you think this is going?" she asked meekly.

Jacques threw back his head in laughter, clutching her to him. The few people who'd sought the quiet of the courtyard all turned toward his outburst, but he didn't care. He tipped her face up to his and muffled his laughter against her lips while she shook with her own laughter in his arms.

And then Jacques did what he'd wanted to do all night. He turned her left shoulder toward the shadowed fence, and in darkness, he kissed his way down her neck. Even in the veil of night, the glow of her skin rivaled the moon. Jacques pressed his lips to the erotic slope where her neck met her shoulder, and he let his tongue taste her flesh.

The shuddering of her breath made his cock ache, and he moaned his hunger into her skin. He felt her fingers glide into the back of his hair and take hold. It was an unspoken claim, and he loved it.

"You're gorgeous," he whispered.

"Jacques..." was her breathy reply. His name had always made him self-conscious. It was so Cajun, so conspicuous; as a kid, he would have traded it for the Americanized _Jack_ in a heartbeat.

But the way she softened the _"J"_ of his name was sensual, and the consonant close of the _c-q-u_ came from her throat, not her mouth, so his name was deeper inside of her in a way that made him dizzy.

He let himself taste the sweetness of her a moment longer before pulling back. But when he did, he saw that her eyes were half-lidded, her lips glossy as if she'd just licked them. The animal in his blood wanted nothing more than to pick her up in his arms and run for the nearest cave. That half-lidded look belonged to him, and he wanted to guard it, to give her more, to watch it evolve.

Instead, Jacques buried that urge. He needed to start the second part of his set. And Kate and the girls would probably arrive soon. He gripped Rainey's hand.

"C'mon, beautiful," he said, getting to his feet and taking her with him. "I have a song I want you to hear."

# Chapter 10

_I like where I think this is going._

Rainey hadn't stopped hearing those words echo in her head since they'd come back inside. That declaration and his kisses had left her a little drugged.

They had even pulled her away from John Lee's memory and the agony she felt every time she had to think about the accident.

And Rainey wasn't sure how she felt about that — how kisses and a few tempting words could draw her out of her greatest pain. Because it wasn't something she could talk about without losing her shit for the better part of an hour or so.

And in that hour, crochet helped. Books helped. Music helped. Archie helped. But even with those, it was about an hour before the vise of pain opened enough for her to exist with any sense of peace. Talking about it never helped. People always said the same thing.

_It wasn't your fault._

_It wasn't your fault._

_It wasn't your fault._

Everyone she knew — and even people she didn't — had told her again and again. Her parents. Holi. The police at the scene. Her friends at school. Chase, her high school boyfriend. And, later, Anne Marie, her therapist.

And Rainey knew the accident wasn't her fault. She had come to a full stop at the light on Pinhook Road and Evangeline Thruway. She remembered the light turning green. She remembered checking to make sure the intersection was clear. She remembered John Lee's gasp before an explosion of glass and airbags.

And then nothing.

And then nothing was ever the same. Not after her little brother died right beside her.

So how could she even speak the word " _accident_ " with Jacques one minute and kiss him the next — her whole being, body and mind, focused entirely on that kiss? Nothing like that had ever happened.

Was it wrong? And was it wrong that when he said, _"I like where I think this is going,"_ she'd let herself wonder where that might be?

As she stood against the pillar in Artmosphere, her eyes on the stage where Jacques was picking up his acoustic guitar, she also wondered why he was different from everyone else. Why he said exactly what he was thinking but let her keep her thoughts and secrets to herself?

She watched him lift the guitar strap and pull it over his head, and as he did, his eyes met hers, and he winked. A tummy flutter that probably registered on the Richter scale ran through her.

He absolutely was different from anyone in her life. And from anyone who used to be in her life. The thought both thrilled and terrified her.

Jacques stepped up to the microphone. "Everybody feeling good now?" he purred. His voice — that deep, resonant, captivating voice — poured over the crowd, touching every single person.

But it did more than touch Rainey. It invaded her.

The crowd, which had grown since Jacques's first set, cheered in response. How could they not? Clearly, they _were_ feeling good, and his voice that brimmed with seduction and easy confidence told them they were about to feel even better.

"Alright," he said, looking so at home on stage — something she could never imagine. "Let's go. Here's something I wrote not too long ago. It's called "Back to Mine." It sorta fits the mood I've been in."

Rainey drew in a surprised breath as Jacques strummed an up-tempo rhythm. He leaned into the microphone in a way that drew her eyes to his tapered waist. To his fitted gray T-shirt and his faded jeans that hung on his lean hips.

She dragged her eyes up to lock with his as he started singing, and her mouth dried up.

* * *

_T he mirror says you're still a young man,_

_But you're not getting any younger._

_What of your dreams and all those grand plans?_

_Have you let them steal your hunger?_

_Mine's just a whisper in a dark well_

_No other voices rising with it._

_How will it reach up to the surface?_

_How will it overcome the distance?_

_These questions haunt me when it's quiet._

_Like monsters only I can see._

_I should be strong enough to slay them,_

_But they're already eating me._

* * *

Rainey felt the song grab her and hold tight. _Like monsters only I can see... I should be strong enough to slay them... But they're already eating me._ She thought she could have written those lines. She lived them every day. Did Jacques live them too?

The very thought stilled her breath.

* * *

_Y eah, they're already eating me._

_And have they eaten part of you?_

_If we put our backs together,_

_Maybe there's something we could do._

_Put your back to mine_

_And your feet against that wall_

_You step. I step._

_And this time we won't fall_

_Put your back to mine_

_And neither one looks down._

_If the beast bites you,_

_I'll kick him to the ground._

_Put your back to mine._

_It gets easier, you'll see._

_When the fiend grabs hold,_

_I know you'll set me free._

_Put your back to mine._

_Put your back to mine._

_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.

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.

* * *

_J acques: Where are you?_

* * *

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

* * *

_J acques: 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.

* * *

_R ainey: I'm home. I'm sorry. I couldn't stay._

* * *

His response was immediate.

* * *

_J acques: Are you okay? Gotta say, that wasn't cool._

* * *

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

* * *

_R ainey: 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.

* * *

_J acques: 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.

* * *

_R ainey: 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.

* * *

_J acques: 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.

* * *

_R ainey: That's sweet, but it's late. I'm already in bed._

* * *

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

* * *

_J acques: 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.

* * *

_R ainey: 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.

* * *

_R ainey: Did the rest of the show go well? You were mind-blowing._

* * *

Again, his response was instantaneous.

* * *

_J acques: 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.

* * *

_R ainey: I'm so happy for you._

* * *

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

* * *

_J acques: 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.

* * *

_R ainey: 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.

* * *

_J acques: 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.

Pal chewed on his smile and kept his eyes narrowed so he wouldn't look too pleased. Jacques knew this. This was the way they operated. He'd oversleep. Pal would get cranky. Jacques wouldn't exactly apologize, but he'd give his grandfather his due, and nothing more needed to be said.

"Don't mine if ah do," Pal grumbled.

So he made a fresh pot, drank two cups with Pal, and told him about the show. His grandfather couldn't really appreciate it, but he pulled up the YouTube video someone had posted of "Lazarus Night" and showed him how it already had more than four hundred views.

After coffee and a shower, the video had more than seven hundred views. Kate had added him as an administrator on the band's Facebook page, and the comment feed from her post the night before stretched to two hundred.

And while Rainey hadn't texted him back yet, all of the girls in the band were blowing up his phone. He sat on the edge of his bed, read their messages, responded, and then called Rainey.

Her phone went to voicemail, so he hung up. She'd see that he'd called. He didn't need to make her listen to him talk like an idiot.

As soon as he hung up, his phone rang, and the instant before he saw the ID, he figured it had to be Rainey.

But it was Kate.

"Hey," he answered.

"Oh my fucking God!" she roared. "You are NOT going to believe this!"

He could hear screaming in the background. The girly kind.

"What?" he asked, both laughing and wincing at their noise.

"THEY WANT US TO PLAY FESTIVAL!"

Jacques shot off his bed. "What!" Festival International de Louisiane was the premier music and culture festival in Southwest Louisiana. It brought in more than four-hundred-thousand attendees — many from the far reaches of the globe. And it was in two weeks. "What do you mean? That's impossible?"

Bands couldn't just sign up to play. They had to submit an application months in advance, and they had to meet specific cultural criterion. Local musicians were featured, of course, but priority was given to those with _"Francophone emphasis."_ Jacques knew this because he'd tried to secure a spot for Epoch the last three years.

And Heroine did not have Francophone emphasis.

"The director for Scène Fais Do Do was at the show last night."

Jacques sucked in a breath. Scène Fais Do Do was one of the five stages scattered around Downtown Lafayette, the setting for the festival.

"He saw us, and he wants to add us to the lineup for the Courir du Festival 5k," Kate said, her own voice going breathy with wonder.

"You're fucking kidding me." The festival ran from Wednesday through Sunday on the last weekend of April. The Courir 5k was early in the morning on the Saturday before the rest of the stages got rolling at 10:00 a.m. The crowd of runners wasn't huge.

But the radio coverage was.

Radio Canada, TV5Monde, Radio France, and Afropop Worldwide all covered the festival. Not to mention KRVS, the local public radio station. And since no other performances would be ongoing, Scène Fais Do Do would be the only lineup to cover. The exposure was staggering.

"Not kidding, man," Kate said, her voice a happy growl. "We rock. We're Cajun famous."

Disbelief finally fell away, and Jacques boomed. "Yeah! Hell, yes!" His feet left the ground, and his bed and dresser rattled as they struck the floor three times.

"Ma goddamn!" Pal bellowed from the foot of the stairs. "What's goin' on up dere?"

Jacques pulled the phone away from his ear. "Hang on, Pal," he called, his voice cracking — actually cracking — with the excitement. "I'll come tell you in a sec."

"You killed you a rat up dere?" his grandfather asked, and Jacques dissolved in fits of laughter. He could hear Kate laughing too, and Kate's laugh, as singular as she, sounded like a car with a bad starter.

_"Non, attendez, s'il vous plait,"_ he called down, relying again on his French to placate his grandfather.

"You speak French?" Kate croaked, still snickering.

"Just enough to satisfy my granddad."

"Hmm... we might have to take advantage of that. You'll definitely need to brush up for Festival."

A jolt went through him at her words. "Holy shit. This is real, isn't it?"

"Yeah, man. Really fuckin' awesome."

Jacques let that sink in a minute. And then, "We need more songs."

He heard Kate sniff. "You're not lying."

Over the next ten minutes, they specced out a rehearsal schedule and built in some time to compose together. Jacques also needed to drive, and he wanted to keep some of his time for Rainey. In short, he knew he was about to be seriously busy.

But he was happier than he'd been in years.

After he hung up with Kate and rejoined Pal in the kitchen to tell him the good news, Pal made them celebrate with music. He pulled Jacques out onto the back porch, Pal with the accordion and Jacques with his guitar, and they played Zachary Richard and Lost Bayou Ramblers until Floyd came in through the back gate.

" _Mais_ , what's all dis? It not even noon, and you's goin' ta town," he said as he hiked his way up the porch steps. "Now wait, me."

His wrinkles shuttered his eyes as he squinted at Jacques. "Scène, songs, and silence."

Jacques grinned. "You're already right, Floyd. My band is playing at Scène Fais Do Do."

The wrinkles stretched open enough for the whites of Floyd's eyes to peek through. " _Mon Dieu._ No wonder y'all is howlin' at da moon when de ain't no moon."

They played two more songs together with Floyd clapping time, and then Pal took his friend inside to start lunch, leaving Jacques to the quiet of the back porch. He wasted no time in pulling out his phone.

Rainey hadn't called or texted, but this time, Jacques didn't hesitate to call again. He frowned when he got her voicemail a second time, hoping she was all right and her sister was all right, but this time he left a message.

"Good morning, beautiful. I hope you're feeling okay today. I just got some news I want to share with you. I..." He paused to gather his thoughts. "Playing with Heroine last night felt amazing, but what I keep thinking about is your kiss. And I'm hoping you're gonna call me back in like two minutes. Bye, Rainey."

He sat down on the porch steps, willing her to call him before he walked back inside. The day was mild, but the cloudless sky promised a warmer afternoon. A mockingbird in Pal's pecan tree trilled an impressive aria in the hopes of attracting a mate. Jacques eyes found him bobbing and dancing at the end of a branch, making a spectacle of himself.

"I think I can relate," he muttered.

Rainey didn't call him back that morning. Or that afternoon. Or the following day.

And while Jacques was busting his ass writing songs and practicing with the band, he'd still catch himself checking his phone a couple of times an hour, feeling like a fool every time. To his shame, he'd texted and called again that first night, unable to reconcile her silence with the time they'd shared. The following day, he resisted the urge to call or text yet again because as far as he was concerned, only assholes did that, and he'd always tried his best not to be an asshole. There were already too many of them in the world.

But confusion and anger singed him deep in his gut when he thought of her ghosting him. She'd been in that courtyard. She'd kissed him right back. And she'd given as good as she'd gotten on her front porch. And at dinner with him three nights before. Rainey knew what they could be. She knew.

Didn't she?

Because if she knew — like he did — what they felt like together, then why the hell didn't she want that again?

Why?

And if she didn't know? If she didn't feel what he felt when they were together, how had he gotten it wrong?

After his mind would take him down this low and shadowed road, he'd second guess himself. Maybe she really was sick, and while he was nursing his wounded pride, she'd caught pneumonia from her sister and had no one to take care of her. And then he would feel a tug of urgency to drive over to her house and make sure she was okay.

But even someone with pneumonia could respond to a text, right?

So, he'd go from worry back to anger again, and then he'd want to drive over to her house to yell at her or silence them both with a kiss; he never knew which.

And then he'd think of his father.

Xand Gilchrist had made a fool of himself over Jacques's mother long before he'd climbed drunk behind the wheel of his Tacoma and plowed through two people. He'd chased her years before she actually ran. Because she was never really _there_ to begin with. Jacques's earliest memories were of his dad bending over backward for her. Writing songs to vie for her attention. Buying flowers on a Tuesday to keep her from feeling bored. Cleaning the house and doing the laundry so she wouldn't cry about being chained down.

But she'd ignored him. And she had gotten bored. And she'd cried anyway.

When she finally left, Jacques had felt scared and sad and angry at first. But then he'd felt relieved. He'd grown up waiting for the other shoe to drop — fearing it silently as he read the tense and watchful look that never left his father's eyes — so when she was gone and life carried on, he didn't have to fear her leaving anymore. Losing his mother, he'd quickly learned, was not the worst thing in the world.

The worst thing in the world was watching his father ruin lives because of it.

Jacques had never completely forgiven him for that. So as much as he wanted to go to Rainey, he would not allow himself the lapse in control. Instead, he wrote songs.

He wrote songs about a girl with rain in her name. He wrote songs about picking over his father's vinyl stash. He wrote songs about kissing in a courtyard.

Because Rainey Reeves wouldn't call him back, Heroine's repertoire doubled in the span of a week.

# Chapter 12

Heroine was playing Festival.

Rainey knew this because she'd started following the band on Facebook and Instagram two days after their show at Artmosphere. She'd started following them because she couldn't return Jacques's calls, but she needed to hear about him.

That first day after she'd left the show, Rainey had stuck to her guns and hidden her phone in the drawer of her nightstand. She could almost sense it as an omniscient presence in the house as she'd moved around and did chores all day. It was taunting her, waiting until she had to look at it.

Her stomach had seized, and her skin prickled that night when she finally saw the three missed calls and four texts he'd left her. He wanted to talk to her. He wanted to be with her, and she'd behaved like it didn't matter.

But it did.

So, she read every one of his texts and listened to both of his voicemails. More than once.

And she could hear the frustration in his voice and read the worry in his messages, and both left her scalded in shame, but she still didn't respond. What would she have said? _"I don't want to see you again?"_ That wasn't true. She did want to see him. Again and again. And that was part of the problem.

She also couldn't tell him the truth. _"One day, soon, you'll leave, and that'll hurt like hell."_ Saying that would either freak him out — because why was she thinking so far ahead when they'd only just met — or force him to give her false assurances. No, it was better just to go dark. Rainey had known he'd eventually stop reaching out, and he did.

But he'd told her enough in his messages to let her know that something special was happening for Heroine. No surprise. The YouTube video — which she'd watched seven times — had gone viral. Every post on their social media pages earned hundreds of likes, and the buzz about their upcoming spot at Festival was reaching a fever pitch.

The week of Festival, Rainey had every intention of going to Heroine's show. She wasn't planning to let Jacques know, of course, but the crowd would be big enough for her to blend in and see him in action again.

But the day before the Festival Courir, Holi spiked a fever again. This time it was strep. With her white blood cell count so low, her immune system was almost nonexistent, and the most common infections became deadly. Even though she'd taken a medical leave of absence from work to seek treatment and avoid exposure to germs, nothing so far had proven to boost her blood cell count levels, and she was still getting sick. Even before this latest illness, Holi's doctor had wanted to start looking at stem cell treatment, and they'd tested Rainey days earlier to see if she was a match, but the results weren't back yet.

So, Saturday morning, while Jacques was playing to a crowd that likely numbered in the thousands, Rainey was sitting in a hospital room with her sister. But she tuned into the KRVS live feed of the Festival and waited for the band to start.

Holi slept beside her, the IV drip of antibiotics her second dose that month. The hematologist was due to come on rounds soon, and they'd talk about what would come next, but for a few minutes, Rainey welcomed the escape her ear buds offered her as she listened to the opening of their set.

"Happy Festival, y'all!" A raspy female voice called to the crowd. This must have been Kate, the short, sultry-voiced alto in the band. Cheers followed her greeting. "Thanks for coming out here to see us this early on a Saturday. Since we're here for the Courir, let's open with something new. It's called 'Run.'"

The band broke into a high energy rhythm, and the lyrics started on the eight-count.

* * *

_W hy did you open for me_

_Only to close?_

_Why did you let me in_

_Just to have me lose my way?_

_Why did you tell me all your stories?_

_Color all my memories?_

_Move into my head?_

_If you weren't gonna stay?_

* * *

Rainey swallowed as she listened. Kate sang, so she could absorb the words without feeling them slice into her. But then Jacques joined in on the refrain, their voices mingling in a chilling harmony, and his words invaded her like a rebel army.

* * *

_A nd now there's nothing I can say to you._

_You won't hear me._

_You won't let me have my say._

_You won't talk to me._

_You just chose to run away._

* * *

Rainey squeezed her eyes shut. Kate had introduced the song as _new_. Jacques was a songwriter. A good one. Had he written it recently? Rainey wasn't about to flatter herself with the thought that the song was about her, but such denial didn't keep a mantle of guilt from weighing her down. He really deserved better than to be coldly ignored. Would it have been so bad to tell him that she loved spending time with him, but that they'd never work out?

It would feel good to apologize to him, she realized. Then she wouldn't have to carry the guilt of wronging him. All she'd have left to bear would be the loss of him. Of course, in her life, the loss of someone who liked her when he didn't have to, who wanted to be with her, who drew her out of herself, and who could stop her breath with his kiss was no small loss. Apologizing wouldn't make everything better, but it would help.

She'd almost summoned the courage to send him a text when the song ended. The crowd came over the radio with cheers and applause, and then Jacques's lone voice filled her ears.

"Thanks, everyone. Happy Festival! Let's hear it for all those runners!"

A roaring crowd swallowed his words.

"We'd like to thank y'all for coming out here to support our runners and to support Festival International. We'd also like to give a shout out to our Scène Fais Do Do sponsors. You help keep Festival free."

Rainey smiled as she listened. Jacques's showmanship was second nature. The best part about it was how genuine and at ease he was with the crowd. He never stumbled. He sounded overjoyed, and she could almost see him smiling, completely at home in his element. Anyone watching Heroine for the first time today would walk away a fan.

"In case this is the first time you've seen us, I'm Jacques. That's Kate on guitar, Des on bass, and Kara on the keyboard, and we're Heroine. Kara, take it away."

Seven notes on the piano opened the song and told a story before guitars folded in, and the overture replayed. Rainey listened, leaning into the beautiful sound, picturing the band on stage just off Jefferson Street. And then Jacques ripped her open.

_"I didn't take your picture... It's something that I still regret,"_ he sang with the seven-note movement. _"I guess it doesn't matter. 'Cause there's no way I could forget... The fall of your hair... The smile on your face... The way your eyes are like lightnin' in a bottle. How could I forget... the girl with rain in her name?"_

"Oh my God!" she gasped aloud. Beside her, Holi rolled over in her sleep, but Rainey couldn't help herself as Jacques's voice became a fist around her heart.

_"Girl, I don't even know you... And still your voice it speaks to me... I see your skin in moonlight... I taste your lips in memories..."_

Tears blurred her vision as she listened, so she closed her eyes and felt Jacques's mouth on hers, the way it made her feel claimed and wanted and beautiful all at once.

_"That time you beat North... I felt like a king... I knew you'd be with me tomorrow..."_ As he sang, he drew out the line like a vow. _"Who made me a fool? The girl with rain in her name."_

Rainey covered her face and broke open, sobbing freely. How could she have thought a text could absolve her? She'd made him feel like fool. So much so, he'd written a song about it!

Mercifully, the band moved the song through an instrumental bridge while Rainey mopped her face and got her breathing under control, but her composure didn't last long.

_"And, so, where does this leave me?... My arms have never felt so bare... Hell, you won't even see me... And, yet, somehow I think you care."_

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 have 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.

_God, I've missed you,_ he wanted to say, but he already felt enough like a fool. He wasn't supposed to miss her. They'd only had a handful of days together. It was hardly enough time to grow anything that could be missed.

And yet he did.

"Jacques, you know you're going places, right?"

"What?" He frowned. What the hell was she talking about?

Another sigh. "I mean you and Heroine are going to be big. Soon. I know what I'm talking about. I knew it the moment I saw you play together at Artmosphere," she said, her voice resonating with truth and conviction. "You have it. You have the magic everybody wants. Everyone's going to know your name."

Hearing her say it — hearing her affirm what he so desperately hoped would be true — felt like Christmas morning.

"That would be great," he muttered, grinning in spite of himself. "But that's a long shot."

"No, it _is_ great," she insisted. "It's already happening. You can't tell me you haven't realized it."

Jacques shrugged to himself. "Yeah, I mean things are going really well," he admitted.

"They'll keep going well. You'll see. And I'm so happy for you, Jacques," she said, and he heard the warmth there in her voice. It felt real and deep and sincere. "I just see everything so clearly, and I know where you are going, there's no place for someone like me."

"Wait, what are you—"

"This is the part that makes me sound crazy and presumptuous and ridiculous. We aren't even in a relationship. We've gone out on a couple of dates. I really like you, and I'd like to keep seeing you, and I wish I could be the kind of person who could just enjoy us for however long there is an us...." She paused and Jacques could hear her voice change again, dip lower, sounding somber. "...but I'm not that kind of person."

"What kind of person?" She was the kind of person he wanted to keep seeing. She was _the_ person. If the nine songs she'd inspired him to write didn't testify to that, he didn't know what could.

"My life is small, Jacques. It's so small. If I let you in..." Her voice sounded haunted. "I'm just not that strong. Not anymore. Best not to go down that road at all."

"You're not strong enough to let me in?" Jacques asked, refusing to let the disappointment penetrate him like a stain.

"No, I'm not strong enough to let you go, and you'd go, Jacques. You'd have to."

And as she said it, Jacques saw what she saw. He'd be going soon. Or he hoped he would. The music would open doors he needed and wanted to walk through. It would give him the world, and he'd want to take it. She was right about that, but she was wrong about something else.

"I might go, but if you let me in, I wouldn't forget about you."

Grim laughter was her reply. "Trust me, Jacques, I have a lifetime of experience with this. Forgetting is a breeze."

Jacques didn't need to be told that she was thinking of her father. His eyes narrowed. The burning in his gut warned him if he ever met the man, he'd have to squash the urge to shove him into a wall.

"I know you haven't known me long," he hedged, hoping he could reason with her. "But other than the music, what else do your father and I have in common?"

She was quiet for a moment. "The music's a pretty big thing."

"Yeah, but put that aside for just a minute. Are our personalities similar?"

Rainey choked on a laugh. "God, no."

"Why?" Jacques asked. "What's he like?"

_"Pfft._ He's a cheeseball."

"Wh-what?" Hesitant laughter shook out of him. Rainey giggled in response. It sounded exactly like bliss.

"He talks like he has a microphone in his hand _all the time._ He's not real. I don't think he even knows how to be real." The mirth faded from her voice. "I didn't realize it until I needed him to be real, and then I couldn't stop seeing it. The phoniness is sort of sickening."

Jacques thought about his own father who was so real and raw it had cost him his freedom. The man couldn't disguise or control what he felt for anything. Jacques could keep his emotions close to his vest, but he'd never learned pretense. Not with the kind of mother and father he'd had. And not later with Grandma Lucille and Pal. Two more genuine people never lived.

"Okay, so you should know with me what you see is what you get," he vowed.

"I know, Jacques. Even on stage, you're more real than he can ever be," she said, her voice strident. "And you're funny. My dad's handsome, and he's charming, and he laughs at everything, but it's a fake laugh. He never _says_ anything funny."

"You make me laugh all the time," Jacques admitted. "I hope you know it's real."

"You have a _great_ laugh," she said, her voice going soft with appreciation. "Everything about it is real. You are nothing like my dad."

Jacques's hope grew. "Okay, so why would you think that if I become a successful musician like your dad that I would make the same choices he made? Scratch that," he said, shaking his head. "The same mistakes."

Silence stretched between them. He heard her let go of her breath. "It's not that I don't trust _you_ , Jacques," she said on whisper. "It's that I don't trust. Period."

"That still means you don't trust _me,"_ he argued.

"Yeah, but I don't want you to take it personally."

Jacques felt like each of her arguments was a wall he had to scale, and yet he wasn't about to give up.

"If it means I don't get to see you, I will take it personally."

She made a little noise that had him listening closer, but she said nothing.

"Let me see you, Rainey." He used his voice, the strongest weapon in his arsenal. "I'll come by tonight. I'll bring dinner. We can just talk."

"Jacques..." Now she was pleading. But in her plea to leave her alone, she was still giving him the choice, and he wasn't about to choose to walk away.

"Just dinner. Just talking," he said, unwilling to relent.

"Jacques." Her voice was firmer, but he still hadn't heard _no,_ so he took this as a sign of victory.

"Is there anything you don't eat?"

"Barbecue," she said without hesitation.

Jacques chuckled. "The girl with _Memphis_ as her middle name doesn't like barbecue?"

"Yeah, I don't have many good associations with Memphis," she said quickly and with feeling "...but even if it weren't the barbecue capital of the world, I'd still hate barbecue. I mean, barbecue sauce? _Eww."_

She'd done it again. He was laughing, and that was how Kate found him.

"What's taking so long, Gilchrist?"

Jacques spun to find her standing right behind him. He had no idea how long she'd been there.

"Des has to go to work in an hour, and we need to nail your last two pity party songs before tomorrow night's show."

Kate delivered this little speech at full volume and before Jacques could cover the phone.

"Pity party songs?" Rainey asked in Jacques's ear.

He sent a scowl Kate's way.

She came back with a suspicious stare. "Who's that?" she asked, nodding to the phone.

"Rainey, I need to go—"

"Oh, goody. He's talking to his muse." Kate's sarcasm came out in stilted monotone.

He ignored her and tried to lock down plans with Rainey. "But is seven okay? I promise I won't bring barbecue."

"And he's going to see her again." Kate narrated for no one.

When Rainey didn't respond, Jacques tried harder. "I can bring enough for your sister. You said things have been rough. You been taking care of her? Cooking for her? Let me take that off your plate tonight."

"What. A. Guy," Kate said, rolling her eyes.

Jacques clenched his jaw and gave a tight jerk of his head.

"Boy, she's really busting your balls, isn't she?" Rainey sounded less than amused. In fact, she sounded a little pissed.

Jacques's jaw unclenched as he remembered their encounter with Casey North. The feeling it summoned made him even more determined.

"I'll be there at seven."

He heard her sigh. "Alright, yes. Seven it is."

His full-strength smile broke free, and he watched Kate's lip curl a little in apparent disgust.

"Great. I'll see you then." Jacques made his goodbyes and glared at Kate as he tucked his phone in his back pocket. "What the hell?"

She cocked a brow and smirked. "You're welcome."

"What?" he asked with a scowl.

"You know, I've actually learned all the lyrics to the songs you've been writing," she said, looking at him like he was an idiot. "Which means I have ringside seats for this _relationship_ of yours."

At the word _relationship_ , Kate employed air quotes with a cocky head bob, and then she kept going.

"And so I know that girl's into you, even if she's dicking you around for some lame-ass reason. I've been standing out here long enough to know she wanted to say yes to your dinner plans, but she just needed a little nudge," Kate said, almost smiling. "I was getting bored, so I nudged. You're welcome."

Jacques stared at her. He'd only known Kate Crawford for about a month, but Jacques was beginning to think she had a sweet spot underneath all that sour.

"Be careful, Crawford," he said, fighting his smile. "Someone might think you're a romantic at heart."

Her raspy snicker was almost demonic. "Not a chance."

# Chapter 14

"None of them?" Rainey pressed the phone to her ear and felt the floor shift under her feet.

"I'm sorry, Rainey. It's disappointing," said Dr. Lambert. "We were all really hoping one of them would be a match."

"Not my dad? Not even Holi's mom?" she asked, unable to accept the truth.

She heard the doctor sigh. "I'm afraid not."

Rainey felt the breath leave her. "And nothing's turned up in the registry?"

"Not yet, but new people are added every day, so we can only hope that—"

"Hope? That's our only option? Hope for a donor? Hope my sister doesn't get another infection?" She knew she sounded ungrateful, and Dr. Lambert had been nothing but warm and capable in caring for Holi, but if hope was all they had to hang onto, Rainey was going to lose it.

"No, there is a drug trial I think she's eligible for, and I'd like to see about enrolling her in it."

"A drug trial?" A swell of fear rose in her throat. "As in an _experiment?"_

"Yes, it's for leukemia patients and other aplastic anemia patients like your sister who don't respond to bone marrow stimulants," Dr. Lambert explained. "She's young. She's had no problem taking transfusions, and we're running out of options. I think they'd take her."

The mention of vanishing options made Rainey's knees go weak. She sunk down onto the couch, and Archie, as though sensing something was wrong, hopped up beside her and put a forepaw on her thigh. With her free hand, Rainey stroked his back, seeking the comfort he offered.

"Yeah, but... _a drug trial?"_ Rainey's voice sounded weak and squeaky. What were the risks involved? What about side effects? When would this happen? A heap of questions loomed like an avalanche.

"Unless we find a suitable donor, it's her best option right now," Dr. Lambert continued. "If it isn't something she wants, we can keep her on steroids for a little while, and antibiotics when we need them, though those come with their own risks, but we're just buying time now."

Rainey tried to steady her shaking hand in Archie's forgiving coat. "And if this drug trial works, she'll be cured?"

Silence overtook the line for a full ten seconds before Dr. Lambert spoke. "It's a maintenance drug. A bone marrow stimulant like Neupogen or Neulasta. So far, the only known cure in cases like Holi's is a transplant."

"So if she joins the trial, and the drug works, Holi will have to take it for the rest of her life?"

"If the FDA approves it, yes."

"Holy fuck," Rainey muttered. She closed her eyes and let the scope of all Dr. Lambert had told her sink in. She'd need to absorb each blow and let them do their worst inside her before she could pull herself together and explain it all to Holi who was upstairs asleep.

And Jacques was coming in ten minutes with dinner.

Rainey didn't think she'd be able to eat. Maybe never again. And why had she agreed to let him come over anyway? She couldn't have picked a worst possible time.

The moment that thought crossed her mind, a knock sounded at her front door. Rainey made herself get to her feet as Archie ran ahead, barking once.

"I know it's a lot to digest. If you need me to explain it all to Holi, I can do that during her next transfusion," Dr. Lambert offered. "That's just a couple of days from now."

Rainey shook her head, even though Dr. Lambert couldn't see her. No, she had to be strong enough to explain all of this to her sister. "I'll talk to Holi, and we'll bring you our questions on Monday."

"You know you can call my office if you need to before then," Dr. Lambert said gently.

"Thank you, Dr. Lambert."

They ended the call as Rainey moved across the room. She was fully prepared to apologize and send Jacques away until she opened the door.

"No barbecue," he said, holding up two takeout bags and stepping over the threshold. "I hope you like Chinese."

Rainey had to move back from the entrance before he collided with her. "I-I love Chinese," she stammered.

"Good, because I got enough to feed you and your sister for about a week." Jacques filled the foyer and seemed ready to continue into the kitchen, but he stopped beside her, leaned down, and kissed her cheek.

She jolted at his touch. It was gone before she could blink, but Rainey was left with the overwhelming desire to throw her arms around his neck and hug him for a solid hour. She hadn't seen him in more than three weeks, and he'd been hard to resist even in the abstract.

But here in the flesh, resisting Jacques Gilchrist was quite impossible. All thought of sending him home evaporated. He contrasted sharply with the rest of her life in a way that beckoned her. She wanted to see him. She wanted to talk to him. And even though she knew she shouldn't, Rainey wanted to be near him.

So, stunned speechless, she followed him through the house.

"Will I get to meet your sister tonight?" he asked, setting the takeout bags along the kitchen bar.

Rainey swallowed and tested her voice. "If she's feeling up to coming downstairs. If not, I'll fix her a plate, but knowing you're here..." Rainey angled her eyes to the top of the stairs in hopes Holi couldn't hear her. "...I'm betting she'll make an appearance just to meet you."

Jacques's brows lifted at this. "She knows about me?"

"Of course she knows about you. You're the first guy to take me out on a date in years," Rainey blurted. Immediate regret nearly made her wince. Why had she needed to say that? Even if it were true? Even if he already knew it? It just made her seem so pitiful.

His brows rose a fraction higher, but otherwise, Jacques betrayed no reaction to this. "I hope I get to meet her. How's she doing today?"

This time, Rainey did wince because his question brought to mind the latest of their setbacks. Of course, Rainey never forgot Holi's illness. Not completely. Not ever. But sometimes she could push it to the back of her consciousness and lose herself in a crochet pattern or a book.

Jacques's arrival had definitely succeeded in tucking her worry away, but his question called it forward again, and, again, she was faced with the grim state of Holi's health and her inability to do anything about it. In spite of herself, Rainey told Jacques everything.

"I was just on the phone with her doctor when you arrived," she said, unable to bring even a fake smile to her lips. "We got some bad news."

He frowned. "How bad?"

Rainey closed her eyes, wanting to pull away from the sinkhole that had claimed her hope of finding a match for Holi. But before she could open her eyes again, she felt Jacques's hands close around her own. She raised her eyelids to find him peering down at her, his expression full of gentle regret.

"That bad, huh?"

She nodded and swallowed. "She needs a stem cell transplant, and we don't have a donor. No one in our family is a match, and, so far, there isn't one in the national donor registry either."

Jacques gave a slow nod. "That's a lot to absorb," he said, his deep voice rumbling through her. "Do you want me to go?"

Rainey was shaking her head even before she spoke. "No." It was the truth. As much as she needed to get on the phone and start calling family, the thought of letting him leave suddenly made the oxygen in the room thin out.

Jacques squeezed her hands. "Tell me what I can do to help."

The statement — the sentiment — was so novel in her life, it almost knocked her backward. Rainey pulled a breath deep into her lungs and felt capable for the first time in weeks.

"Thanks, but I need to make some phone calls, and I don't really think you can help me with those."

He nodded then scanned the kitchen. His eyes landed on the wine chiller next to the refrigerator. "How about I put the food in the oven so it'll stay warm, find a bottle of wine that will go with Kung Pao Shrimp, and pour you a glass while you do what you need to do? I'm not working tonight, so I'll have one too."

The suggestion sounded so divine, Rainey stifled a giggle. "Yes, I'd love that."

At her smile, Jacques gave her a grin. "Good."

With reluctance, Rainey pulled her hands free of his grip and grabbed her phone. "I'm just going to go out to the porch. You can come join me whenever you'd like."

"Sure," he said, nodding again.

She called Archie to her side, stepped out onto her front porch, crossed the floor, and sunk into one of the two cushioned settees. Rainey loved the space. Surrounded by her terracotta pots — now overflowing with petunias and impatiens — the porch was a cheerful riot of color. The matching settees could comfortably hold four people. Their deep, gray cushions, and their sunbelt orange pillows often welcomed Rainey, Holi, and Ash to lounge for hours.

Sitting back, Rainey pulled her legs up into a lotus and tugged an orange pillow into her lap. Under the circumstances, she felt as comfortable, comforted, and calmed as she was likely to feel, so she took a deep breath and called Ash.

"Crap," he bit out when she'd relayed Dr. Lambert's news.

"Yeah, pretty much," Rainey agreed.

"And Holiday doesn't know yet?"

Rainey loved that Ash called her sister Holiday. No one else did. Not even their dad who had insisted on the name.

_Asshole can give her a name, but he can't even give her stem cells,_ Rainey thought with bitterness.

"Not yet," she said. "Last I checked, she was asleep."

"I'll tell her." Ash wasn't offering. He was insisting. And even though a small part of Rainey wondered if he did so because he thought she was too frail to handle breaking the news to Holi, she was grateful — overwhelmingly grateful to Ash.

"Thank you," she said, talking past the sudden lump in her throat.

"What about Melinda, Denise, and Dylan?" Ash asked, ignoring her distress.

Rainey cleared her throat. "No. You're the first I've told."

"Okay, I'll make a deal with you. You call Dylan, and I'll call the moms. That okay?" Everyone in Rainey's family bore resentment toward Dylan Reeves, but what Ash felt for him came close to hatred. Rainey and Holi couldn't help but carry a stubborn love for their dad. Ash didn't have that burden. All he had was his woman's pain, so he could barely stand to be in the same room with Dylan Reeves — when the rare circumstance arose. Carrying on a phone conversation with him would be asking a bit too much.

"Sure. Got it," Rainey said, knowing in all likelihood, she'd get Larry anyway.

"Okay. I'm leaving the bank. I'll be there as soon as I can."

Ash rang off, and Rainey took a moment to center herself. If Larry didn't answer, and she got her father, talking to him about this wouldn't be easy. He never liked to face anything negative. He denied it with everything in his power. In the two actual conversations Rainey had held with her father since Holi fell ill, he'd kept up a steady stream of _"It can't be that bad,"_ and _"Holi's the strong and salty type. She'll be fine,"_ and _"She'll be back to her old self tomorrow."_

It did no good to remind him that she was so weak she could only get out of bed for a few hours, that she'd taken a leave of absence from a job she loved, that she had to wear a protective mask for fear of infection when she was around others.

That this disease could kill her.

Shoving that thought aside, Rainey dialed her dad's number and waited. She expected the call to go to voicemail, but Larry surprised her by picking up.

"Hey, Rainbow, how's Holi?" Larry had been her father's manager since she and Holi were babies. He was more like an uncle to them than a business partner of their dad's — an uncle who showered them with love, but who always made excuses or covered for their father's absence and distraction. Rainey was sure Larry was behind every Christmas and birthday present she'd received from her father since her parents' divorce.

But Rainey couldn't bring herself to resent that all too much. If Larry weren't around, Doc Dylan Reeves would find someone else to do his shopping. At least Larry felt something for her and Holi. And her mother, even now.

"I wish I had better news, Larry," she said. "Is Dad around?"

"I'm sorry, hon. He's got his hands full right now..." Larry, in his native Tennessee twang, started in — doing what he did best — buffering their father from anything too unpleasant while also covering for him.

As Larry nattered on about why Doc Dylan Reeves couldn't come to the phone to hear firsthand about the peril of one of his children, Rainey watched with relief as Jacques stepped soundlessly out onto the porch, with the stems of two wine glasses threaded between the fingers of one hand and bottle of Riesling in the other.

He met her with a questioning expression, pointing the wine glasses to himself and then to her, asking if he could join her. Rainey nodded with a smile, and Larry's words became foreign prattle as she watched Jacques cross the porch in long, easy strides and sit beside her on the settee.

"...so I just don't know when he'll be free," Larry was saying. "You know how exhaustin' those recordin' sessions can be. Give me the update, and I'll relay everythin' to him."

No _"He'll call you back immediately"_ or _"He'll talk as soon as he can."_ But Larry couldn't disguise the shame in his voice. Rainey had heard it before — years ago — when she had needed her father most. And he wasn't there. She knew it had been painful for Larry to watch Doc Dylan Reeves, his best friend and business partner, abandon his daughter when her world imploded six years ago, and Holi's illness was reawakening that pain.

And he wasn't alone.

Rainey took a breath to steady herself, and she told him about the failed matches, and the vanishing options, and the drug trial. And as she did, Jacques poured out two glasses of wine and pushed one into her hand. She drained it gratefully. He filled it again, sipping his first more slowly, and keeping a hand curled around the toe of her boot and squeezing every time she said words that were hard to say.

It was incredibly sweet.

When she had finished, she fell silent, waiting for Larry to come back with questions, but he said nothing.

"Larry?" she asked, guessing she'd lost him.

She heard the working of his mouth, as though he'd opened it to speak. "I-I'm here..."

Rainey frowned. Jacques squeezed her foot. "You okay, Larry?"

He was silent for a moment. "There's nothin' else? Nothin' else they can do for her?" His voice came out so frail, so lost, Rainey felt a sting in her heart. She allowed herself a healthy gulp of wine before answering.

"I'm afraid not. Not unless a donor turns up on the registry."

Again, silence.

And then...

"Rainey..." His voice was low now, almost a whisper. "What if... what if there was another donor?"

"Well, if some good Samaritan decides to be tested with the national reg—"

"No, I don't mean a stranger," Larry said, his voice still low, but now hesitant. "I mean... someone related."

Rainey sighed. "Larry, Holi doesn't have a big family. We've tested everyone."

This time, she heard Larry's sigh over the line. "No, you haven't."

"Yeah, we have. Everyone who's close enough—"

"Rainbow, baby, you haven't," Larry said, sounding defeated. Then he grumbled, "Dylan's going to have my ass for this."

"What?" Rainey sat bolt upright. Her spine tickled with a cold sweat, and a hard knot the size of a grapefruit sprouted in her stomach. "What are you saying, Larry?"

At the change in her tone, Jacques's eyes searched hers.

Larry made a sound in his throat like the grinding of gears. "There's... um... a boy."

_"A what?"_ Her lungs held no air, so the words came out as dry as cornhusk.

"Your, uh, your daddy... has a son." Larry stopped to clear his throat. "He's probably nine or ten now. Last I heard, he lives in Kentucky with his momma."

The phone trembled in her grasp, and it felt too heavy to hold. Sitting up straight felt too taxing. Her lips went numb.

"Jesus, Rainey, you're white as a sheet." Jacques took the sloshing wine glass from her hand, set it on the table before them, and gripped her by the arm. Rainey couldn't be sure, but he might have been the only force that kept her from spilling off the settee and onto the floor.

"You okay, Rainbow?" Larry asked. "I guess I gave you a shock. Sorry, darlin'."

She made herself speak though her voice shook along with the rest of her. "N-nine or ten? Larry... How long has Dad known?"

Again, the gear-grinding sound prefaced his words. "Rainey, you know your daddy."

His words were like a blow to the gut. Because they were true. She did know her daddy, which meant this nine or ten-year-old brother in Kentucky wasn't just someone who turned up in the last week or so. Dylan Reeves had known of him for a good, long while.

"All along?" she asked, her tone accusing. "Since he was born?" A child nine or ten years old would have been conceived ten or eleven years ago. Years before her parents divorced. Years before they'd lost John Lee. And even after losing John Lee, their father hadn't thought it significant to let Rainey and Holi know they had another brother.

"Not _all_ along. Dylan and Gloria weren't together but three weeks when he was recording _Tennessee Moon_ up in Louisville. But she tracked him down a few months into her pregnancy. Thought they might try to give it a go..." Larry's voice trailed off for a long while. "'Course, your dad was still married to Melinda, but he took care of Gloria and the baby. Paid all their bills, found them a place to live, looked in on her when he could."

"What a prince," Rainey muttered dryly.

Larry gave a low chuckle. "Well, for about three years, Dylan sent a check every month, but he got a letter from her about that time tellin' him she was gettin' married, and her new man wanted to be the only father her boy ever knew, so he should stop sendin' money."

Rainey had a little brother. A brother who was alive. She swallowed hard because as she tried to picture him, the image that rose in her mind was John Lee. But this child couldn't look like him. The only brother Rainey had ever known had been the spitting image of their mom.

"What's his name?" Rainey asked, needing to get the vision of a ghost out of her head.

Larry's answer was immediate. "Last I knew, it was Ray Charles Reeves."

"Goddammit."

Jacques's brows rose at her curse, but Larry only chuckled again.

"Don't know how he did it, but your daddy got his way on that. Like he always did."

"Sonofabitch," she hissed, and Larry just laughed. "You think he could make it a little easier not to hate him. Just now and then. He's a fucking cliché."

Jacques seemed to bite down on a smile that was both surprised and concerned, but Larry sobered. "Now, Rainbow, don't be mad at him. The man is what he is—"

"Yeah, a pig."

"Hey, now. That pig is my best friend. Been through a lot with him. With every human bein', you gotta take the good with the bad, and in my view, your daddy has a lot more good."

Rainey didn't bother arguing. As a friend, Doc Dylan Reeves might have been great, but as a father, he sucked billy goat balls.

"And remember, I didn't tell you this to make you mad," Larry hedged, clearly trying to calm her down. "I told you because young Ray Charles Reeves — or whatever his new daddy decided to call him — shares blood with our Holi, and he might just be able to help her."

"Larry, he's a kid—"

"Kids — that is, kids who are family — can be donors. If they want to, and their parents agree," Larry said. Then his voice turned sheepish. "I looked it up when you called askin' for Dylan to get tested... just in case it came to this."

Rainey rolled her eyes. "Yeah, no reason to tell me I have a brother if you don't need to."

His voice dropped to a low mutter. "Not my news to tell."

"So why _are_ you telling me? Why hasn't Dad? Why didn't he tell me last week when I called?"

"The way he figured it, if one of you matched, he wouldn't have to." Larry cleared his throat. "It's not like he's particularly proud of his actions, and Dylan doesn't want to hurt you girls or Melinda any more than he has."

The anger Rainey felt on her mother's behalf set her teeth on edge. The years she had thrown away for that man!

"So he knows you're telling me now?" she asked, outrage reaching a steady boil in her blood.

"No, I made that call. I figure he'll be pissed I didn't clear it with him first, but I don't want to waste more of Holi's time."

"Ya think?!" Her outrage boiled over. "Funny our father didn't come to that conclusion."

Her voice was raised now, so she didn't hear Ash's Charger pull in, but a moment later Jacques turned at his approach, and her eyes followed his in time to see Ash walking up the driveway.

"You know how he is, darlin'. He can't handle the serious stuff—"

"Yeah, no shit."

"So he doesn't let himself believe it _is_ serious—"

"Even when it is—" Her throat caught on her words, and as angry as she was, she also felt the longing. How he'd all but vanished from their lives after John Lee died. Leaving them — leaving _her_ especially — to pick up the pieces. Longing for him, needing him made Rainey hate herself.

At once, Jacques's hand was against her cheek, a soothing touch that allowed her to release the breath she held. Rainey raised her eyes to him and saw concern etched in his.

"You want me to take over?" he murmured, just low enough for her to hear. But it was loud enough to drown out whatever excuses Larry was making for her father.

Ash mounted the steps then and halted in surprise, his eyes on Jacques. With Jacques's hand cupping her face, Rainey knew they painted an especially intimate picture.

Jacques dropped his hand and stood, extending an open palm to Ash. They murmured their introductions, and Rainey caught the firm handshake that each exchanged, the wariness in Ash's eyes that suddenly gave way to curiosity.

"Rainey's talking to someone named Larry," Jacques explained just low enough for her to hear.

Ash nodded knowingly, his mouth a grim line.

Ignoring Larry's monologue, she faced Ash and spoke, her voice breaking only twice as she delivered the news. "We have a b-brother, Ash. Isn't that fucking amazing?" Even to her own ears, she sounded crazed, the anger and betrayal making her voice pitch higher. "Hell, with our father, we probably have a dozen out there. Maybe if one of us needs a kidney one day, we'll get to meet more."

Ash's eyes widened a fraction at her outburst, and he looked to Jacques for an explanation.

But Jacques just turned from him and sat again next to Rainey. "Baby, let me take over for you," he urged, nodding to the phone at her ear she now ignored. "Go talk to your family."

The kindness in his eyes did her in. As her throat closed on a sob, Jacques took the phone from her with one hand and pulled her into his chest with the other.

And wounds old and new tore her open.

# Chapter 15

Jacques had pieced together enough of the details from Rainey's side of the conversation to guess what needed to be done, so after he asked the guy named Larry to please hang on, he'd set the phone down and clasped an inconsolable, heartbroken, and devastatingly beautiful Rainey in his arms.

Watching her cry — holding her sobs against his chest — felt like a punch in the stomach.

Ash's eyes met his over Rainey's head. His voice was just above a whisper when he spoke. "I refuse to talk to that asshole or his lackey. You got this?"

Rainey's tears soaked through his shirt.

"Got it."

"Good. Find out where this brother is. Get anything they have," Ash instructed. "We'll deal with this on our own."

Jacques nodded in silent agreement. And his next move was instinct. He tilted his chin down and pressed a kiss to the top of Rainey's hair. The scent of wild orange and lavender he recognized as hers made him squeeze her tighter. He hated to see her upset, but after weeks of not seeing her at all, having her in his arms still felt like a gift.

Ash stood back while Jacques tried to console her, but every line of the man's physique held tension. He was impatient, Jacques guessed, to get inside and talk to Rainey's sister. Jacques's guess was confirmed a moment later when he spoke.

"Rain?" he asked, and Jacques was relieved to hear that he spoke gently. "Honey, let's go upstairs and get Holiday up to speed. We've got a lot to tell her."

Against him, Rainey swallowed audibly and bobbed her head, but she didn't pull away.

"Rainey, Jacques's got this under control. He's gonna get what we need to find this kid, and right now I need you to explain all this to Holiday. You gotta be strong, sweetheart."

At that, Rainey jerked upright and pushed out of his arms as if she had something to prove. "I'm okay. I'm okay," she insisted, wiping her tearstained face with the back of her hands. "I'm s-sorry."

Despite her words, she didn't look okay, and Jacques didn't like Ash rushing her. "Take your time, baby," Jacques murmured.

Her eyes met his then, and he saw a flash of horror cross them. "Oh, God, Jacques, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to—"

He gripped her shoulders and shook his head. "Don't be. Go up when you're ready. I'll be right here."

Rainey sniffled and wiped her cheeks again. "Okay." Then she closed her eyes and set her jaw. "Fuck. That fucking asshole."

With that, she stood, patted Jacques's hand as she moved away from his touch, and faced Ash. "Let's go make Holi's day," she said sourly.

Her sarcasm reassured him. He had precious little experience with women and tears. Emmie, his old girlfriend, would just shut down and clam up when she was upset. If she cried, it was never in front of him. Seeing Rainey weep had spurred in Jacques a rough-and-ready urge to protect her, and if she wasn't okay, he didn't want to let her out of his sight.

He watched her and Ash head to the door. Archie followed until they reached the entrance, but then he turned back and rejoined Jacques, claiming the spot Rainey had vacated. Glad for the company, Jacques settled a hand on the dog's curly head and picked up the phone again.

"Still there, Larry?" he asked.

"Who's this?" Larry replied, a note of irritation in his voice.

"My name's Jacques. I'm a friend of Rainey's—"

Larry broke in before he could continue. "A friend?" he asked, his skepticism undisguised.

"Yeah. And I'm trying to help her out, so I need you to tell me how to find this surprise brother of hers."

It became clear in a matter of minutes that Larry's information on the subject was less than stellar and more than a little outdated. But everything he said Jacques wrote down in the moleskin he always carried for songwriting.

Ray Charles Reeves had been born to a woman named Gloria Lopez in Louisville, Kentucky. Larry could not recall the kid's date of birth, but he did give him the last known address, which was a good six years old. Apparently, Lopez had gotten married to a man around that time, and Rainey's dad and his lackey — Jacques found Ash's term more than fitting for the tool named Larry — had lost touch with her. Larry gave him the number he used to have for her, but Jacques suspected it was probably old too.

He didn't linger on the phone long after he wrote down everything Larry had to offer, and after he disconnected the call, Jacques gathered up Rainey's phone, their glasses, and the wine bottle and went back inside. If Rainey needed something, he didn't want to be far.

The downstairs was empty, so Jacques sat on a barstool and took a chance on the phone number. It rang through, but a woman named Bridget answered, and she didn't know a Gloria Lopez. Dead end there.

He started searching for Gloria Lopez on his phone, even though he had little hope he'd find much of anything. Whitepages only turned up three hits in the whole state of Kentucky.

Jacques took screenshots of the pages, knowing that if the woman had married, it was likely none of the three were her. And one was only twenty-seven, too young, Jacques hoped, to be someone Doc Dylan Reeves had knocked up a decade ago. The other two looked to be in their thirties and forties, so either, technically, _could_ have been the right one.

He found three more on Facebook, and one of these bore the hyphenated last name of Lopez-Craine. He snapped pics of these as well and was about to search Instagram when the sound of footfalls on the stairs made him turn.

Rainey's eyes met his, and she gave him a timid smile. She no longer appeared upset, but she came down the stairs a little slower than he'd like, as though she were uncertain what she'd find when she approached him.

To let her know he had no intention of leaving, he reached for the bottle of wine and tipped it into their glasses, topping them off. Glancing back at her, he saw that her timid smile had grown a little. She met the bottom of the stairs and walked to the kitchen, though she passed up the stools next to him and chose to stand on the opposite side of the counter.

Regretting that she wasn't closer, Jacques slid her wine glass across the countertop.

"How's Holi?" he asked gently.

Rainey took the crystal stem between her fingers and gave him a nod of thanks. "Taking everything in stride, as usual," she said, giving him a tentative glance under her lashes. "When she heard of our new little brother, she actually snorted. Holi's not easily surprised."

She took a sip of her wine, set it down, and peered up at him under her lashes again. "And unless you're a very good actor, you seem to be able to take quite a bit in stride too."

If she was looking for reassurance, he would gladly give it. "I told you before, family drama doesn't faze me." Then he took a sip of his own glass before setting it down near hers. Their fingers were almost close enough to touch. "I'm just glad you let me stay."

This time, he watched her bite down on her smile. He wished she'd set it free.

"Do I get to feed you now?" he asked, determined to do what he could for her.

Her eyes widened just a fraction, and then her mouth dropped open. "Oh, my God. I completely forgot about dinner." She covered an embarrassed laugh. "You must be starving."

Jacques shook his head, grinning. "It's all good. We'll eat now." He pushed himself from the stool, giving her little opportunity to refuse. "Where are the plates?"

"I'll get them," she said, turning toward the cabinets.

Jacques moved to the oven, grabbed a potholder from the counter, and set the three containers he'd picked up at Magic Wok onto the bar. Rainey darted around him, laying down napkins and serving spoons.

"Chopsticks?" she asked, meeting his eye with only a quick glimpse.

Before he'd arrived that evening, Jacques had anticipated that she'd be nervous — hell, they'd both be nervous — being together again after she'd avoided him for weeks. Her family's situation had taken the focus off that awkwardness at first, but now it seemed to be back full force.

At least for Rainey. Jacques had only to see her again to know that coming — that insisting on coming — had been the right call. Now he just needed to help her realize it too.

"Sit down," he said, retrieving two pairs of paper-wrapped chopsticks from the takeout bag. When Rainey, unmoving, blinked up at him, he tilted his head in the direction of the barstools. "Sit. I brought dinner. I get to serve you."

She stared at him for a second, looked at the chopsticks in his hand, and finally nodded. Moving with what looked like deliberate calm, Rainey walked around the edge of the bar and sat.

"Now..." Jacques began, opening all three of the takeout containers. "...what do you like? We have Sesame Chicken, Kung Pao Shrimp, and Vegetable Fried Rice."

Steam rose from each carton, and Rainey actually licked her lips, her nerves, it seemed, forgotten for a moment. Jacques kept his mouth tamped down, but the sight pleased him.

"All of it," Rainey admitted with a shrug. Jacques allowed himself a smile as he heaped her plate with a generous portion of each.

"It's good to see you," he confessed, setting the dish in front of her and handing her a pair of chopsticks. What he wanted to tell her was that seeing her brought relief. Relief of the longing that he couldn't seem to shake for three weeks. But he knew he'd sound mad if he told her that.

She met his eyes. "It's good to see you, too." The softness in her voice made him wonder if she found that hard to admit, but she looked down before he could seek the answer in her face. "Thank you for this. Given everything that's happened tonight, I don't know what we would have d—"

"It's my pleasure," he cut in, serving himself. With a full plate, he moved around the counter and took the stool on her right. Rainey gave him another nervous little glance, and Jacques knew he would need to drive the conversation tonight until he could remind her how good they were together.

Reminding her would be easiest with a kiss, but they were a long way from that now.

But sitting beside her, smelling the sweetness of her skin, the memory of their courtyard kisses rose in him like the tide, drowning everything else.

"Mmm..." Rainey's sigh of appreciation pulled him from his fugue of longing. "The shrimp is amazing."

"Yeah, Magic Wok's the best." He took a bite of shrimp with peanuts and chili pepper sauce. "Burns so good," he muttered, making her laugh.

"You're right about that." She reached for her wine glass and took a sip. "So, you must really love Asian food."

Jacques nodded, helping himself to another mouthful. "Nothing better," he muttered. "You? What's your favorite?"

A bashful smile claimed her raspberry lips, and Rainey shook her head. "You'll laugh."

Jacques almost choked on a piece of sesame chicken. "I'll laugh? At your favorite food?"

"Yep."

He fought his grin. "C'mon. Tell me."

Rainey stalled with a bite of broccoli but rolled her eyes playfully. He set down his chopsticks and folded his arms on the counter, giving her a look of enduring patience.

She giggled and gave in. "Breakfast."

Teasing her was too much fun. "So, your favorite restaurant is IHOP," he deadpanned.

Surprise lit her eyes, and she dissolved in laughter, tilting her chin back and leaning into him like she couldn't help it. She righted herself at once, still laughing, and Jacques immediately regretted not snaking an arm around her to keep her there.

"No," she insisted, wiping her eyes and catching her breath. "IHOP is only for road trips. Breakfast desperation."

"Okay," he said, enjoying the sight of her more than he should. "Where is breakfast heaven?"

With the tips of her chopsticks, she counted off her fingers. "The French Press, Dwyers, and Hub City Diner." She wrinkled her nose in contemplation. "I'll take Another Broken Egg, too, even though it's a chain — but only on weekdays."

"Why just on weekdays?"

She looked at him like he was daft. "Because on weekends it's like a forty-five-minute wait! I mean, we're talking breakfast here. That means a _fast_ is waiting to be broken. That needs to happen in a hurry."

Lit with mock outrage, Rainey's eyes snapped as she spoke, making him chuckle. The urge to reach for her was overwhelming. Jacques cleared his throat and forced himself to concentrate, although all he wanted to do now was scoop her off the barstool, carry her over to the couch, and pull her on top of him.

"So you go to those places often? French Press, Dwyer's, and Hub City?" He took a bite of fried rice and waited for her answer.

He got a shrug. "Not really. I don't go anywhere often, remember?" she said, half-chiding him and half... something else. As if she used the chiding as a mask, a defense. He wondered what it hid.

Jacques knew that the depth and timbre of his voice could sometimes sound like a command, so he purposefully gentled it before he spoke. "If you like those places, you should go more often."

Rainey's lashes lowered, and he knew at once that this was a different mask. She poked at her fried rice with the chopsticks.

"If I go out to eat, it's usually with Holi and Ash, and Holi thinks restaurant breakfast is overpriced."

"Let's go tomorrow," Jacques blurted. He didn't bother deliberating or pacing himself now that she'd agreed to see him. He wasn't interested in testing the waters. He wanted more. Now.

But when he saw the way her eyes widened and the edge of her teeth bit at the flesh of her lip, he wondered if he should have waded in instead of cannonballing.

"I don't think I can do this," she said on a whisper.

"Do what? This?" He lifted his hands and gestured between them. "You got this. This is easy."

He spoke with a tease in his voice, wanting to keep things light. If she was going to try to pull away, Jacques was going to push back.

He watched her try to fight a smile, and she conceded with a nod. "You're right. It's too easy. Which means it's too easy for me to—" She stopped herself, pressed her lips together and looked away.

"Too easy to what?" Jacques asked leaning closer, but he could guess the answer.

She gave a sigh and met his eyes again. "Get in over my head."

He thought a moment, and then felt his face, his shoulders, his whole body soften because there was only one way to respond.

"What if _I_ get in over _my_ head?" he asked. "I mean, if that happened, I'd sure want some company."

This time, she couldn't win against her smile. With Rainey, teasing seemed to work, so he kept at it. He ducked his head and spoke just above a whisper.

"I mean, I've written more songs in the last three weeks than I usually do in six months," he confessed and then winced as though this were grave news. "If anyone's in over their heads, it's me."

Without taking his eyes from hers, so beautiful yet so anxious, he reached for her hand, and she let him take it. Her fingers felt warm and delicate in his, and he resisted the urge to bring them to his lips. But he stroked her hand with his thumb, and then hers came alive and stroked back, making him want to crow with joy. When had the touch of a woman's thumb ever felt like such a triumph?

_Oh, hell yeah,_ he thought. _I'm in way over my head._

"Give me a chance." His fingers entwined with hers.

"I can't." Her thumb traced over his palm.

"You can." His pinky caressed the heel of her hand.

Her fingers squeezed tightly. So tightly. "I like you... so much—"

"Then just keep letting me see you." He squeezed right back.

"It's not that simple."

He sniffed a laugh and held on tight. "It is, Rainey. It's that simple."

As they exchanged these words, their hands spoke an entirely different conversation, and Jacques found his eyes drawn to their joined flesh, liking that dialogue so much better. He felt his own longing matched in her touch. She wanted him every bit as much as he wanted her. Their hands had gone well past dating. They had become lovers. Pledged vows of fidelity. Picked out rings.

He moved his thumb slowly from the base of her palm up to her index finger, straightening its slender length with his touch. The sight of their hands together was so beautiful, so innocently erotic, he could have watched it all night.

Jacques was still bewitched by the sight when she spoke. "For you, it is. For me it's not. If I let myself get involved with you, and things go south, I have a lot more at stake."

That was debatable since he guessed she hadn't been hung up on him, night and day, for the last three weeks, but he let the comment go.

"So," he said, squeezing her lovely hand, "seeing where this could go isn't worth the risk?"

A pained expression, one that told of guilt and regret, crossed her face. "Please don't think it's easy to say this to you," she said, her voice low and anguished. "My life right now has to be about helping Holi. I can't—"

The last word broke in her throat, and now Jacques saw raw fear in her eyes.

"I can't lose her. And I can't risk falling for you only to smash to pieces when you and Heroine decide to move to out west or to New York or wherever."

Jacques couldn't help it. He let out a chuckle. In part, the thought of living on either coast seemed completely at odds with who he was, but he also felt a jolt of euphoria at her belief in him and his future. And he hadn't missed the suggestion that she could fall for him.

"It's not funny," she said arching a brow at him. When she attempted to pull her hand from his, he gripped tighter and shook his head.

"Rainey, I'm not laughing at you. I'm glad you're so sure about my success. I haven't had many cheerleaders when it comes to my music, but you don't know what I want and what'll make me happy," he said, shrugging. "Hell, I don't even know, but living somewhere that's not me isn't it."

But she was defiant, her hand now refusing to yield in his. "You're wrong. I do know what will make you happy, and that's going as far as your music will take you," she said, both certain and — he hated to admit it — absolutely right.

"Yeah, I want to make music. I want to make a living doing it, and I want it to be a good living," he said, pulling her hand closer to him so that her knuckles lay inches from his chest. "And yes, I want to be good. I want to be fucking great. But that's not _all_ I want."

She'd said she couldn't risk falling for him. He didn't dare say it, but Jacques knew without a doubt he wanted her to. He was about to press his lips to her hand when she shook her head. Rainey's eyelashes were lowered, veiling the fire in her hazel eyes, but she shook her head, and when she tugged her hand away, this time he let her go.

"I can't," she whispered.

Disappointment hit him, but it was the wrecking ball of loss on its heels that nearly took him down. Jacques felt its blow, but he didn't move. He kept his eyes on her, and he stayed rooted to the spot.

He kept silent and still until she looked up at him, both curious and cautious, waiting to see how he'd respond.

"Okay, then," he said with finality. "We'll just have to be friends."

Her chin reared back. "What?"

If Rainey was afraid that he'd build a relationship with her only to turn his back on her when his musical career took off, he just needed to prove her wrong. Give her a chance to trust him. Give her time to get to know him.

"We'll just be friends. You're not allowed to fall for me. I'm not allowed to fall for you," he said with a shrug as though he had total control over how he felt about her. "But we still get to spend time together."

Her left brow crimped in confusion. It was adorable. But then a steely resolve overcame her face, and she shook her head. "I don't think that's a good idea. I mean, I have to focus on Holi—"

"And I'll help you with that," he broke in. "That's what friends do. I already found six potential Gloria Lopezes in Kentucky."

Her brow crimped again, sharper this time. "What? Gloria Lopez?" she asked, looking completely lost.

"Ray Charles's mother."

Rainey's mouth fell open. "That's her name? Gloria Lopez?"

Clearly, Larry the Tool hadn't gotten to that part. "Yeah. Well, it was before she got married, anyway," Jacques explained. "I've got six names, but one of them's probably too young... at least I hope so anyway."

Jacques pulled a face that made Rainey smile, and he took it for the triumph that it was.

"And one of them is definitely married," he continued. "Because her name is Lopez-Craine."

Rainey bit her lip, her eyes wide with excitement. "But her maiden name is Lopez? Larry was clear on that?"

"Yeah. Gloria Lopez. That was her name when she met your dad." He studied her for a minute. "Why? Is that good news?"

Rainey chewed on her plump bottom lip, and Jacques wanted to make her stop. For one, it was distracting to a maddening degree, and two, the sumptuous flesh deserved much better treatment.

"It might be," she said, looking away in thought before bringing her eyes back to him. "Holi's mother is Cuban-American, and my father's family has European roots. If Ray Charles Reeves shares a similar genetic background, we could get lucky."

"Let's hope your father has a type." He flinched as soon as the words were out, fearing his joke would offend her.

Rainey rolled her eyes, but the corners of her mouth tipped up. "Oh, my father has a type," she said sourly. "Women who aren't married to him."

He laughed, and shaking her head in exasperation, she laughed too. So, Jacques took the opportunity.

"So, what do you say? I'll help you track them down. It's too late to start searching for long-lost brothers tonight," he said, talking fast so she couldn't argue. "We'll start tomorrow. I'll come pick you up, and we'll go to Dwyer's. I'll bring my laptop. We'll find all the Gloria Lopezes we can, and I'll help you contact them."

She pressed her lips together and studied him. "You really want to do that?"

"Yes," he said without hesitation. "I do."

"And we'd have breakfast and work on this together..." Her eyes narrowed on him slightly. "... as friends? You want that?"

Again, he wanted to reach for her, but he kept his hands on the countertop, a posture of even composer that didn't match the tumult that hid behind his chest wall.

_I can do this. I can just be her friend. For as long as it takes,_ he lied to himself.

And then he lied to her. "Sure. That'd be great."

# Chapter 16

True to his word, Jacques picked her up at nine on Saturday morning, and they headed to Dwyer's downtown for breakfast. They had to wait outside for about five minutes for a table, but then one of the servers with a nametag reading _Sonya_ led them to a two-seater booth near the back and pushed menus toward them.

"So, what are you going to get today?" Jacques asked, giving her his lopsided grin.

For about the sixth time that morning, she questioned the wisdom of agreeing to see him again. Even as friends. Jacques seemed more than capable of handling the newly established boundaries in their relationship, but the playfulness of his smile and the masculine purr of his voice made her throat dry and her palms sweat.

Still, both when he'd told her goodnight the evening before and when he'd picked her up that morning, he hadn't even touched her. In fact, since last night when their hands had danced the most intimate dance of her life, he hadn't laid a finger on her.

And it wasn't that she didn't want to be with him. When he'd left last night, she'd almost felt bereft. His company was Technicolor in her black and white world.

"Waffles," she said, feigning composure.

"Oh, man," Jacques said with unmistakable longing. "I haven't had waffles in years."

Rainey's brows shot up. "Years? I don't think I could go a month without waffles," she said, shaking her head.

This confession made Jacques laugh, but then his face settled on a wistful smile. "Grandma Lucille used to make waffles for me and Pal." A faraway look came into his eyes, and his smile lost a little of its sadness. "Pal wanted his with Steen's syrup, but she always made mine with powdered sugar. Even when I got older."

"I eat mine with powdered sugar, too," Rainey hoarse whispered as though confessing a crime, and Jacques's surprised gaze shot to hers.

"Seriously?"

Rainey shook her head. "That's how I was going to order them," she said.

His smile grew, and his eyes met hers. "I know what I want."

"But you have to get it with hash browns," she insisted.

"Why's that?" he asked, looking no less amused.

"Because you should always get the hash browns." Didn't everyone know this? "I mean, why even go out for breakfast if you aren't going to order hash browns?"

His deep laugh broke from him and rolled over her. He had such a great laugh. And for whatever reason, he found her funny. Rainey decided not to question it, but she loved the way it felt to make him laugh.

"Is that a rule?" he asked, still chuckling.

"Oh, yeah. It's a rule."

Sonya returned to their table. "Y'all ready to order?" she asked, pulling a pencil from behind her ear and snagging a notepad from the front of her apron.

"Yeah," Jacques said, swallowing his mirth and sitting up straight. "We'll have two orders of the Belgian waffles — with powdered sugar, please."

Rainey bit down on her smile when he met her eyes over the menu. "And two orders of hash browns," he added.

"Anything to drink 'sides water?" Sonya asked, jotting down notes.

Jacques raised a brow in question at Rainey.

"Coffee."

He nodded. "Two coffees, please."

Sonya swept up their menus and promised that their plates would be out "in a jiffy."

In her absence, Rainey and Jacques grinned at each other for a long moment that didn't grow awkward before Jacques seemed to remember himself. He reached down to the computer bag at his feet.

"I stayed up a while after I left your house last night," he said, setting the laptop on the table between them. "And I put some notes together about the Gloria Lopezes I found in Kentucky."

"Oh, wow," she said, his efforts surprising her. He opened the screen, tapped a few keys, and turned the laptop around to face her.

"Out of the six, three are on Facebook. I debated whether or not you'd think it was creepy that I copied their profile pictures," he said, raising a brow at her. "But then I figured this may be my one and only chance to pretend to be a private investigator."

Rainey giggled even as her eyes fell on the images, but as she studied the women, her mood sobered. One of them might have had an affair with her father all those years ago. One of them might have given birth to her brother.

"Based on their pictures, I don't think we can rule any of these out. They don't look too old or too young to have a ten-year-old son."

Rainey stared at them. "I know this sounds terrible, but if I had to bet, I don't think your number two picture is our Gloria."

Jacques spun the computer back, zeroed in on the picture, and frowned. "Why not?"

Rainey turned the laptop back ninety degrees so they could both see it. The woman, who looked to be around forty, sported a bowl haircut with a prominent cowlick over her left eye. She wore old-style horn-rimmed glasses and a broad smile that suited her broad face. Rainey didn't want to say anything unkind about the stranger, but she knew her father. All too well. "I'm sure she's a lovely person, but my dad doesn't chase women for their personalities."

His eyebrows lifted in understanding, and he squinted back at the picture. "Aww. She's not so bad," he said lightly. "You don't know. Ten years ago, she might have stopped traffic."

Rainey shook her head. "Believe me, I'm not suggesting that she isn't a beautiful person. I just know my dad, and he wouldn't take the time to see her inner beauty." She knew her voice carried more than a little resentment, so she shouldn't have been surprised when Jacques's eyes lingered on hers. But she wasn't ready for the way they softened on her.

Or the way that felt.

She pressed on, stammering. "Th-the two other women have more glam potential," she said, pointing to the pictures. "Look. Long hair. Not afraid of makeup. Can we look at the stats on their pages?"

"Sure." Jacques angled the keyboard toward him and pulled up Facebook. "Okay... This one lives in Lexington. She works at Kepler Accounting Associates... Graduated from University of Louisville—"

"My dad hooked up with his Gloria in Louisville," Rainey interjected, a rush of adrenaline spiking in her veins.

Jacques scrolled down. "Okay, it doesn't list a spouse. Let's see what photos she has." He nudged the screen so she could see better, and Rainey's eyes ran over a series of photos. Most of them featured two dark-eyed, bronzy-skinned little girls. The oldest couldn't have been eight.

No boy.

"If she had a son, she'd post his picture, right?" Rainey mused aloud.

"You'd think," Jacques muttered, scrolling through more photos. Some pics featured this Gloria arm in arm with friends, all female. There were no pictures of men or boys. If the Gloria Lopez in Lexington had gotten married seven years ago or had a son at all, her social media presence bore no sign of either.

Sonya returned with their coffees, and they took turns with the sugar canister. Rainey plucked two creamers from the little saucer on their table and set them by Jacques's mug, remembering how he took his coffee.

"Thanks," he muttered softly, wearing a smile she could feel as well as see. The feeling settled in her middle. Rainey focused on stirring her coffee instead of the penetrating sensation.

"I don't think it's her," she said finally.

"Should we message her just in case?" Jacques asked.

"Not yet. I can't imagine anyone would enjoy a message like that," Rainey said, shaking her head. "I think it would freak me out a little if someone reached out to me asking about my child and my past — even if I knew they had the wrong person."

Jacques seemed to consider this before nodding. "Fair enough. We'll sort them from most to least likely before reaching out." But he held her gaze to be sure. "Sound good to you?"

"Sounds great." What she didn't tell him was how much easier and more manageable this whole prospect seemed with his help. The emotions alone would have daunted her without him.

"Okay," he said. "Let's take a look at candidate number three..." He clicked onto the page belonging to Gloria Lopez-Craine. This Gloria lived in Bowling Green, and she owned a salon called "Glorious Locks." The first several images in her photo cue were all clients. Women sporting new looks, fresh highlights, and fabulous manicures. All with the same backdrop — what could only be the inside of a salon.

But when Jacques scrolled to the third row of pictures, Rainey sucked in a breath.

A boy with skin the color of whiskey and hazel eyes she met every day in the mirror stared back at her.

"Oh, my God..."

"Oh, my God," Jacques echoed.

They both took in the image in silence. In the picture, Gloria Lopez-Craine had her arm wrapped tightly around the boy's shoulders as they both laughed at the camera, their dark hair windswept and sun on their faces. The image captured an affectionate moment between mother and son, that fleeting time in a boy's life when he still welcomed the loving claim of his mother's embrace.

"He looks just like you and Holi," Jacques murmured. Holi and Ash had come downstairs the night before just as Jacques was leaving, but it was enough time for Jacques to see the resemblance between Rainey and her sister, which even Holi's surgical mask could not hide.

And if Jacques saw the family traits here in this boy's picture, then Rainey couldn't have been imagining it. The smiling child with eyes that matched hers had to be her brother. Rainey put a hand to her chest and wheezed in a breath. Her heart pounded, and her eyes stung.

She had a brother. A brother who smiled and laughed and loved his mom. A brother who was alive and — by all appearances — happy and well.

Rainey's throat closed completely, and her eyes welled. Her gaze darted around the restaurant. What had she been thinking coming here to begin this search? And with Jacques, no less? And why did she think she could do this at all? How could she look at pictures of a little brother who wasn't John Lee? She wouldn't be able to hold it together. She'd start weeping, and everyone in the restaurant would stare at her and whisper. Jacques would think she was certifiable. When had she ever been around him when she wasn't an absolute mess?

Why did he want to be with her anyway?

"I-I'm sorry. Please excuse me." She forced the words past the ball bearing in her throat and made to scoot out of the booth when he grabbed her hand.

"Rainey." He spoke her name gently, but his tone was assertive, calm. "It's alright."

"It's not," she rasped. As if to prove herself right, Rainey looked down at the fingers of her free hand to find them shaking. He followed the line of her sight and then took that hand too.

"Talk to me," he whispered.

Rainey just shook her head. A lone tear broke free and streaked down her cheek. She ducked her chin to hide her face, and another travelled down the bridge of her nose. Jacques stacked her hands on top of each other and covered them with his broad left palm. Then he brought the corner of his napkin up to her face and trapped the third tear before it could escape.

"This is a lot," Jacques said, low enough so that only she could hear. "This is a lot to handle."

She swallowed hard and sniffled. "There isn't much I handle well." Rainey kept her eyes trained on the front of his shirt. AWOLNATION stared back at her. _"Maybe I should cry for help. Maybe I should kill myself. Blame it on my ADD, baby."_ The lyrics popped into her head, and for some insane reason, they made it possible to take a deep breath.

"You're doing better than you think."

A mirthless laugh bubbled up from the vise that was her chest. "Then I must think I'm doing a pretty shit job of it."

Jacques chuckled. "Well, if you think that, you're wrong." He dabbed his napkin gently under each of her eyes. "You want to tell me what's going on inside that head so I can help?"

"Not particularly," she croaked, pulling a face.

Sweetly, and with eyes full of warmth, he laughed again. "You're so funny," he murmured. "It amazes me how your sense of humor never abandons you, no matter how hard things get."

Rainey blinked at him. Her tears had enough mercy to dry up, but she knew they'd return if she wasn't careful. His words made her feel stronger than she really was. They tempted her, and even though she knew how dangerous it was, she reached for her phone and opened her photo album.

"I had a little brother." Rainey clicked on the photo of her and John Lee on their last family vacation. They'd gone to Aspen. All five of them. John Lee had never skied before, but he was a natural, and his first time down the bunny slopes, Rainey had skied beside him, cheering him on. Their mother had snapped the picture at the bottom of the run. Their cheeks pressed together, faces red from the cold. Hair sticking out of knitted ski caps. Smiles as big as the blinding blue sky behind them.

Rainey turned the screen to Jacques. "His name was John Lee," she said. Her voice shook, but she still managed to speak his name.

She watched Jacques's eyes take in the image, and a little frown — a knowing frown — marked his brow.

"The bad car accident you told me about..." he said, watching her closely.

Rainey nodded and swallowed. "I was driving." His eyes on her never flickered, but his hand plucked hers off the table and held it tight. Somehow, she found the words to tell him the story. "It was a freak accident. The woman who hit us was having a stroke. She ran a red light..."

She stopped, lost in the memory that often kidnapped her. The grill of the Escalade like a charging bull... John Lee's gasp... her scream...

"How old were you?" Jacques asked, rescuing her.

She refocused her eyes on his. "I was seventeen. John Lee was twelve. That was six years ago."

Jacques eyes narrowed in what looked like pain. "I'm so sorry, Rainey," he said softly.

For a moment, she could only nod. Then she looked up at the image of Gloria Lopez-Craine's son still on Jacques's laptop screen.

"I can't help it," she confessed, tipping her head to the image. "Seeing this picture makes it more real than just hearing about him. But seeing him..."

Her voice tapered to a strained whisper, and Jacques's frown deepened, but he waited for her to finish.

"...seeing him makes me so excited." She gave a sad little laugh as the joy and pain pierced her again. "And I feel guilty for that."

Jacques was shaking his head before her words were out. "Feeling excited to find a new brother isn't a bad thing," he told her.

She gave him a false smile to keep her face from falling, and she looked up at the ceiling to hold the new tears in check.

"And yet this rock in the pit of my stomach says otherwise." She blinked fast to trick her eyes into drying again. "And that's not all. I want to meet this kid. I want to find out if he's like me or Holi or John Lee or any of us. But the reason I'm reaching out to him at all is for some stem cells. And now that I'm looking into eyes that look just like mine—" she said, flicking her wrist at the Facebook image. "I feel guilty about that too."

Jacques gave her his gentle smile again. He leaned forward in his seat bringing his face closer to hers and giving her hands a squeeze. "Rainey, just for a minute, picture it the other way around."

She frowned. "What?" She had no idea what he meant, but even the timbre of his voice and the warmth of his hand made her feel a little better. His nearness seemed to dilute the concentration of emotions that roiled through her.

"Imagine that Ray Charles's mother called you today because he was the one who needed stem cells. How would you feel?"

Her head became a giant bell and his words a hammer.

"I'd do anything," she said in a rush.

Jacques just nodded. "And Holi would, too, right?"

"Of course."

He kept nodding. She watched his mouth work as if he were debating what he'd say next.

"What?"

He eyed her a minute longer. "I'm thinking John Lee would too if he could," he said softly.

This truth didn't strike like a hammer. It settled over her shoulders like a blanket, and she closed her eyes to absorb its comfort.

"Okay," she muttered, closing her eyes with a nod. "That helps."

He rubbed his palm over her stacked hands, gave her a pat, and pulled away. Rainey opened her eyes. If she'd doubted his ability to simply be her friend, the foundation of that doubt had just sustained a mighty crack. In the span of two days, he'd proven himself to be the best friend she'd had in years.

"Here you go." Sonya materialized beside their table and set down identical plates of golden waffles, snowed under heaps of powdered sugar — just the way Rainey liked them.

"Oh, man," Jacques chuckled appreciatively. His face lit up, and Rainey felt the last measure of distress leave her at his widened eyes.

Sonya topped off their coffee mugs before turning on her heel and disappearing again, and Jacques picked up his knife and fork.

"What do you say to decimating this breakfast and then sending Gloria Lopez-Craine a message request?"

A thrill of nerves shot through her, but Rainey nodded. Jacques must have noticed her apprehension because his smile softened again.

"I'll help you," he promised before cutting an enormous bite of waffle and devouring it with a grin.

# Chapter 17

"She doesn't want to talk to me!" Rainey's voice pealed through the phone, and Jacques heard panic and her struggle to keep it in check.

A whole twenty-four hours had elapsed since Jacques had helped her compose the message, making introductions and urging Gloria Lopez-Craine to call Rainey. In the short missive, they had only mentioned Rainey's father briefly, wanting Gloria Lopez-Craine to understand that his daughters sought her because of a matter of life and death.

Maybe the _life and death_ part had scared her off.

Jacques had been having coffee at the kitchen table with Pal when she'd called, but he moved through the back of the house and out to the back porch for privacy. The sunlight stung his eyes. Heroine had played at Jefferson Street Pub the night before to a packed house, and he'd still been wired when he tried to climb into bed after three.

"What did she say?" he asked, rubbing his eyes against the glare.

"She said, 'I want absolutely nothing to do with Dylan Reeves or any of his family. MY FAMILY' — and she wrote that in all caps—" Rainey said, her voice trembling. "'—consists of my husband and OUR son' — all caps. 'Please do not contact me again.'"

Jacques blew out a breath. "Wow," he muttered, wondering what Doc Dylan Reeves had done to the woman to leave her like that.

"I mean," Rainey said, her voice leveling out and coming off stronger, "what the hell did my dad do to her?"

He chuckled. "I swear, I was just thinking the same thing, but I didn't want to say it out loud."

" _Pfft._ You can say whatever you want about my dad. I won't be offended," she said flatly. "But what am I going to do?"

"Did you respond to her reply?" Jacques asked, cringing even as he did.

A pause fell over the line. "I couldn't." Her voice sounded hollow.

"That's probably a good thing."

"But why? I need to tell her about Holi. If she knew the whole story, she might feel more inclined to help."

The urgency in her words was so intense Jacques could almost taste it. The need to help her became nearly as imperative as his breath. And wrapped up in this mission with so much at stake, Rainey _needed_ help. His sense was that if she reached out to Gloria Lopez-Craine again, the woman would pull back. Hard.

They had to find another way to reach her.

"What about sending her a letter?"

Rainey's sigh broke over the phone. "Where would I send it?"

Jacques didn't hesitate. "You could send it to the salon," he said, the idea growing. "You could even send it registered mail, so she'd have to sign for it. You'd know that she got it."

Even as the words left his mouth, Jacques started to question the wisdom of that call. Couldn't she just chuck the certified letter in the trash and go about finishing a highlight or trimming someone's bangs? It didn't mean she'd have to respond. She wouldn't even have to read it.

"What do you think about calling the salon?" Rainey posed.

Jacques pictured Gloria Lopez-Craine hanging up and then forever refusing to answer any call from a 337 area code.

And then a plan came to him fully formed, and he shared it without hesitation.

"What if we showed up at the salon?"

The silence that stretched over the line felt eternal, but it probably only lasted two or three seconds.

"What?" Shock echoed around her word.

It was Sunday. Heroine didn't have a show the following weekend because Kara was — finally — graduating from high school. He'd miss a few rehearsals, and he didn't care. He also knew that Kate might grumble aloud, but secretly she'd understand.

"Let's drive to Bowling Green and show up at the salon."

Rainey made a choking sound. "W-wait, are you serious?"

"Yeah. Let's do it," Jacques said, grinning because he could picture the look of disbelief on Rainey's face. And then he was smiling wide because he knew she'd say yes, and after she said yes, he would get to spend whole days by her side. "We could leave today."

"I-I-I..." she stammered. "...I don't know what to say. What... what would we _do?"_

She was nervous, that much he could hear. But he also picked up on an excitement in her voice that proved him right.

"We'd take a couple of hours to pack a bag and buy some provision. I mean, it'd be a road trip after all—"

"But I can't just leave Holi. She needs my help," Rainey argued.

Jacques thought about the couple he'd met the night before. Holi's boyfriend seemed one-hundred-percent committed to her wellbeing. "Do you think Ash could hold down the fort for a few days?"

The line went silent for a moment. "Well... I... guess so. Yeah..." She didn't sound completely convinced.

"Do you think he'd want you to find your brother? Maybe find a match for Holi?"

"Of course." This time, she sounded certain.

Jacques felt a surge of triumph. "Then call him. We'll leave as soon as we—"

"I'd have to pay you," she blurted, bursting his bubble.

"You aren't going to pay me," he leveled. "We're friends."

"Jacques, if we drove to Kentucky and back, it would take two days at minimum," she argued. "I can't ask you to do that—"

"You're not asking me. I'm offering," he said. Then he shook his head. "No, I'm insisting."

But he should have known she'd put up a fight. "I can't let you do that. If you're driving me for two days, it means you're not driving anyone else. I can't keep you from earning money."

"It's a road trip. It'll be like a vacation." The words sounded lame even to his ears. Who vacationed to Bowling Green, Kentucky?

"Bullshit," she muttered. "I'm paying."

"You, Rainey Reeves, are not paying me a dime. You're going to hang up, pack your bags, and be ready to go in two hours."

"I'm paying for gas."

"Fine. You're paying for gas."

At her sharp inhale, Jacques figured she had expected him to fight a little harder. She didn't speak for a full ten seconds, and though it nearly killed him, Jacques waited.

"Can we really do this?" Her hushed voice scarcely carried the words.

Jacques stifled a chuckle. "Why not? We've got time and means."

"I just—" Her words halted and, again, he waited. "—don't... go anywhere."

His mirth dried up in the face of her apprehension. "Well," he spoke softly. "If we go, you won't be able to say that anymore."

In the silence that followed, Jacques was pretty sure he could hear her breathing, and it wasn't a calm, measured breath. She was afraid, and he guessed that her fears were too many to number. Some black and menacing.

"You'll be okay," he vowed. "I'll make sure of it."

He waited to see if that would sink in before trying again. Now that the idea was taking form and had become a real and tangible future, Jacques wanted it with a kind of fierceness that was new to him. So fierce, he dared not let her glimpse it for fear of spooking her.

But she said nothing, so he started weighing the next words in his mind. Anything he'd say about routes, when they'd arrive, where they'd stay would only add to her anxiety. Jacques knew this implicitly. He looked up at the sky, the day a bright blue that seemed to spread on in a cloudless forever.

"We couldn't ask for better weather for a road trip," he murmured.

Rainey blew out a breath. "Okay," she said, conviction clear and strong in her voice. "When should I be ready?"

A reckless smile broke over Jacques face. "I'll pack a bag, hit the store, and be there in two hours," he said, hoping he didn't sound as ridiculously euphoric as he felt. "What's your favorite car snack?"

"Pringles." No deliberation. No hesitation. Pringles. How was it that everything about her was adorable? Even her favorite snack? Jacques feared he wouldn't be able to speak through his smile.

"Pringles. Got it. What about drinks?"

"Water... and maybe..." she trailed off, now hesitating.

"Maybe what?" If she asked for bottled elixir of the gods, he'd find it for her.

"Maybe... um... Capri Sun?"

Jacques lost it. Laughter ricocheted out of him with unstoppable force. "Oh, that is so awesome," he said, trying to recover.

"You're laughing at me," Rainey said, but, thankfully, he could hear the grin in her voice.

"No, I swear I'm not," he said, still laughing. "Pringles and Capri Sun. Got it."

"Original Pringles and Tropical Punch Capri Sun. But I'll take Berry if they don't have that."

Jacques attempted to catch his breath. "You got it. Anything else."

"No, that's good. I'll make sandwiches," she said, apparently forgiving him for his fit of laughter. "We have cold cuts. You like roast beef?"

"Yes, ma'am." He grinned at the thought of her making him a sandwich.

"How do you dress it?"

If Jacques were making himself a roast beef sandwich, he'd probably spend fifteen minutes engineering sandwich perfection that consisted of thin-sliced onion and tomato, mayo, brown mustard, and horseradish on bread toasted medium brown, but he'd be happy with whatever she made.

"However you take yours is fine."

"You sure?" she asked with skepticism. "Because I _really_ like horseradish on roast beef."

He laughed again. Rainey was the perfect woman.

"Why are you laughing?" She sounded mystified.

"Sorry..." Jacques cleared his throat and tried to get himself under control. "I love horseradish. Go crazy."

"O...kay..."

"Okay," he said with finality. "I'll see you in two hours."

She paused. "We're really going to do this."

"Yeah. And it'll be good." He didn't really know where the trip would take them, and he hoped like hell they'd succeed in talking to Gloria Lopez-Craine and at least meeting Rainey's brother. It might not lead to a match for Holi, but he'd have whole days in the car with Rainey, and Jacques could only look at that as a gift.

And as hard as it would be, Jacques vowed to himself that he would do this as her friend. He wouldn't take advantage or try to manipulate the situation to make them more than friends. If this brought them closer and helped her to trust him more, great. But he wouldn't even allow himself to imagine more than that.

"Okay," she said, echoing him. "See you in two hours."

They hung up, and Jacques made it two steps inside on his way to tell Pal when his phone rang again.

"Hey," he greeted.

"I can't go," Rainey said, distress pinching her voice.

Jacques froze. "Why not?"

"Because Holi can't take care of Archie, and I can't board him for two or three days. He hates going to the kennel. He won't eat. It stresses him out completely," she said, sounding pretty stressed out herself.

"So, we'll bring Archie," he said simply.

A gulping noise came over the line. "You'd... you'd do that?"

"Why wouldn't I do that? Archie's great. We used to take my dog Ace with us on trips all the time."

"And you don't mind having him in the car?" she asked.

"Nah. It's cool."

"Or having to stop to walk him every few hours?"

Jacques chuckled. "Nope."

He heard her give a long exhale. "Thank you. Thank you so much," she said, her voice going soft with awe.

"It'll be fun."

"Okay."

"See you soon."

"Okay."

They hung up again. Jacques stepped through the living room and into the kitchen to find Floyd at the table with Pal. Floyd looked up at him and gave a jolt of surprise.

"Give it to me," Jacques said, ready to hear Floyd's three words.

Floyd's stunned eyes blinked at him. "Berry, Birmingham, and Best Western."

Pal frowned, but Jacques could only grin. Apparently, he and Rainey would be staying in a Best Western for the night. One less thing to worry about.

"You goin' somewhere, T-boy?"

"Yeah, I am. I'll be gone two or three days."

Pal tucked his chin in surprise. "With da band?"

"No," Jacques shook his head. "With a girl."

"De same one you been neckin' wit coupla weeks ago?" Floyd asked, the drapery of his wrinkles lifting up into a smile.

"Or was it de same one you skipped breakfast fa yestaday?" Pal asked, narrowing his eyes at Jacques.

"There's just one girl," he said eyeing both men so they knew further questions — especially about _neckin'_ — weren't welcome. "And I have to pack."

Jacques stood in the candy aisle at Albertsons, weighing the merits of Starburst verses KitKat. Rainey seemed to like snacks that Jacques hadn't consumed since childhood, and he wanted to surprise her with something sweet. As he stood deliberating, his phone buzzed.

* * *

_R ainey: Are you getting ice?_

_Jacques: Yep. Need anything else?_

_Rainey: Don't think so._

* * *

He studied the candy shelves in front of him.

* * *

_J acques: Tangy or chocolaty?_

_Rainey: In what context?_

* * *

Her response forced his grin.

* * *

_J acques: Just answer the question._

_Rainey: Chocolate. Unless it's something to drink._

_Jacques: Tangy drinks. Chocolate sweets. Got it._

_Rainey : :)_

* * *

He stuffed his phone back in his pocket and pushed the cart full of junk food around the corner. Of course, it wasn't all junk food. He'd snagged a small bunch of bananas and a bag of trail mix that was just nuts, seeds, and dried fruit, and there was the bottled water. But with the two cans of Pringles, the bag of Sun Chips, the KitKats, and his six-pack of Satsuma Fizz Swamp Pop, his shopping run wasn't going to win any nutrition awards.

Now he just had to find the Capri Sun. It hadn't been on the same aisle as his soda or with the water, so he'd been cruising up and down the aisles until the candy caught his eye. But now he was in the canned foods, and the two-hour mark was steadily approaching.

At the end of the aisle, an Albertsons' employee was stocking a flat of sweet corn, so he approached her.

"'Scuse me, ma'am. Could you tell me where to find the Capri Sun?"

The woman straightened up, and while she didn't face him, her shoulders turned in his direction, her head angling down to the left.

"Aisle seven. Third shelf," she said, speaking to the direction of his knees.

Jacques realized at once that she was autistic or challenged, so he stepped back to give her enough space.

"Thank you..." He found the nametag on her uniform. "Thank you, Lila."

She nodded, still not meeting his eye. As he moved away, she spoke again.

"Zero cases of Capri Sun Tropical Punch."

Jacques turned back. "What?" he asked, his spine tingling.

"Zero cases of Capri Sun Tropical Punch. Four cases of Capri Sun Berry 100% Juice."

"Oh." He swallowed, trying to process the moment. "Thanks."

He'd just turned away a second time when he heard her again. "PEZ Dave (Despicable Me) Dispensers are on nine."

Jacques was about to ignore her and head for aisle seven, but he found himself turning back instead. "Excuse me?"

Her body faced him now, but she still averted her eyes and spoke with her face tilted down and away. "PEZ Dave (Despicable Me) Dispensers are on nine. On aisle nine for nine-year-old boys."

The hairs on the back of Jacques's neck lifted off his skin and stood arrow-straight.

"Nine-year-old boys like Despicable Me PEZ dispensers?" He heard himself ask the question, but he couldn't quite believe he had.

Lila the stocker didn't respond, but the twitch in her shoulders could have been interpreted as a nod.

"Should I get some of those?" he asked, wondering now just how far this would go.

Again, the twitch.

_Holy shit._

"Do I need anything else?" he asked, feeling like he'd slipped down a rabbit hole somewhere between candy and canned goods.

She twitched again. "First-aid kits are on three."

He'd need a first-aid kit?

Rendered mute, at first Jacques could only nod. "Thanks. I'll get that," he finally managed. And he made stops at aisle three, seven, and nine before checking out. Growing up around Floyd had taught him not to dismiss what he couldn't understand, but that didn't mean that his encounter with Lila the Albertsons' stocker didn't give him the _frissons._ The trip was going to be an interesting one.

He pulled into Rainey's driveway to find her descending the porch steps with a red portable ice chest in one hand and a backpack over her shoulder. The moment he saw her, the apprehension in his gut vanished. Whatever happened, his aim was clear. All that mattered was that he helped Rainey. If he focused on that, he couldn't go wrong.

# Chapter 18

Rainey's 4mm hook flew through the third row of half-double-crochet stitches in what would soon become a beach tote in Lily Sugar n' Cream Country Stripes. The project looked nothing like a beach bag yet, but in her frazzled state, the thing would be completed before they got to the Mississippi state line.

_This is madness._

Every five minutes or so, Rainey's stomach would seize with the thought — that she'd never done anything as crazy in her life as driving seven hundred miles with a guy she barely knew in search of a brother she'd never met.

And it wasn't just crazy that she'd only known Jacques a little over a month. What was insane was that she knew him enough to know that she should avoid him as an act of self-preservation. She knew him enough to know that he was kind and funny and smart and talented — not to mention beautiful to a heart-stopping degree — and if she let him in, he'd completely annihilate her. Rainey had foolishly agreed to friendship with him, but she never imagined that as friends, they'd be thrown together for days on end.

Rainey reached the end of the row, turned the piece, and started half-double-crocheting her way back, chewing her lip as she did.

Then there was the madness of their quest. If Gloria Lopez-Craine didn't like hearing from Rainey on Facebook, she wasn't likely to break out the champagne when she and Jacques drove through four states to show up at her salon. And even if she did agree to talk to them, and she actually listened to Holi's story, what was the likelihood she'd even consider having young Ray Charles tested for a bone marrow match?

Jacques was giving up days of actual paying work and putting close to fifteen hundred miles on his vehicle, and it would probably all be for nothing.

Archie was snoring softly in the back seat. Jacques had put on Spoon's _Gimme Fiction_ when they pulled out of her driveway and let it play through. They were driving over the span of the Atchafalaya Basin — with nothing but marsh and cypress trees for miles — and it should have been a perfect moment. A spring day, the sun high and glinting on the water, turning the Spanish moss and the cypress knees black with its brightness. A crochet hook in hand. A sleeping dog. Good music. A gorgeous guy.

And it was everything Rainey could do to hold the panic at bay.

So when Jacques spoke, she would have shot out of her seat if she hadn't been belted in.

"Hey, you wanna—" He caught her jolt out of the corner of his eye. He would have had to have been blind not to see it. Even Archie startled awake. Jacques spared her a concerned glance. "You okay?"

"Yeah," she lied. "Just... nervous."

He scanned her quickly before putting his gaze back on the interstate. "Crossing the basin can do that." Rainey found this comment generous, and she didn't feel it necessary to correct him. "On the one hand, it's beautiful. The water and the trees that go on forever. On the other hand, it's nineteen miles of marsh, and we're trapped on a bridge in the middle of it."

Rainey looked out her window at the basin, the water's brown, murky surface scarred with tree stumps. She gripped her crochet hook as though it were a lifeline. If the girder bridge beneath them gave way...

"I hadn't really thought about that," she gulped.

Next to her, Jacques chuckled. "Didn't mean to freak you out."

"Well, you sort of did." She shook her head, wadded up the still unrecognizable beach tote, and stuffed it into her backpack.

He cleared his throat, and Rainey looked back to find him mastering his grin. "We'll be out of it in ten minutes. Let's play a game for ten minutes."

"A game?" How could she play a game when she was a nervous wreck even _before_ she pictured plummeting to her death in an alligator-infested swamp?

"Yeah, when I was a kid, my grandparents used to drive me to Gulf Shores every summer," Jacques said. "And riding in the back seat listening to Cajun music was not my idea of a good time. When they thought I'd spent enough hours on my Nintendo DS, they'd turn off their music and make me play a game with them."

The thought of a young Jacques Gilchrist moping in the back seat of his grandparents' car made her mouth twitch and piqued her curiosity.

"What did you play?"

"Oh, the alphabet game or some such hell." Jacques flashed her a rueful grin. "But my favorite game was one my Grandma Lucille called Unlock the Lyric."

Rainey found herself smiling. "What's that?"

His face alight, Jacques said, "It's when you recite lyrics to a song without any singing or humming. Pretty much the opposite of Name that Tune. The more obscure the lyric the better."

"You played this with your _ grandparents?"_

Jacques grinned at her tone. "Admittedly, most of the lyrics we knew in common were to Cajun songs, but they were still pretty good with classic rock."

"So, like what? Give me an example of a classic rock song they knew."

In profile, Jacques fought to keep a straight face. The sight of it made Rainey smile hard.

"Okay, ready?"

She nodded. "Ready."

Jacques turned off the music. He cleared his throat again, and his deep voice became an announcer's, even and detached. _"'Though his mind is not for rent. Don't put him down as arrogant.'"_ He spoke slowly as though deadpanning a nursery rhyme. Rainey frowned, completely clueless.

"Huh?"

He glanced at her. "Want me to keep going?"

"Uh, yeah, I have no idea what you're quoting."

Jacques snickered. "Yeah, I bet you do. Okay, here's the next line." She watched him sober again, though now she knew by the light in his eyes it was all an act. Mirth hid just beneath the surface. _"'He reserves the quiet defense. Riding out the day's events. The river.'"_

"The river?"

He nodded.

"The river? That's it? That's the whole line?" She felt her left brow quirk up. "What the hell. I swear, I've never heard this song. Classic rock? Are you sure? I know my classic rock."

Jacques was now laughing at her unchecked. He wasn't even trying to fight it.

"Next line," he said when he'd almost stopped laughing. _'''What you say about his company is what you say—'"_

Rainey gasped and flapped her hands. "'ABOUT SOCIETY!" she shouted. "' _Catch the mist. Catch the myth. Catch the mystery. Catch the drift."_ She sang the rest of the Rush lyrics as Jacques took his hands off the wheel and clapped for her.

"Aww-right! Not bad, Reeves. Now, for the point, artist and title," he demanded.

"'Tom Sawyer' by Rush," she practically squealed, bouncing in her seat.

"Excellent," he crooned, his deep voice filling her with a ridiculous pride.

"Okay, okay, my turn." Rainey kicked off her sandals, drew her feet up onto the seat, and sat lotus-style.

From the corner of his eye, Jacques's gaze swept up from her bare feet, and for a moment she thought she saw a flash of heat there, but in the next instant, his eyes were back on the road ahead of them.

"Ready when you are," he said to the interstate.

"Okay..." She searched her memory for another classic rock song that wasn't too obvious. Stumping him was going to be hard, and she so wanted to stump him.

"Whenever you're ready," Jacques teased about a minute later.

Rainey scowled. "Can I use my phone?"

He wanted to laugh. She could see it in the tightness around his mouth. "Sure. It's your first time. You can use that handicap if you need."

She narrowed her eyes and attempted a growl that sounded — judging from Archie's perked ears — like a puppy squeal.

Beside her, Jacques's shoulders shook once, but he made no sound. Ignoring him, she Googled "Top 100 Classic Rock Songs." She found her favorite Tom Petty song — one she hadn't heard in years — and tried to school her voice in the same flat monotone Jacques had used, aiming to forget the pacing and emphasis Petty gave the song.

_"'She grew up in an Indiana town—'"_

_"Had a good lookin' mom who never was around,"_ Jacques interrupted, his rumbly voice curling around the lyrics and caressing them in a way that Rainey felt in her panties. _"But she grew up tall and she grew up right with them Indiana boys on an Indiana night."_

"No fair," she protested, clutching her phone to her chest and hoping he didn't notice the blush of desire on her cheeks. "You cheated."

Jacques chuckled, shaking his head. "I did not. You're the one who looked at your phone, not me."

She smacked her knee. "How did you get that so fast?" If she pretended to be annoyed, he wouldn't see how much she liked him. Would he?

He shrugged with artificial innocence. "What can I say? I've covered a lot of Tom Petty."

Three songs later — songs that he got within the first line — Rainey threw up her hands. "Unfair advantage. We're ditching classic rock," she snapped, scrolling through her phone. "Let's see how you do with 90s' Top 40."

"Okay, whatever you say," he murmured, his words practically fermented in amusement.

"Oh, perfect," she muttered, landing on Depeche Mode in her iTunes library. Who could quote Depeche Mode? No one. She looked up the lyrics to "Enjoy the Silence," hoping she'd be enjoying some silence when Jacques scratched his head in confusion.

"Ready?" she purred, confidence brimming.

"Oh, I'm ready," he rumbled, his own confidence like a hand on her belly.

She sat up straight and shrugged off the imaginary touch. Rainey cleared her throat, eager for the taste of victory. _"'Words like violence... break the silence...'"_ She paused and raised a brow at him. Jacques's jaw clenched in humor, but he said nothing.

_Ah ha!_

Glee nearly lifted her off the seat. She kept going. _"'Come crashing in... into my little world...'"_ Rainey frowned at the lyrics on her phone. Had she said the words _come crashing in... into my little world_ to Jacques? She forged on, but the next line wasn't much better. _"'Painful to me... pierce right through me—'"_

_"'Can't you understand... Oh my little girl...'"_ Jacques broke, his pitch perfect, his tempo precise. Then his dark eyes turned to hers, and his voice enveloped her. _"'All I ever wanted... all I ever needed... is here in my arms...'"_

She broke her gaze and brought it back to her phone, pretending to check the accuracy of his lyrics.

_"'Words are very unnecessary... they can only do harm.'"_ Jacques finished. "'Enjoy the Silence' by Depeche Mode."

Rainey shook her head, putting on a show of frustration. "You're too good at this game." But even as she said the words, all she could hear was Jacques's voice.

_All I ever wanted... all I ever needed... is here in my arms._

The sound of it was so enticing, so addictive, she wondered for a moment if that would be all she could ever hear.

"Nah, that took me a minute," he said, forever humble. "Good one. Depeche Mode. Man, I haven't heard that song in ages."

Rainey felt her jaw drop. "Then how do you know all the words?"

Jacques shrugged. "I just do. Learning lyrics has always been easy for me."

"Oh, _now_ you tell me," she teased, making him laugh. Relief stole over her. If he noticed how rattled she'd been a moment before, he gave no sign of it.

Rainey looked out the windshield expecting to see marsh, but only interstate stretched ahead of them, the tip of the Capitol Building and the Baton Rouge skyline just visible in the distance.

"Hey, we're off the basin bridge!"

"Yeah, we have been for like ten minutes."

She faced him in shock. "You're kidding me."

He pointed out the windows and windshield as though the surroundings should have been proof enough.

"Admit it. It's a good game," he said, teasing.

Rainey raised her palms in surrender. "I admit it. I didn't even realize we'd escaped the terror of the swamp."

Jacques shrugged. "At least until the trip back."

She swatted him on the shoulder, which Jacques seemed to find hilarious.

"And if we survive the Mississippi River Bridge, I'm going to want a sandwich," he added. The summit of the cantilever bridge was coming into view.

"You know," she said with a good humor that surprised her. "I don't list riding over bridges as one of my phobias, but after this trip, I might have to change that."

Jacques nodded. "I'm still going to want that sandwich."

This time she laughed. And her laugh came from deep in her gut. With Jacques, her fears seemed abstract and hypothetical, not immediate and threatening. Of course, being with him didn't make her suddenly want to get behind the wheel of a car. She'd pretty much resigned herself to the fact that she'd never drive again. But now that she'd ridden with him a handful of times, she felt as safe as she did with Holi or Ash or her mom and Kendall.

Maybe even safer.

Because with him, she felt no judgment. No worry. No frustration or impatience. And when he teased her about swamps and bridges, Rainey knew he wasn't making fun of the fears that kept her from driving. He was just trying to make her laugh.

And she loved it.

"Fine. I'll give you a sandwich," she said with mock irritation.

"Okay. And after that, I'm going to need you to make a decision."

Rainey glanced at his profile with a frown. "About what?"

"Which way we want to get to Kentucky," he said, meeting her gaze for just a second. "We can take I-55 at Hammond through Memphis, or we can take I-59 in Slidell through Birmingham. Both will take us about ten and a half hours."

"I-59."

"Through Birmingham?' he asked, a strange light in his eye.

"Yes. I don't want to go near Memphis if we can avoid it."

She saw the realization overtake his face, and he nodded. "In that case, I think we should make our first pit stop in Covington. There's a Starbucks in a shopping center there with a pond and geese. I think Archie will approve."

Archie did approve.

Jacques agreed to make a second lap with him around the pond while Rainey went into Starbucks for drinks since she insisted on buying. It was the most crowded Starbucks she'd ever seen, and when she emerged twenty-minutes later with his Grande Flat White and her Toffee Nut Latte Macchiato, she scanned the perimeter of the pond and saw no sign of Archie and Jacques.

She walked back to the Impala to find the windows rolled down, Archie wagging at her as he stood on the armrest of the door, and Jacques fast asleep in the front seat.

# Chapter 19

"I still can't believe you let me sleep that long," Jacques groused. They'd just crossed the Mississippi state line — an hour after they should have.

Beside him, Rainey just smiled. "Clearly, you needed it." She quirked a brow at him. "Though I don't know how someone your size managed to crash for an hour in the confines of your front seat."

"I blame Pal for that," he grumbled.

Her giggle reminded him of bicycle bells and daisy petals, joyful and summery. "What does your grandfather have to do with it?"

Jacques rolled his eyes. "Because he never lets me sleep in. If I sleep past eight, he wakes me up no matter how late I've worked." As soon as he closed his mouth, Jacques felt a twinge of guilt about complaining. "But it's alright. He's just set in his ways."

"What does he want you to do instead of sleeping?"

He shrugged. "The same thing every day. I make his second pot of coffee. We talk. I eat something for breakfast. I drive, and he piddles around the house."

"Maybe he wakes you up for the company," Rainey said, her voice so gentle it tickled his ear.

Jacques thought of the way Pal stared at Grandma Lucille's empty chair even now. "Yeah, you're probably right," he admitted, but then he pictured the look of mischief Pal wore every time he woke up Jacques with Cajun music. "But I also think he gets a kick out of waking me up."

"Why's that?"

"Because he picks up his accordion, stands at the foot of the stairs, and plays traditional Cajun songs, singing at the top of his lungs."

"No way."

Jacques stole a glance at her to find her eyes wide. The stretch of highway in front of them was arrow straight and near empty, so Jacques beat time on the steering wheel and did his best Pal imitation — including Pal's house-rattling volume.

* * *

_H ey! Lâches pas la patate mon neg. Hey! Lâches pas la patate_

_Une chose qu'est claire, j'fais mon affaire... Mais j'lâche pas la patate_

_J'vas au bal tous les samedis, pour escouer mes vieilles pattes_

_J'danse avec toutes les belles filles... Mais j'lâche pas la patate_

_J'fais tous les clubs que je peux faire ent 'Lafayette et la Ville Platte_

_Oublies-moi pas des fois ça chauffe... Mais j'lâche pas la patate."_

* * *

Of course, he only got to the second line before Rainey had doubled over, her shoulders shaking with laughter and tears filling her eyes. When he finished, she sat up straight and clapped with fervor.

"Encore!" she cheered.

"Hell, no," he muttered, and she threw her head back, cackling again. Jacques had to rein in his smile. Making her laugh was almost as sweet as kissing her. What would it feel like to make her laugh while she was pressed against him?

"Oh my God. That was amazing," she said, wiping her eyes. "Do you even know what you're singing?"

" _Lâches Pas la Patate?_ Of course! That song's ancient," he said, feigning disbelief that she didn't recognize the Cajun classic. "It means don't drop the potato."

"What?" she choked, laughter threatening again. "What the hell?"

"Well, that's the literal translation, but that saying means hang in there or don't give up," he explained.

"Wait," she said, shaking her head. "I'm sure I heard Lafayette and Ville Platte in there somewhere."

"Yeah, the singer's talking about how he never gives up. He takes care of business, and he doesn't drop the potato. He goes dancing with all the beautiful girls, but he doesn't drop the potato," Jacques translated. "And even when he forgets himself and things get hot, he doesn't drop the potato."

_"Lâches pas la patate,"_ she echoed with a nod. "I'm definitely going to have to remember that one. You have to admit, it's not such a bad way to be woken up."

Jacques could only roll his eyes again, making Rainey giggle.

"It sounds like your grandfather has taught you a lot," she added, her voice going soft again.

"He's taught me everything," Jacques said, the vehemence in his voice taking him by surprise. "Everything that matters."

He glanced over to find Rainey nodding, her smile illuminating her whole face. She looked so happy, and somehow, he understood she was happy for him. That he had someone like Pal. With her smiling at him that way, Jacques wanted more than anything to reach over and take her hand. He gripped the steering wheel instead.

Talking to her. Making her laugh. Having her smile at him. It had to be enough.

They drove in silence, Jacques, for one, lost in his own thoughts.

"Can I ask you a question?" Rainey's voice pulled him back a few minutes later.

"Yes... of course."

But she didn't ask. She was quiet for so long, Jacques glanced over at her to find her watching him intently.

"What?"

"I want to ask you something, but I don't want it to upset you."

"Ask me anything."

Out of the corner of his eye, Jacques saw her plant her bare feet on the seat and rest her chin on her knees. He gave himself permission to take in the sight of her for a full second before putting his eyes back on the road.

And it was worth it. But even though her pose was unbelievably cute, he could see she was still hesitant.

"Nothing's off limits," he said, giving her permission.

He heard her draw a fortifying breath beside him. "Do you ever talk to your dad?"

_Ahh. So, that's what this is about._

"Yeah, sure," he told her. "Not as much now as when he first went in."

"Do you... do you mind me asking?" Her voice had gone small, and Jacques couldn't resist touching her then. He patted a hand on her ankle. To reassure her, he told himself.

"No, I don't mind."

The skin of her ankle was cool, soft. Incredibly smooth. And quickly a memory since he did not let his touch linger.

"So... why don't you talk to him as much as you used to?" Her voice was still soft, but he could hear the urgency behind it, her need to know.

Jacques drew in a breath and brought his mind back to that time. "I guess I needed him a lot more then," he said. "In the beginning, it was really hard. For me. For him. We had to adjust to our new lives. I needed that grounding, so he'd call just about every day."

Beside him, Rainey nodded rapidly as if she completely understood.

"And then I got a little older and better understood what he'd done, and for a long time, I was just angry," he said, letting himself meet her eyes for a moment. The color, green glass and lightning, was so vivid, her eyes wide as she listened. "So, some days, I needed to yell at him. Some days I needed to hang up on him. And others, I wouldn't come to the phone at all."

"You _were_ angry? Does that mean you're not anymore?"

Jacques let a grim chuckle escape. "I think I'll always be angry about what he did to his life. To our lives," he said, shaking his head. "But that anger has cooled over the years."

Rainey crossed her arms on top of her knees and resettled her chin.

"Do you ever go to visit him in Angola?"

Jacques nodded. "For a while I didn't. The high school years were pretty rough as you might imagine," he admitted, wincing at the memory. "I didn't want to claim him most days. But Pal and I go see him every few months."

They'd gone, in fact, the day before Easter, and Jacques wasn't looking forward to the next time. Not because he had anything against seeing his dad, but because the drive was almost three hours one way, and it took a lot out of Pal. But with no hope for parole, they'd be making the trip for the next six years.

Jacques just hoped Pal would last that long. A lot longer, really. Pal never said it outright, but Jacques sensed he was waiting for the day when he could spend the kind of time with Xand that they got to spend together. He didn't give it much thought, but after twenty years behind bars, Pal's home was the only one his father had to return to.

And as far as Jacques was concerned, that was just fine. Xand owed Pal for taking over as a father figure when he couldn't raise his own son. Jacques wouldn't shy away from taking care of his grandfather as the years advanced, but he hoped Xand planned to do the same.

"What's your dad like?" Rainey's question pulled him away from his thoughts about the future, and he smiled at her in gratitude.

"Well, he's not the same man he was when he went in," Jacques offered. "And, yet, he's still him."

"What do you mean?"

"He's had a long time to think about what he did and who he hurt." Jacques shook his head. "He killed two people. Two sisters in their thirties who'd just gone the movies together. My father had never hurt anyone before that, and even in the pen, I doubt he's hurt anyone since."

Jacques realized as he spoke that he'd never shared this with anyone.

"I mean, in prison, you have to be able to take care of yourself... My dad's big. Bigger than me, and when he went in, he got bigger still, and I think it's just because he didn't want to have to hurt anyone again," he said, picturing his father, all muscle, salt-and-pepper goatee, looking like someone who just broke out of hell, but in reality, he probably wouldn't squash a spider. "Inside, he started reading all these books on mindfulness and meditation. I think that made him a better person. If there's such a thing as a Cajun Buddhist, Xand Gilchrist is it."

This made Rainey laugh as he'd hoped it would.

"Has he ever heard you play?"

A rueful grin claimed his mouth. "Yeah, I send him videos. The last one was from the Festival show."

"You send him videos?" Rainey sat up, looking surprised.

"Yeah, the prisoners at Angola don't really have internet access, but they do have Jpay, which is sort of like Facebook for inmates, but you have to pay for it. I can send him emails, videos, music. With permission, we can video chat."

"Oh, wow. I had no idea..." she murmured. "He must be so proud of you."

To this, Jacques could say nothing. His father was proud of him. Extremely so. Jacques often joked that because of his dad, he could boast an unusually higher concentration of incarcerated fans than most indie musicians. But he couldn't help resenting that his dad had never seen him play live. Jacques had never looked out into the crowd to see his father smiling up at him.

It was only one of the thousands of moments Xand Gilchrist's devastating choices had robbed from him, and these Jacques found almost the hardest to forgive.

"I think I've struck a nerve," Rainey murmured.

He couldn't deny it. "You said nothing wrong. I just can't help but wish he'd done things differently." And once he'd said this, it seemed easy to tell her the rest. "And for all of the suffering he's caused and all the years he's lost, that man is still hung up on my mother."

Her soft gasp was the only response she made. Jacques probably should have stopped talking then, but he couldn't seem to.

"With as much misery as she put him through, her leaving for good should have been the best thing to happen to him. It should have set him free... But it didn't." He shook his head. "That's one thing about him that's never changed, and I can't understand it."

Silence spread through the car, and Jacques resisted the temptation to put on music. He might have freaked Rainey out with his revelations about his father and their relationship, but it was real, and more than anything, he wanted whatever happened between the two of them to be real.

Silence was real, so he made himself get along with it. Which was why he nearly jumped when she spoke.

"I used to feel that way about my mom."

"What?" He glanced at Rainey to find her eyes gazing out the windshield. It was almost five o'clock, the low sun streaming in from their left and illuminating her profile in golden radiance. Her light brown hair gleamed, tempting him to touch it.

"Before John Lee... before the accident," she said, her voice dropping low. "My mom put up with everything... I. Hated. It."

The set of her jaw and the way she bit out the words affirmed as much, and again, he wanted to reach for her.

"It wasn't until we lost John Lee th-that..." Rainey stopped and pulled in a long inhale through her nose, her shoulders straightening and spreading as she did.

Jacques couldn't help but admire her strength.

"... that she finally gave up hope on him."

A moment passed. "I wish she'd done it years before. Maybe watching her do it then would have made me stronger."

He felt his head check back. "You _are_ strong." He had his eyes on the road when he spoke. They were outside of Hattiesburg, and even at five o'clock, the traffic on that stretch of interstate was next to nothing, but the landscape was dotted with hills, and as much as he wanted to look at her, he needed to keep his eyes trained ahead.

Rainey made a little snort of laughter beside him. "Strong is the last thing I am," she muttered.

With one hand, he let go of the steering wheel and pointed at her with every sentence. "You're making a cross-country trip to save your sister. That's heroic, my friend. That's strong."

His words made her smile, though he saw she fought it.

"If I were strong, I'd be able to make this trip on my own," she said, her tone a touch patronizing. Jacques distinctly felt as though she was thanking him for his gallantry, but suggesting that his words fooled no one.

Irritation smoldered in his gut. "Whether you drive or not has nothing to do with it," he countered. " _I've_ never done anything like this."

Jacques waited for her to respond, and when she didn't, he hoped his words had sunk in. But when the silence stretched further, he didn't find it as tolerable as when he'd been the topic of conversation.

"You know what Pal would say, right?" he asked, wanting to ease the tension and bring them back to the easy space they'd enjoyed all afternoon. He glanced at her and caught her slight frown.

"No. What?"

"You didn't drop the potato."

Rainey rolled her eyes and sniffed a laugh, but it worked. The mood in the car felt light and effortless again.

"Have you given any thought to where we should stop tonight?" he asked after a few minutes.

Beside him, Rainey checked her phone. "If you can handle another three or so hours, we could make it to Birmingham."

_Way to go, Floyd._

"I bet we can find a Best Western there that allows pets," he ventured.

"Oh, cool. Did you ever stay in one with your dog?"

Jacques couldn't help his grin. "Nah, just something my neighbor said."

"Well," she said, tapping the screen of her phone. "He was right."

"He usually is," Jacques muttered.

# Chapter 20

"All we have left for the night are suites, ma'am," Ashley the desk clerk told her in a stunning Alabama twang. "But one of them is pet-friendly. I'm afraid we don't have any standard rooms available for tonight on account of the cheerleadin' competition."

Ashley hadn't needed to tell them about the cheerleading competition. The sign on the hotel's marquee had specifically welcomed all participants in the Alabama High School Sports Association State Cheer Tournament. And a lobby full of toned, chirpy, and gum-popping teenage girls would have been the next clue.

They'd only stood in line near the check-in counter for all of three minutes, but Rainey was fairly certain no fewer than nineteen girls had already made bedroom eyes over her head at Jacques, so when smiling Ashley mentioned said cheerleaders, Rainey couldn't bring herself to smile back.

Two of them had even approached Jacques and in almost synchronized harmony asked if Archie was his dog, and those were now pooled at Jacques's feet, petting her poodle.

"That's fine. We'll take two of those," she said quietly, trying to ignore Archie's betrayal as he tipped over onto the hotel lobby floor and let his undercarriage show.

"Archie, shameless," Jacques scolded under his breath, and it was enough solidarity to keep Rainey from grinding her teeth together.

"Awright, ma'am. Each suite is $159 a night plus tax and a $50 pet deposit."

"Wait, what?" Jacques said, pulling his eyes from Archie and his cheerleading orgy.

Rainey ignored him, fishing out her credit card, so Alabama Ashley smiled up at him. "Hi, sir, I was just saying that each suite is $159 a night plus tax and that there'll be a $50 pet deposit on the pet-friendly room."

Jacques turned to Rainey frowning. "What are you doing?"

"I'm paying for our rooms. What does it look like I'm doing?"

His frown deepened. "Rainey, with tax that's four hundred dollars. I can't let you do that." She watched him reach into his back pocket and come up with his wallet. He slid a Bank of America card across the counter to Ashley.

"Put one of those rooms on this," he told her.

"Whoa. Wait a minute." Rainey snatched up his card before Ashley could lay her fingers on it. "You're driving me all this way, and you're not even charging me for it. I can't let you pay for your room. You wouldn't be here if it wasn't for me."

Jacques's dark brows furrowed, shadowing his already dark eyes. If Rainey hadn't known him to be unfailingly gentle, she might have cowed. Indeed, the giggling cheerleaders at his feet fell silent.

"I'm here because I want to be here," he said, his voice hard as flint. "And I can't let you spend your money on my room."

Rainey rolled her eyes. "It's not _my_ money. It's Doc Dylan Reeve's money."

"Doc Dylan Reeves?! Oh my gosh! Is he here?" Ashley gushed, looking around. "He's my mama's favorite!"

Jacques ignored the girl completely, his eyes locked on Rainey. "I don't care whose money it is. I'm not letting you pay for me."

"It's only fair," she argued. "Besides, you bought dinner."

He glowered down at her. "Dinner. Was. Burgers. And. Fries," he said, biting off each word. He made to swipe the card from her hands, but for the first time in her life, Rainey proved herself the more agile, jerking her hand out of his reach and promptly stuffing his card down her shirt.

His eyes rounded as she tucked the plastic into her left bra cup. And then she watched his irises go completely black. It should have terrified her, but instead, it made her feel...

_Powerful._

The cold rectangle of plastic against her breast seemed to make her stand taller than her five-foot-four stature, and a pulse of power coursed down her spine. She was so busy absorbing the sensation, she almost didn't notice Jacque spinning on his heel.

"Ashley, cancel one of those rooms. We won't be needing it." He brought his laser gaze back to hers, his pupils now just pinpricks instead of the nickels they had been before. "I'll be sleeping in the car."

Her newfound sense of power drained out of the soles of her feet, and she lunged for his arm. "Wait! That's ridiculous."

"And sir, I should point out," Ashley drawled. "All persons on the premises must be registered Best Western guests with room assignments—"

He again ignored Ashley, holding up the forearm Rainey now gripped with both hands. He looked from it back to her.

"Are you going to let me pay for my own room?"

Rainey swallowed. She couldn't let him do that. One day, he'd probably be able to afford the best hotel suites anywhere in the world, but not today. And despite his neglect — or because of it — Doc Dylan Reeves had given his two girls bank accounts that their normal living expenses could scarcely dent.

"I can't drive myself, Jacques," she whispered. "But this is something I _can_ do."

He eyed her for one hopeful second before shaking his head. "No, you can't. Because I won't allow it." He reached for her fingers and started peeling them from his arm. "I'll go find a place to park my car, and I'll pick you up in—"

"How about a compromise?" She held on tighter, planting her feet in a futile attempt to anchor him. But instead of pulling away, he met her gaze with a skeptical look.

"What kind of compromise?"

The idea was so simple. Why hadn't she considered it before?

_Because it's madness,_ she warned herself.

Ignoring her own cautious instincts, Rainey looked back at Ashley. "Your pet-friendly suite. Does it have two beds or a king?"

She couldn't be sure, but she might have heard Jacques's breath whoosh between his lips.

Ashley's fingers clicked on her keyboard. "Let me check, ma'am... It's got two double beds and a fold-out queen sleeper-sofa. It can sleep up to six," she added helpfully.

Rainey shrugged as if the solution were obvious. "Well, there you go," she said, the tremor in her voice clearly audible to anyone in the Best Western lobby. She was also keenly aware that she could only keep eye contact with Jacques for about a millisecond at a time. "Plenty of room. You can stay in the suite with Archie and me. It won't cost you a penny, and it won't cost me any more than what I'm already paying."

After she'd laid out her deal, she forced herself to hold her gaze steady with his. Jacques stood perfectly still, his forearm still in her grip, his face oddly expressionless. Rainey swallowed.

How could she think it would be a good idea to spend the whole night in the same room with him?

But then again, if her only options were to let him pay for a separate room or, God forbid, sleep in his car, then it was a no brainer. Jacques would stay in her room, and she'd just have to keep herself from staring at him all night.

At least until he fell asleep. Rainey knew from his nap in the car she'd probably take full advantage of staring at him then.

Jacques's eyes narrowed on her. "We split the room and call it even," he said.

The man was ridiculously stubborn when it came to money, but Rainey could be stubborn, too. It had just been a while since it felt so right to dig her heels in.

"Sorry, Gilchrist. No can do."

His mouth twitched, and Rainey knew he'd call her bluff. With a movement that was both lightning fast and surprisingly gentle, Jacques extracted his arm from her grip and took two strides toward the exit.

"I'll see you in the morning, Rainey—"

"Wait!" The urgency and the sheer volume in her voice made everyone in the lobby turn.

Jacques blinked at her in surprise.

"We split the cost of the room, but I pay the pet deposit."

She counted to three as he stared back at her, and it seemed like an eternity.

"Deal."

She nearly deflated into a lifeless husk on the lobby floor her relief was so great. "Thank God," she muttered.

Then Jacques arched a brow at her.

"What?" she asked, frowning.

He tipped his chin toward her T-shirt. "I need my card."

Scalding blood raced to her cheeks. "O-oh... right." Rainey slipped her thumb and forefinger into her top, down into her bra, and pulled out his card. She noted before she handed it over to him that it wasn't cold anymore. In fact, nothing touching her body was cold. Every inch of her flesh seared hot with embarrassment.

He took the card from her, eyeing it with a look that Rainey could only describe as bemused respect before handing it to Ashley.

While he faced the counter, Rainey pressed her palms to her cheeks, willing the blood beneath her skin to recede. And it worked a little. By the time they stepped into the elevator, she was only scarlet red instead of vermilion.

They rode up to the fourth floor in silence, only the sound of the poodle's excited panting between them. When the elevator stopped with a ping, and the doors opened, Archie shot out as though he knew exactly where they were going, dragging Rainey to the left.

Jacques stepped out behind her and pointed right. "It's this way."

She tugged on Archie's lead with a "C'mon, boy," and they followed Jacques down the hall. With his duffle bag slung over his left shoulder and his acoustic case gripped in his right hand, he cut a figure that was impossible not to admire. His shoulders, broad and defined, drew her eye down to the sinews in his arms. She'd held his left forearm in her grip not three minutes before, and she could now recall how solid and muscled it felt. His tanned skin had been deliciously hot under her fingers.

Rainey had touched his hands and his wrists, she'd held onto his shoulders when they'd kissed, but she hadn't had the right opportunity to appreciate the structure and beauty of his arms. There was probably a great deal more about his body she'd never get to admire, but at the moment, it seemed to her a tragic waste that she hadn't paid more attention to his arm when she'd held onto it.

Suppressing a wince of regret, she watched him set down his guitar by the door of their room and slide the key into the little slot. With a beep, the door unlocked, and Jacques pushed it open for her. Archie bounded inside, passing up the little living space with its sofa and desk. He wasted no time springing to the first bed before darting in a circle, jumping to the floor, and then pouncing onto the second bed.

He then proceeded to plant his head onto the bedspread and grind down with this head and shoulders, making erratic little snorting noises as he did.

Jacques burst out laughing at the dog's antics.

"Archie, why?" Rainey bemoaned, but in truth she was relieved for the distraction he provided.

Archie flipped onto his back and proceed to grind side-to-side, arching his body in crescent shapes as he did.

"I guess if this is a pet-friendly suite, he's gotta smell every dog who's ever stayed here," Jacques ventured, chuckling. "Little dude has to make his mark."

Rainey raised an eyebrow and addressed her dog directly. "As long as you don't make any other marks," she warned. She set her backpack on the bed next to Archie, who seemed unfazed by its presence. "I guess we've claimed this one, though I can't promise he won't give your bedspread the same treatment.

"It's okay," Jacques said, turning back to the living area. "I was thinking about taking the couch."

Rainey's eyes widened, and in spite of herself, her heart sunk a little. "But there's two beds," she heard herself saying.

He gave a shrug. "Yeah, but this will give us a little more privacy."

Indeed, the sofa was tucked behind a partitioned wall that kept it hidden from view to anyone lying in bed.

"Okay," she said, hating the way her voice sounded small and disappointed and hoping he didn't hear either. She looked around for something to do to shield herself from his attention, and she hoisted her backpack on her shoulder again. "I'm going to take a shower. Would you mind keeping an eye on Archie to make sure he doesn't cause any damage?"

Jacques's eyes flicked from her to the bathroom door with something like panic. "Uh... Yeah. S-sure. Take your time," he stammered.

Rainey's body tensed. "You sure? I can take him in the bathroom with me if—"

"No, no. Archie's cool," he said, shaking his head. His words seemed at ease, but the tightness in his voice said otherwise. "He'll settle down in a minute."

"Because you could go first if you wanted..." she offered.

Jacques grabbed his guitar case and set it on the empty bed. "No. I wanted to work on some songs. You go... shower." It was only when she watched him swallow that Rainey looked more closely.

Did the intimacy of sharing a room rattle Jacques just as much as it did her?

The thought was so arresting, Rainey had to push it from her mind in order to utter a word, and when she spoke, it came out more like a squeak. "Okay... I'll just be a minute." And then without looking at him again, she fled to the bathroom.

She closed the door behind her and flattened her palms to it, her heart a wild rabbit in her chest. The urge to go back into the room and fling herself into his arms was almost overwhelming.

But that would be disastrous. For so many reasons.

She pressed her forehead to the cool wood of the door and listened for any sound of him. Nothing. No rattling guitar case or sounds of movement. Either the sound quality of their hotel was excellent, or Jacques was standing perfectly still where she'd left him.

Rainey pushed herself off the door with a sigh and turned on the shower. After laying out her pajamas on the counter and placing her shampoo and conditioner on the edge of the tub, she stripped off her clothes and stepped in.

The heavenly heat of the stream had her closing her eyes. But behind her lids the images she saw were all him: Jacques in profile, his right hand draped over the steering wheel, laughing as she tried to trick him with song lyrics; Jacques, sprawled in sleep in the cramped quarters of his front seat, deliciously muscled limbs pointing in every direction, his sooty eyelashes fanned out against the sculpture of his cheeks; Jacques, swiping a sweet potato fry off her plate with a wicked half grin.

She'd spent eight hours looking at him. Exposed to such male beauty, she knew her retinas would never be the same. For the rest of her life, she'd close her eyes and see his face, just like one sees an afterimage of a camera flash or a lightning strike. But instead of fading in seconds, his likeness was bound to stay.

Rainey opened her eyes, grabbed her shampoo bottle, and squirted a glob into her palm. She could probably spend all night under the shower stream just reliving their drive, but that certainly wouldn't help matters.

Yet even with the intention to push him from her thoughts, her mind snagged on the conversation they'd had about his father. And how Jacques had made no secret over the years of his anger and disappointment. Of how he had shunned him, yelled at him, even hung up on him at times.

Rainey had complained about her father to everyone in her life — except her father. Her mother, Holi, Ash — even Jacques. They all knew how she felt. But she had never lit into Doc Dylan Reeves for the way he'd treated her mother during their marriage and the way he'd abandoned them after they lost John Lee.

And until this moment — standing in the shower in a hotel room she would share with a man she wanted but couldn't have — Rainey had never asked herself why. Why couldn't she tell her father how angry she was with him? Why couldn't she throw his measly attempts at connection back in his face? His two-minute phone calls or his yearly visits that lasted all of forty-eight hours? His monthly deposits into her bank account?

Rainey only had one answer. She was a weakling. A scared, little weakling. In this as she was in every other aspect of her life.

"Rainey?" Jacques was calling her through the closed bathroom door.

Yanked from her own, private moment of self-loathing, Rainey stuck her sudsy head out of the shower.

"Yeah?" she called back. He was calling from the other side of the door. A door, she now realized, she'd never locked.

"Archie's scratching on the door and whining a little. I'm gonna take him down for a walk. You okay with that?"

Rainey blinked. Jacques was not about to open her bathroom door, locked or not. She knew this. He was far too much of a gentleman.

But in her weak, little weakling moment, Rainey couldn't be sure that she wouldn't have preferred that he did.

_My God, get a hold of yourself._

"Yeah, sure... Thanks!" she forced herself to shout.

"'Kay. We won't be long."

She thought she heard the door to the hallway close. Rainey decided it might be best to be out of the shower and dressed by the time they returned. She rinsed, conditioned, and shaved her legs, aiming now to hurry.

"Ow! Dammit!" she hissed, pulling back the razor to see the telltale crimson nick on the boniest part of her left shin. Rinsing it under the shower stream burned like the dickens, and she drew in her lips and stifled a squeal.

Her leg was only half-done, of course so she propped it back on the edge of the tub and finished the job, all the while ignoring the streak of blood that moved down to her ankle and dripped off her heel.

When she rinsed out her conditioner and turned off the shower, she discovered that her efforts had been for nothing. The gentle cords from Jacques's guitar told her they were already back, and he'd settled in to work on his music.

With a smile, Rainey admitted to herself that she wasn't all that upset. Though he didn't sing, she sensed by the rhythm that his song was playful, easy, and the sound of it brought her comfort.

She wrung out her hair, wrapped a towel around her head, and dried off enough to step out of the tub and attempt to staunch her bleeding shin with a wad of toilet paper. She bent over the tub, turned the hot water on full blast, and soaped up her washcloth before scrubbing the basin as best she could. The last thing she wanted was to leave a morbid streak of blood for Jacques to find whenever he showered.

Suppressing a groan, Rainey held up her meager pajamas. When she'd packed, she hadn't even considered the possibility that she and Jacques would be sharing a room. So, her nightwear consisted of the usual: tiny PJ shorts, a tank top, and fuzzy socks. When she put these on and eyed herself in the mirror, her stomach tightened. A whole lot of thigh was showing, but the worst part was the tank top. With her hair damp and cold against her back, her taut nipples budded against the thin cotton of her top in a lewd display.

Stalling, Rainey towel-dried her hair with rough scrubs, combed it out, and then strategically loaded her arms with her backpack and shoes so she could dash with some modesty to the bed and dive under the covers. She opened the bathroom door to find Jacques on the little couch with his guitar in his lap and Archie curled up at his side.

And when he looked up at her, his eyes bugged.

"Thanks for taking him—"

"You're bleeding," Jacques's startled announcement halted her sprint to the bed, and she froze in front of him. He pointed down to her shin, and when Rainey followed his gaze down to her leg, she saw that her makeshift bandage must have fallen off while she dressed, and now a lurid streak of blood painted her leg.

"Oh, crap," she muttered, and she wheeled back in the direction of the bathroom.

"Hang on. I have a first-aid kit," he said, getting to his feet. "Put your stuff down and sit on the bed."

Rainey stood immobile for a moment as Jacques rifled through his duffel bag, but then she took the opportunity to dump her belongings at the foot of the bed and grab a pillow before sitting as instructed.

Once she did, she hugged the pillow to her chest, covering her flimsy tank top. Jacques emerged from the living area with a small red pouch bearing the iconic white cross, but he stopped when her saw her pose, his brow knitted.

"You afraid it's gonna hurt?" he asked, nodding at the way she clutched her pillow. Rainey's cheeks prickled with heat.

"Oh, no, I..." She paused, grasping for what to say. "...I know you won't hurt me."

At this, Jacques's brow drew up in a look of surprised gratification, and he gave the faintest of nods. Her words hung between them with unintended significance.

"You just remember that," he murmured, sitting on the edge of the bed near her legs. He opened the kit and began rifling through its contents, and it was only then that she realized he could have just as easily handed it to her and let her tend to the cut on her own. But that clearly was not Jacques's intention. He tore open an alcohol wipe and began delicately cleaning the spreading streak of blood.

"I can't believe you have a first-aid kit," she said, talking to blunt the intimacy the moment forced on them. "I didn't realize you were such a Boy Scout."

She watched his mouth quirk as he opened a tube of antibiotic cream and applied it to a cotton swab.

"Oh, yeah," he deadpanned. "I'm full of surprises."

And then one of his hands grasped her gently under the calf, steadying her leg. She could feel the heat of his palm and every finger. He leaned closer to her cut, his breath tickling her skins. Rainey's breath stuttered in response.

"Hold still. I'll be gentle," he murmured, mistaking her response for nerves or squeamishness.

With the lightest of touches, he painted the cut with the ointment, his eyes narrowing in concentration on the task. Watching him was almost hypnotic, his feathery eyelashes, the strong bridge of his nose, the honeyed glow of his skin.

He was so beautiful.

Rainey's trance was broken when he sat back, tossed the swab in the trash, and peeled open the bandage. He bent in close again and gently pressed it against her cut, smoothing down the tabs with his fingertips.

"There. All better," he said, a wry smile on his lips.

"Thank you, Dr. Jacques," she said, her light tone belying the way his touch and attention had softened her from head to toe. When was the last time someone else had dressed a cut for her?

After he returned the first-aid kit to his side of the room, Jacques stepped back with a small bundle in his hand.

"Gonna take a shower. I won't be long."

He didn't lie. The water ran for all of four minutes. And by the time he emerged from the bathroom three minutes after that, Rainey had switched on the TV, grabbed her crochet work, and was safely tucked under the covers with a clear view of the bathroom door. It was the perfect spot to watch him fill the doorway in a white T-shirt that clung to his every sinew and a pair of gray, drawstring shorts, the bottom half of his legs and his feet seductively bare. Her crochet hook stilled in her hand.

She should pull her eyes away.

Rainey knew this, but she couldn't even begin to fathom how. Instead, she watched him cross the living space until he disappeared behind the partition, and her heart plummeted. Before she knew it, words flew out of her.

"Want to watch some TV with me?"

He poked his head out behind the partitioned wall. "Sure. Whatcha watchin'?"

They both eyed the TV. What _had_ she been watching? The car insurance commercial gave her no clue. And even though she sat dumbly, Jacques still walked into the room and stretched out on the bed opposite hers, his long legs claiming its length and crossing at the ankles. He took two of the bed's pillows and stuffed them behind his neck as he leaned against the headboard, and Rainey realized her mistake.

How could she look at him when she was supposed to be watching TV? She tore her eyes away and focused on the screen. The commercial ended, and a syndicated episode of _The Big Bang Theory_ resumed.

_Oh, yeah..._

Jacques sniffed a quiet laugh of approval, but it was loud enough for her to hear, so she relaxed a fraction. At least it hadn't been an episode of _Gilmore Girls._

They watched in silence. Or at least, Jacques seemed to be watching. Rainey could not focus on the antics of the awkward pack of geniuses on the screen or on the bundle of yarn in her lap. Although her eyes were aimed there, all of her other senses and the parts of her being beyond sense were trained on Jacques.

She could hear the gentle tide of his breath. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the masculine perfection of his feet and toes. His hair was still damp from his shower, and Rainey would have sworn that she could smell his sandalwood soap scent and the clean dampness of his hair from six feet away.

Unbidden, she remembered his hand on the small of her back the night of their first kiss. The way he'd pressed it there, the span of it claiming her, and the way he used it to draw her into him.

She thought of their very long day. It seemed like weeks ago that she'd called him in distress upon hearing back from Ray Charles's mother. How quickly he'd proposed a solution to her problem, one that he could deliver on. He'd come to her rescue. Again. And he'd brought a first-aid kit with him, she thought, smiling. He was right. He was so full of surprises.

She glanced over him out of the corner of her eye. And found Jacques looking at her.

Rainey quickly pulled her eyes back to the TV, her pulse kicking into a faster rhythm, her smile unstoppable.

"Rainey." He spoke her name like a command.

She looked back. "Yeah?"

A smile played on his lips. "What were you smiling at?" he asked.

She felt her brows lift, and she reached for the nearest camouflage. "It's a funny show," she said, pointing to the TV with her crochet hook.

The look in his eyes changed a fraction, and Rainey knew he didn't believe her. Still, he didn't challenge her or call her bluff, but his eyes held hers with piercing focus. Holding his gaze was too hard. She had to look away.

"Rainey."

She looked back, and Jacques pushed himself up on the bed beside hers and turned to face her, his elbows on his knees.

"What?" she asked, her throat suddenly dry.

The commanding note in his voice remained, and a matching look held her captive, but then a shade of vulnerability passed over them. "Could I... Would you let me come over there with you?" he asked, nodding to her bed. "I won't try anything. I just want to be close to you."

She felt his words move through her chest and land in her heart. It beat with a sudden strength. The thought of saying no never crossed her mind, but it was near impossible to say anything at all.

"Y—" she tried, but her throat was stuck together. She swallowed, her eyes never leaving his. "—yes, of course."

And just like that, he was off the bed and moving to hers. Rainey had time only to toss her yarn and hook off the side of the bed and scoot to give him room. For an instant, she pictured him peeling back the covers and slipping in with her — a thought that made her heart race and her breath stall — but he simply stretched out on top of the bedspread, tucked his left arm behind her shoulders and pulled her against him.

Jacques looked down into her eyes. They were close enough to kiss now. The distance between their lips could be easily closed. And Rainey knew she couldn't stop him if he did. Not because she was powerless, but because she didn't want to.

But he didn't kiss her.

Instead, he held her gaze. "Is this alright?" he whispered, tightening his hold just a fraction. His embrace had tipped her onto her side, and her head rested on his shoulder. The length of their bodies pressed against each other so that even with the blankets between them, Rainey could feel his heat and pressure and solid presence.

She couldn't imagine opiates felt any better.

He let go a sigh, and his body sunk a little deeper in the bed, taking hers with him, so it was necessary to lay her hand on his chest to keep herself in place. At least, that was what she told herself. Through the thin cotton of his white T-shirt, she could feel the strong beat of his heart. It was a steady cadence under her palm, not the runaway horse that sped inside her own chest.

She should have said something. Friends didn't lie together like this. But for all the life that stirred in each of her cells, Rainey couldn't even answer his question.

# Chapter 21

_" All I ever wanted... All I ever needed... Is here in my arms." _Rainey's Depeche Mode lyrics echoed in his head.

Even as Jacques held Rainey against him, he couldn't quite believe she'd allowed him this close. He wanted to kiss her. How he wanted to kiss her! He could kiss her for days. He'd spend tonight on the cupid's bow of her top lip. Tomorrow would be for the ripe fruit of her bottom lip. Then Tuesday and Wednesday would belong to her tongue.

It would probably take a year to cover her body.

But if he let himself think like that, even the blankets that lay between them wouldn't be enough to hide his imaginings. She'd let him hold her. It felt amazing, and it needed to be enough. He also needed to stick to his word. Jacques wanted at least to press a kiss to her forehead, but he didn't trust himself to move in any closer. Instead he gave her another little squeeze and turned his eyes from hers back to the TV as though the antacid commercial was the most riveting thing he'd ever seen.

Her hand lay on his chest, and, every now and then, one of her fingers would come alive and brush against him. Just a fraction. But those subtle touches felt like the shifting of the earth.

She lay in the curve of his arm, and his hand rested on her elbow. The fourth time one of her fingertips stroked his chest, Jacques let the tip of his middle finger move an inch over her inner arm and back. Maybe her touch wasn't intentional. Maybe it was just unconscious. But it felt so damn good, Jacques didn't want to miss returning it.

"Friends don't really snuggle like this, do they," she whispered, not taking her eyes from the TV, and not pulling away from him. Rainey didn't say it like a question, but there was a question in her words nonetheless.

Jacques considered before answering. Saying no might prompt her to stop. Saying yes, at least in his experience, would be a colossal lie. He'd never lain on a bed with a girl in his arms whom he'd called merely a friend.

And Rainey was no exception.

But, of course, she was exceptional. In her beauty. In her solitude. In the way she believed in him. Even in the way she fit in the crook of his arm like she was made for it.

_"We_ can do this," he said, answering her question the only way he knew how. It was an answer made for the moment and an answer made for the future.

She lifted her eyes to his then. "You mean we can do this within the boundaries of friendship?"

He nodded slowly. "We can do this whenever we want." And that was true. As far as he was concerned, they could live like this. It might drive him to madness with desire, but he definitely didn't want to go _without_ this.

She hadn't taken her eyes from him, and he saw something at their edges warm and soften with a kind of sadness, yet she wore a hint of a smile. "This feels really good," she murmured.

The urge to roll on top of her grappled with him, but he smothered it, instead nodding again and stroking her elbow in affirmation. "Yeah, it does," he whispered.

She turned her face into the curve where his neck met his shoulder and closed her eyes. He felt the pull of her breath tickle his skin. "You smell like..." Her voice trailed off, but even her hushed tones didn't disguise a note of disbelief. "...like a place I've never believed in but really want to see."

His grin was immediate. "What do you mean? Like Narnia or Middle Earth? Some place in one of your books?" he teased.

Only the side of her face was visible to him. He saw her half smile and felt the shake of her head. "Like heaven."

The words sucked the breath clear out of him, and his right arm, which until then he'd managed to keep still by his side, locked around her.

"Rainey." Jacques stopped himself on her name. It was all he could do not to beg her to trust him. He held her tight, and he wasn't alone.

She held tight right back. Her face was hidden from him now, completely buried in his shoulder.

He rubbed a hand — a comforting hand — high on her back. After a moment, when she hadn't moved from her hiding place, he spoke her name again. She still didn't budge.

"What's on your mind?" he asked gently.

She took her time answering. "You know what's on my mind, Jacques," she murmured into his neck.

He shut his eyes and let his hand move between her shoulder blades. "I do and I don't," he admitted. If she felt anything close to what he did, her mind was a tangle of thoughts, desires, and questions. He could only hope she felt the same. If that were so, he had reason to hope.

But he knew Rainey well enough to know that, more often than not, the first thing she felt was fear. And maybe that was what she was trying to tell him now. This was harder for him to relate to. The only thing he feared was that she'd never trust him. That she'd eventually push him out of her life.

"I can't be with you," she whispered. "Not the way I want to be."

This was good news and bad news all in one. She felt what he felt. Rainey wanted to be with him. She'd said as much before, but hearing it again stoked his hope.

"But do you want to be with me like this? To be close? To share something we've maybe never shared with anyone else?"

The words seemed to speak themselves. Whatever he had with Rainey, Jacques wanted to protect. Whatever ground he gained, he wasn't about to surrender. If she was content to lie in his arms, he'd take that victory today and hope he'd be able to claim more tomorrow.

She lifted her face from his shoulder and looked up at him. "What do you mean?"

He gave her a gentle squeeze. "I mean I love the feel of you in my arms. I love having you close. So what if it's more than what most friends have?" he argued softly. "We both like it, and I'm not asking for anything more."

_Not yet, anyway._

She raised a brow at him, her hazel eyes flashing at him like he was the dumbest guy in the world. "Jacques, that's a slippery slope."

He couldn't help it. He laughed. Her brow arched higher, and Jacques realized he'd be okay if she looked at him like that for the rest of his life. Maybe he was the dumbest guy in the world, but he was the one beside her.

He shook off his humor. "Tell me to get out of your bed," he said, and her immediate look of shock and distress gratified him to no end. When she said nothing, he prompted. "Go on. Do it."

He watched her swallow, uncertain. Her hesitation thrilled him. She opened her mouth, and for a moment no words came out. Then she tried again. "Get... get out of my bed."

Even as Jacques slid his arm out from under her and moved off the bed, he prayed he wasn't doing something he'd regret. He turned to face her and lowered himself to the edge of the empty bed beside hers, looking into her eyes, which peered at him beneath a frown of confusion.

She pushed herself up so that she sat facing him. The blankets that had covered her slipped into her lap, and for an instant, Jacques's gaze fell to the silhouette of her breasts beneath the fabric of her tank top. The top, a pale blue, reached over her shoulders with thin straps that begged to be peeled down, and it gaped just enough in the front for him to glimpse a shadow of cleavage that he knew he needed to taste before he could die a happy man. But he yanked his eyes back up to hers when she spoke.

"Wh-what's going on?"

Jacques's shrug was calculated. "I moved out of your bed — like you told me to."

Rainey stared at him. "So, I'm in control? Is that what I'm supposed to understand?" she asked, skepticism now entering her eyes.

He gave her a rueful smile. "You always have been."

Shock replaced skepticism. "When we were down in the lobby, you could have fooled me," she quipped.

It was hard to shut down his laugh, but he managed. "That's different."

_"Mmm-hmm."_ The sardonic line of her mouth and the crook of her brow were so bewitching, he wanted to dig out his phone and snap her picture.

She tilted her head to the side, and the light in her eyes changed. "So, if I'm in control, does that mean..." He watched her swallow. "...if I asked you to come back, you would?"

The inside of his body became volcanic. "I would." His voice came out somewhere between a rasp and a whisper. He tried to keep his features even. "Are you asking?"

Rainey nodded.

Jacques pushed off the spare bed and moved back to hers, taking the same position beside her on top of the covers. But instead of lying down in his arms again, Rainey remained sitting, eyeing him doubtfully and chewing her bottom lip.

He propped himself up on his elbows. "What is it?"

The expression on her face shifted three times before she spoke. "You're really okay with whatever... whatever..."

"Whatever you want," he finished for her. It was the truth. He wanted everything, but whatever she wanted from him, he wanted to give it.

Her lip disappeared between her teeth again. "So, if I asked you to get in with me and just hold me...?"

She didn't finish, and Jacques didn't make her. In two deft moves, he was beneath the blankets, pulling her down into his arms. Rainey settled into his embrace, and his body knew the joy of her soft weight, her delicious warmth.

Again, her head nestled against his shoulder, and she wrapped her arm across his chest. Without the blankets to separate them, the silken skin of her legs pressed against his, her feet only reaching to his calves, but the newfound intimacy awoke every fiber of his being to the feel of her. Cradling her in one arm, he ran his other hand lazily up and down her shoulder, and since this seemed to be allowed, he kept doing it. The softness of her bare arm was a new addiction.

"And if..." she began on a whisper, her voice still tentative. How could she still be uncertain? Didn't she already know he'd give her anything? "If I just wanted us to stay like this — just for tonight — would that be okay?"

In answer, he switched off the bedside lamp and closed her again in his embrace.

Rainey gave a sigh, and he felt her warm body relax.

And at this clear signal, Archie stood, twirled three times in the space behind her, and then flopped down with a satisfied moan.

The only light in the room came from the flickering TV, and when Jacques glanced down at Rainey's shadowed face, he found that she was gazing back at him.

"Thank you," she whispered.

He drew in a breath and inhaled the floral sweetness that lifted off her still damp hair. "What for?"

"This... the trip... everything." She spoke softly, but he could hear the gravity in her voice. "I haven't gone anywhere without Holi or Mom since... In a long time."

Jacques squeezed her against him. Questions lined up in his mind. He went with the first one. "Do you like to travel?"

She drew in a long breath and let it go before answering. "You know, I don't really know."

He frowned in the near darkness. "You don't know?"

Rainey rustled beneath the covers, rolling more onto her back so she could look up at the ceiling. "Yeah, I don't know," she said, sounding just as mystified. "I used to think I hated it because we toured so much with my dad when we were growing up. Did you know I completed fourth through seventh grade on a tour bus?"

Jacques turned onto his side, keeping her encircled in his arms, so he could see her better. "Seriously?" he asked, stunned.

She nodded. "Yep. We travelled with my dad, so we had a tutor who toured with us." Jacques watched her blink up at the shadowed ceiling, her eyes tracking the flickers dancing and stretching along its length. "And that really wasn't so bad. I mean, every time we stopped in a new city, Mom would plan little educational field trips."

She brought her eyes to his, and even in the dim light, he could see the glint of fondness. "I mean, if you're going to learn about the Battle of Bunker Hill, what better place to do it than at Bunker Hill, right?"

A smile captured his face. "You actually did that?"

"Yeah," she said, smiling at the memory. "It was spring. Spring in Boston is amazing."

"I've never been," he murmured. "Love to go, though."

Rainey was quiet for a minute, and he watched her smile disintegrate. "After my dad's show that night, he didn't come back to our hotel suite." Her voice was flat, her eyes hard like black buttons in the darkness. "I didn't know until I woke up the next morning, and Mom was crying. We were supposed to leave first thing, but Dad didn't come back until after lunch. Larry found him. He told us kids he'd gotten lost after the show. I think John Lee was the only one who believed him."

A sour burn ignited in Jacques stomach. "How old were you?"

She brought her eyes back to his, a look of almost startled surprise in their depths, as if she'd lost her way in the memory. But she blinked twice, and the hardness in her eyes softened.

"I was ten." Her brows shifted up in a wry expression. "Do you know he had the gall to include a song called 'Lost in Boston' on his next album?"

Jacques swore under his breath. Dylan Reeves was overdue for a beating.

"Yep." Rainey heaved a sigh. "So, I don't really know if I like to travel. Maybe I do. Maybe if my memories of visiting new places weren't tangled up with shit like that, I'd love to travel. I mean..." She paused and pressed her lips together before locking eyes with him. "...I mean, I've really enjoyed today," she said softly.

Satisfaction soaked through him. He'd thought she was having a good time, but hearing her say it gratified him more than it should. Jacques knew that the trip was something she felt she had to do. Of course, he wanted to help her, but he also wanted her to be unafraid, and, more than anything, he wanted her to be happy.

Lying with her in his arms, Jacques certainly was.

Rainey stifled a yawn and rolled back onto her side to face him. He snuggled her closer, the sight of her sleepy, soft face irresistibly cute. How he would manage to resist placing a kiss on her lips, he did not know.

"We should get some rest," he murmured. Rainey nodded, so Jacques reached for the remote and flicked off the TV, plunging the room in darkness.

"Goodnight, Jacques," she whispered, her breath feathering against his neck. Her hand smoothed against his chest as she said the words, and his abs clenched in bliss.

"Goodnight, Rainey." Permission to touch her, to hold her all night saturated him with a stunning sense of rightness. He should have felt content, and in a sense, he did. But Jacques also couldn't deny that having her so close pushed him to the edge of endurance. His desire for Rainey was beyond anything he'd even known. And on the frayed edges of his desire and the blanket of contentment, he was aware of the texture of fear.

The fear that he would know this contentment only to lose it.

So, when Rainey's breath evened out and her arm across his chest went slack as she slid into sleep, he could not follow. His eyes had adjusted to the darkness, and he could make out the exquisite silhouette of her shape in the shadows. The diffused light seeping through the hotel blinds lit her skin with an almost otherworldly luminescence, as though she belonged to Picasso's Blue Period.

Jacques had been in love before, and he knew its sting. He had loved Emmie, his high school sweetheart. Loving her had swallowed nearly five years of his life. Because Jacques was pretty sure he'd loved Emmie even before his ill-fated afternoon in her driveway. They'd dated for four years — until a week after he'd dropped out of college. And it was because he'd dropped out that she ended it.

She loved him, Emmie had sworn. She'd never deny that. But she expected a certain life, and it wasn't one a starving musician could build with her. At the time, he didn't know what hurt more: that she didn't believe in his dream the way he did or that, even if she didn't, she couldn't accept him as he was. That who he was, successful or not, wasn't enough for her. Because no matter what, he'd argued, he would have taken care of her. Even if it meant working a day job for the rest of his life so he could play on nights and weekends. He said as much to her the day she told him it was over, trying like hell to make her change her mind.

Lying next to Rainey, he remembered that day and how he felt he'd been cored like an apple. Like everything at his center, body and soul, had been unceremoniously sliced away, leaving a hole practically everyone could peer through. How it had felt almost the same as losing his parents. Emmie became another person who had chosen something else over him.

What scared him most now was that it could happen again with Rainey. And Jacques was beginning to believe it would hurt just as much. Maybe more. If he were honest with himself, he'd have to admit that he was falling hard and fast. And the truth of the matter was — whatever she might feel for him — Rainey seemed to have tighter control over her heart.

She'd set boundaries to protect herself. Maybe he needed to do the same.

He thought about their trip. He'd wanted to prove to her that she could trust him. He'd wanted for the trip to be a test he could pass. But maybe it was a test for both of them. If she couldn't trust him, maybe it would be safer to pull back.

He sighed, thinking about the weeks that had followed the Artmosphere show. Even if he chose to let go, would he be able to?

Rainey made a soft whine in her sleep, a muffled, dream-laden distress call, and Jacques instinctively held her tighter. He felt her fingers grip a handful of his shirt as though she were desperate to hold onto him. And even though he knew she probably wasn't dreaming about him, imagining her needing him like that made his heart turn over in his chest.

_No,_ he thought with grim certainty, _I don't think I could let go even if I wanted to._

# Chapter 22

Rainey opened her eyes. Even in the reassurance of the morning light, the dream still haunted her. It felt like the dream she'd had so many times in the last six years, but this one was oddly unique.

Instead of being behind the wheel of her family's Jeep Wrangler when her world exploded, she was driving — of all things — Jacques's Impala. And when she turned to see John Lee the instant before glass and metal and force and speed rearranged all the atoms in her universe, her eyes didn't land on her brother.

Instead, it was Jacques who sat beside her.

He was looking at her. Right into her eyes. And the look in his deep brown wells was so heartbreakingly sad.

Instead of screaming like she had that awful day, Rainey wept. Time slowed to a painful crawl as the Escalade bore down on them, and she had ages and ages to feel with helpless certainty that she would lose Jacques, too.

Endless, bottomless grief rose like flood waters over her heart, her shoulders, her neck, until she opened her mouth to cry out and drowned in sorrow.

A slice of sunlight now fell across her face, and even though the reassurance of Jacques's warm, solid body surrounded her, she still could not wrest from the dream's grip.

During the night, she must have turned onto her left side, because now he spooned her possessively, his right arm hooked around her waist. His right leg scissored over hers. If she could turn off her brain, Rainey knew it would feel heavenly.

Maybe if she fell asleep again, she could wash away the remnants of the nightmare. Rainey closed her eyes and tried to relax her mind, but apparently sensing her wakefulness, Archie got to his feet and stretched his front legs before him, his neck reaching out as his chin ducked low before boosting his chest up high to point each leg behind him in turn.

He gave a noisy, tongue-curling yawn before he sat on his bottom right in front of her, tapped her with a paw, and began panting impatiently. Clearly, it was time to feed and walk her dog.

Rainey carefully lifted her head, glanced at her bedside clock, and discovered that it was just after nine in the morning. Regardless of her restless night and the draining dream, she'd slept quite late. The adventure of the day before must have worn Archie out too since he usually demanded to be fed no later than seven.

She wasn't sure how she would be able to slip out of Jacques's embrace, and the last thing she wanted to do was wake him. If his grandfather never let him sleep in, the least Rainey wanted to give him on this trip when he gave everything and would take nothing in return was the chance to enjoy a late morning in bed.

Still, she knew if she didn't get a move on, Archie would start grumbling. And as if on cue, he let out a doggy huff of impatience.

Somehow, with steady movements and more than a little breath-holding, Rainey slid out from under Jacques's glorious limbs, dressed as quietly as possible, and took Archie out for a walk.

Ten minutes later, on her way back to the room, Rainey stopped for coffee in the hotel's dining room. Carrying two cups of hot coffee was no small feat considering that with the leash looped over her wrist instead of in her firm grip, Archie was free to pull in any direction and attempt to greet every other hotel guest or staff member.

She managed to make it back to their room without spilling a drop or tangling Archie's leash around an unsuspecting bystander, and after a careful balancing maneuver, she opened the door again as quietly as possible.

Which must have been why she walked in to see Jacques's backside in all its glory.

And, oh, glory.

"Oh, glory!" Rainey's startled shout probably wasn't the best way to let him know she'd returned.

"Fuck!" Rainey heard his curse even as she slammed her eyes shut. How she managed to spin 180 degrees on her heel without spilling a drop of coffee, she'd never know.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" she pleaded. "I should have knocked."

"No, I'm sorry," Jacques grumbled, his voice gruff and exceptionally deep first thing in the morning.

Rainey heard the distinct trill of a zipper, but she resisted the urge to turn around. Her eyes might have been facing the door, but she wasn't seeing the rectangle of wood or the nearby fire escape diagram tacked the wall.

Oh, no. All her mind saw was the head-to-toe unparalleled male beauty of Jacques Gilchrist, and Rainey suspected she'd never be the same.

"Coast is clear," he murmured. Then she heard him give a gravelly chuckle. "I'm such an idiot."

Figuring it was truly safe to turn around, Rainey did, but she found that she couldn't lift her eyes to meet his. Instead, they took in his bare feet and his legs now clad in jeans.

"I woke up, and you and Archie were gone."

At his words, she did look up and instantly decided that was a good choice. Jacques was blushing, but he wasn't shame-faced. Instead, he seemed to laugh at himself, his rueful grin absolutely irresistible tinted in pink. It contrasted deliciously with the snug black T-shirt he wore.

"I was getting dressed to go look for you. I should have been patient."

The pink of his skin deepened a shade. And then Rainey felt her own cheeks color as she found herself wondering if he knew he'd just redefined male beauty as far as she was concerned. Jacques had ruined her for any other man, no matter how shapely his posterior might be.

"W-we went for a walk, and I got us coffee on the way back," she stammered, holding out the obvious containers. "This one's yours." She handed him the one in her right hand, the hand that wasn't tethered to Archie's leash and stood the best chance of survival for their haphazard journey.

Jacques stepped up to her and took it, looking inordinately pleased. "Thanks."

It struck Rainey that if she were just a little bit stronger — if she could live a slightly bigger life— she likely would have seen every part of him already. Seen him. Touched him. Gripped him.

Tasted him.

On a swallow, she shook such thoughts from her head. No good could come from playing _What if._ She set her own coffee down on the hotel dresser and proceeded to serve Archie his breakfast from the little plastic container of dog food she'd packed.

"When should we hit the road?" Rainey asked, ducking into the bathroom to wash her hands and do something about her hair. In her effort to get out of the room without waking Jacques, she'd just stuck it in a ponytail, but if they were going to meet Gloria Lopez-Craine — and especially if she was going to meet her brother for the first time — she wanted to be presentable.

"Bowling Green's still a three-and-a-half-hour drive from here," he called from the bedroom.

In the mirror, she could see him sitting on the edge of the spare bed, donning his shoes. As she brushed her hair, he rose and walked into the living area of the suite with his coffee.

When he stepped into view, his eyes widened a fraction, and his gaze moved back and forth from her hair to her eyes.

"What?" she asked nervously, checking her reflection in the mirror. Did she have a wayward curl sticking up in the back?

"Your hair," Jacques said, sounding awestruck. "You usually pull it back with a barrette or wear it in a ponytail."

Her face went hot again. "Yeah," she muttered. "It can get kind of out of control if I don't put it up."

"It's beautiful." His words were a low hush that she felt in her belly.

He was only a few paces from her, but he suddenly seemed so far away. She'd spent the night in his arms, aware of his body's heat, the power in his muscles, the insistence of his embrace. It felt almost like a punishment that she couldn't touch him now.

She reached for her barrette, and Jacques's hand shot forward and stayed hers. "Leave it down today."

Rainey blinked in astonishment. "Why?"

The corner of his mouth hooked in his signature grin. "Because it looks amazing—"

"But—" She started to protest, but Jacques just shook his head.

"No, just listen. We're going to meet Gloria Lopez-Craine. She's a hairdresser. She'll be powerless against you once she sees that hair."

Rainey could only roll her eyes.

"Besides," he said, his brows lifting in promise. "I have a plan."

"Glorious Locks takes walk-ins," Jacques said as they merged onto 1-65, headed toward Nashville. "I'll be the walk-in."

Rainey took in his devil-may-care rock star hair. "You're going to let her cut your hair?" Rainey asked with apprehension.

He shrugged with a half grin. "It's just hair. If she butchers it, it'll grow back."

Rainey gaped at him with open disbelief. He laughed. "What?"

"Every musician I've ever known — male or female — has been almost obnoxiously protective about their hair."

Jacques's laughter rattled the windows of the Impala. "Well, you can't say that anymore."

They stopped for lunch in Nashville at the Sunflower Cafe off I-65. Rainey had left her hair down at Jacques's request, and as they sat outside at one of the picnic tables, the breeze would lift her curls or blow them into her face. More than once, Jacques reached over and tucked a loose lock behind her ear while they ate. Every time he did, he wore a secret smile that made Rainey's heart thump clumsily in her chest, and her face, her breasts, and places further south would flush with heat.

A little after two o'clock that afternoon, they rolled into Bowling Green and found Glorious Locks Salon. It was located in a tiny strip mall off an access road of Highway 231. The strip mall, despite its meager size, was actually kind of posh with a boutique dress shop on one side and a sushi bar on the other.

Jacques eased the Impala into a spot in the middle of the parking lot, not directly in front of the salon, but a few doors down. He killed the engine, and Rainey blew out a nervous breath.

He glanced over at her. "You ready for this?"

She gulped. "I thought I had everything I'd want to say planned out in my head, but now that we're here, I'm afraid I'll walk in there and just vomit it up all at once."

Jacques gave her a sympathetic smile. "I'll go in first, like we talked about. If I have to wait for an appointment with Gloria, I'll wait—"

"What if she's booked for the day," Rainey fretted.

He just shook his head. "Look at the parking lot. There's two empty spaces in front of her salon," he reassured. "She'll be able to take me. Besides, guy haircuts take like fifteen minutes. She can fit me in while one of her ladies is under the dryer."

Rainey gazed at him in bemused amazement. "How do you know that?"

"Because..." He chuckled. "...that's always what happens when I get my hair cut."

She nodded, his words and his usual easy confidence giving her a modicum of strength. It was a good idea, Rainey knew, to let him go in first, sit in Gloria's chair, and talk to her before she came in. The plan was to introduce Rainey slowly. She'd come in as Jacques's girlfriend, take a seat, and start talking to him about her sick sister. She'd tell Holi's story and talk about her disappearing options while Gloria worked and listened as a captive audience — hopefully an engaged and sympathetic audience. When Gloria had finished with Jacques's cut, they'd come clean about who they were and ask for her help, letting her know they'd be in town overnight if she wanted to talk or give them a chance to meet Ray Charles.

They had no guarantees she'd help, but Jacques and Rainey agreed it was the best way to get Gloria to listen under the circumstances.

Rainey watched the front of the salon and chewed on her lip. "I'm just nervous about screwing up."

Jacques reached toward her and clasped her hand in his. "You won't screw up," he promised, peering into her eyes with certainty and a strength she could never hope to have. "Besides, I'll be there to help keep you on track."

Nodding, Rainey filled her lungs with a deep breath. "Okay," she breathed out.

Jacques reached into the backseat, dug through his duffel bag, and pulled something from it. Rainey frowned.

"Is that Pez?" she asked, confused.

She watched Jacques's complexion color for the second time that day. "It's for Ray Charles." He held up the package featuring a cartoon character. "I hear nine-year-old boys like _Despicable Me."_

A smile broke out over Rainey's face. "That's awesome. Why didn't I think of that?" she asked aloud.

Jacques shrugged, grinning back at her. "If you did, then you wouldn't need me." He didn't give her any time to respond to that remark, handing her the dispenser. "I think you should give it to him if we get the chance to meet him."

"But Jacques," she protested, trying to hand it back, the sweetness of the gesture touching her heart. "You bought it. You should give it to him."

Jacques merely shook his head. "It should come from you. You're his sister," he said, effectively ending the discussion. Then he glanced to the back seat. "What are we going to do about Archie?"

The windy morning in Nashville had turned into a blustery afternoon in Bowling Green. The sky was dark to their west, but it still looked like they had a while before rain fell. "He'll be alright here. I just need to walk him first."

"Want me to wait for you before I go in?"

Rainey shook her head. "No. Go in and get started. Walking Archie while I wait for your text will be a lot better than sitting still."

Jacques gave her a smile. A tender, warm-her-forever smile. "Rainey, it's going to be okay." He squeezed her hand as he spoke, and the gratitude she felt for the man by her side made a lump form in her throat that was hard to ignore.

Since she couldn't speak, she just nodded fiercely.

"Ready?" he asked, tilting his head to the side to eye her closely.

"Yeah," she managed finally.

Jacques squeezed her hand again before letting it go. "Okay. Let's do this. I'll text you as soon as I can."

Rainey's heart started an almost painful chugging, and her pores spontaneously opened. "Okay," she said on a shaky breath.

They both opened the doors of the Impala and stepped out. The breeze whipped hair into her face, and the air smelled of rain and springtime. She tucked the candy into her skirt pocket as he watched Jacques set off across the parking lot, and his monstrous strides had him halfway to the salon before Rainey could clip on Archie's leash. It didn't help that her fingers were trembling and she had to use one hand to hold down her skater skirt against the wind.

Once leashed, Archie jettisoned himself from the back seat and strained at the lead as he pulled her to the first patch of grass he could find. While her dog marked new and unchartered territory, Rainey watched Jacques disappear into the salon.

She walked Archie over to a cluster of trees at the edge of the parking lot. The wind in the young trees and the whoosh of blood through her ears drowned out sounds from the highway. Not wanting to miss Jacques's text, she pulled her phone from her pocket and held it in a tight grip.

This was how she stood, heart racing, body rigid, and guts looped in knots when a yellow school bus turned into the shopping center's parking lot. She didn't give it a second thought until it pulled up right in front of her and opened its double doors.

A gust of wind blew curls into her face, and when Rainey cleared them from her eyes, a boy stood before her. She froze, eyes wide, staring — she knew — at her brother. And he was staring at Archie.

"Hey, is that your dog?" He bent forward and slapped his thighs in the universal dog welcome, and Rainey could only stand there with her mouth open. "He's so cute!"

The school bus stop signs retracted, and the vehicle rumbled away. Or maybe the rumble was from the approaching thunderheads. Rainey couldn't be sure. All she could do was gawk at the boy in front of her.

"What's his name? Can I pet him?"

"Uh..." Rainey opened and closed her mouth, but the utterance was all she could produce.

Ray Charles glanced up at her with a look of worry.

"Does he bite?" he asked, frowning. He wore black-rimmed glasses that were just a little too big for his face, and he touched the corner of them to adjust them as he spoke. The lenses made his hazel eyes look slightly larger than life, so the recognition of them hit her with unexpected force.

She shook her head quickly and found her tongue. "No, no. His name's Archie. He's friendly."

Ray Charles threw his gaze back to the dog and dropped to his knees, the wind from the approaching storm tousling his hair as he did. "Hi, Archie!" he greeted, and his enthusiasm was only second to Archie's who lunged forward and began licking the boy on his chin. Ray Charles dissolved into giggles. He dropped his backpack to the ground beside him and used both hands to pet the dog. "Is he a poodle?"

Rainey sunk down into a squat until she was eye-level with him. She didn't think she could keep standing anyway. He didn't _look_ like John Lee, and yet memories of the brother she'd lost fell on her like a sledgehammer.

It was his voice.

The way it chirped with excitement. And the look in his eyes as he petted and scratched Archie. A joyful look that penetrated. John Lee had worn the same intense, engaged look of delight and rapt concentration whenever he found something he loved: a game, a gadget, a shell on the beach. Holi still wore that look when she read.

Rainey had grown up surrounded by the expression. It surpassed familiar. It was elemental. She knew it in her bones. In her soul. This boy was her brother, and she loved him already.

And he really did look like Holi. His darker coloring matched hers, and the planes of their faces were so similar, especially now that the wind pushed his brown hair from his forehead.

"I love his ears," Ray Charles said, rubbing Archie's crinkled earflap between his thumb and forefinger. When Archie let go a moan of pleasure, even the lump in Rainey's throat couldn't stop the laugh that escaped her.

"I think he likes that," she murmured. And then because she couldn't help herself. "I think he likes you."

He looked up at her, his wide hazel eyes locking on hers with a force that nearly knocked her back.

"Really? I want a dog so bad." He kept one hand on Archie's ear, but with the other, he unzipped and rifled through his backpack, unearthing a boatload of books as he did.

"I really want a Labrador retriever," he said, fishing out a book titled _The Everything Labrador Retriever Book: A Complete Guide to Raising, Training, and Caring for Your Lab_ and thrusting it at her. "My mom says they're too big, and they shed too much, but I know they're uncommonly smart."

Rainey took the book he offered, but she couldn't spare it a glance. "Uncommonly smart?" Rainey asked with a grin.

"Yeah, you know, singularly intelligent," he offered as an explanation, frowning slightly as if her question seemed ridiculous. And maybe even a little pitiful.

"How old are you?" she found herself asking.

He pushed his glasses up on his nose as though he were about to discuss a highly serious matter. "I'll be ten next week."

Rainey felt her face split with a smile. "Well, happy early birthday."

She felt her phone buzz in her hand then, and when Rainey looked down at the screen, she saw that she had already missed three texts from Jacques.

* * *

_J acques: I'm in. Come on._

_Jacques: She's about to wash my hair. Get in here._

_Jacques: Starting to worry._

* * *

"Oh, shit." As soon as the words left her lips, she clapped a hand over her mouth and looked back at Ray Charles. "Oops. I'm sorry," she mumbled behind her hand.

He crooked a brow at her the same way Holi did every time she was about to deliver sarcasm. "I'm about to be ten. I've heard the s-h-i-t word before," he intoned with a hint of impatience. "It's like my mom's second favorite word."

Rainey felt her head jolt. "What's her first favorite word?" she couldn't help but ask. In the back of her mind, she knew she needed to get back to Jacques — she didn't want him to worry — but meeting her brother overwhelmed her.

Ray Charles lifted his palm in the direction of the salon, his tone still dry as paper. _"Glorious._ Everything is glorious. Glorious hair. Glorious nails. Glorious outfit. Glorious glorious," he lamented wryly. "But if it's not glorious, it's s-h-i—"

"I think I get it," Rainey said, feeling a little guilty for talking four-letter words with a nine-year-old. She stood up straight and handed back his dog book. "Um, I need to head over to the salon — seeing as it's so glorious—"

His interrupting laugh surprised her.

"—and before I can do that," she said, fighting her own smile, loving the music of his laugh. "I need to put Archie in the car."

Ray Charles shot to his feet. "It's about to storm. He'll be scared in the car. You can bring him inside!" he urged with enthusiasm.

Taken aback, Rainey shook her head. But he was right. The sky was considerably darker now. No rain had fallen, but the downpour was imminent. Still... "I-I couldn't do that. I—"

"Sure you can. Like, everyone—" He tucked his chin and eyeballed her over the rim of his glasses as he zipped up his backpack. "And I mean _everyone_ else does. Almost all my mom's clients have dogs that fit in their purses. _Ridiculous_ ," he droned with a disapproving eye roll. Then he nodded toward Archie "Besides, he's a good boy. Everyone can tell he's a good boy," he said, as if she'd offered a dispute.

Rainey fought her grin. Her surprise little brother was a neat kid, and all she really wanted to do in the moment was keep talking to him. But her phone buzzed again in her hand.

* * *

_J acques: Rainey, WTF? Now is not the time for radio silence. Don't do this to me again._

* * *

"Oh sh-sheesh! Okay, let's go."

"Yes!" Ray Charles grabbed his backpack and flung it over his shoulder. Then he looked at her with beseeching doe eyes. "Do you think I could walk him?"

With a look like that, Ray Charles probably got almost everything he wanted. Still, his mother clearly must have been immune to it if he didn't have a Labrador retriever yet. She was about to hand over the leash when a thought occurred to her.

"It's okay with me, but you don't even know who I am. You know it's not safe to talk to strangers, right?"

He squinted up at her with a frown. "Are you a stranger? You look pretty familiar to me," he observed innocently.

Rainey's heart knocked against her chest. Did he know on some level that they were related? Did he recognize his own features in her face?

"Well, we've never met,' she said diplomatically, and she stuck her hand out. "I'm Rainey..." Her mouth hung open a second as she contemplated telling him her last name. She decided against it, not knowing what he knew of their father.

He blinked behind his glasses. "That's an uncommonly original name."

The pull of her smile was automatic. People always remarked on her name, but no one had ever called it _uncommonly original._ But his choice of words reminded her, too, of herself when she was about his age. Every time she'd read a book, she'd pick up a new vocabulary word and wear it out over the next few weeks. _Uncommonly_ had never been one of her fads, but she now loved the word.

Ray Charles accepted her offered hand and shook it with imitated maturity. "My name's Ray Charles Lopez-Craine, but everyone calls me Ray."

Her heart twitched. Hearing him confirm his identity filled her with conviction, but also, she didn't miss the fact that Reeves was definitely not part of his name. Which made her wonder how that had happened. Had Gloria's husband adopted him? And if so, did that mean that their father had relinquished his parental rights altogether?

Her gut swirled with a sickening sense of unease at the thought, but she told herself to put the question away, and she handed Ray the leash and let him lead the way to the salon. The first drop of rain landed on her head so she fell in step behind him. She quickly fired off a text.

* * *

_R ainey: Sorry! Met RC. We are walking in together! What now?!?_

* * *

As if the last place he wanted to be was outside, Archie made a beeline for the salon, likely following Jacques's scent. Ray had to run to keep up with the dog, so Rainey had to run to keep up with Ray. Rain started to peck at the pavement beneath them as they ran. Ray reached the salon, flung the door wide, stepped in, and held it open for her.

"Ray, honey? Is that you? Sounds like it's getting rough out there." Rainey heard what had to be Gloria call from a hidden corner of the salon. She could hear water running. Gloria must have been washing Jacques's hair.

"Yeah, Mom." Ray disappeared around the corner, but Rainey stayed near the front of the salon out of sight like the coward she was. "Look, Mom, this is Archie."

"Oh!" Gloria gave a startled cry. "Hello, Archie. Son, who does he belong to?" Rainey heard Gloria ask, and at that moment, her stomach plummeted as she realized what she'd done.

Ray turned to face her with a beckoning smile. "He belongs to your next client, Rainey," he offered helpfully, and Rainey's blood turned arctic.

The water shut off. "Wh-what did you say, Ray?" Gloria's voice was almost hushed with an eerie disbelief.

"I said Archie belongs to Rainey, your next client," Ray jabbered on, but as he did, Rainey froze because she heard the distinct clop of high-heeled shoes. "She was going to leave him in the car but, I told her..."

Rainey lost the sense of Ray's words as soon as Gloria rounded the corner. A flash of lightning lit the salon's windows. For an instant, she saw how the woman's face was screwed into a frown of confusion until she laid eyes on her, and the kaleidoscope of emotions spun rapidly from confusion to shock to rage.

"How _dare_ you?!" Gloria roared. She looked exactly like her Facebook profile picture, down to her Beyoncé waves sun-kissed with highlights. Except she wasn't smiling as she had in the profile. No, her brown eyes blazed with fury, and the plunging neckline of her sleeveless, button-down blouse revealed bulging veins in the base of her throat that forewarned of violence. "How dare you speak to my son!"

Ray had reared back at his mother's attack. "Mom—" His own confusion made him step forward and raise a hand to stop Gloria's advance on Rainey. "It's okay. She's nice—"

"Ray!" Gloria nearly shouted at her son. At that moment, with his hair dripping water, Jacques came around the corner with alarm in his eyes. "Go to the back room _right now."_

"But, Mama, what's wrong?" He gestured toward Rainey in a way that pierced her heart. She didn't deserve his kindness or his protection. "Why are you yelling at her? You don't even know her."

Gloria never took her eyes from Rainey, and all of Rainey's carefully planned words blew out of her mind like dandelion wisps in a gale.

"Oh," Gloria spoke through clenched teeth, her eyes narrowing on Rainey as she advanced on her, "I know who she is."

Rainey swallowed as she prepared to be thrown — maybe even bodily — out of the salon. But it wasn't Gloria's angry voice that filled the room.

It was Jacques's.

"She's your sister, Ray Charles." His deep baritone bass rumbled around them. "And she's here for your help."

# Chapter 23

Jacques knew when both women turned to him with identical looks of stunned horror that he'd probably botched everything, but they were dead wrong if they thought he was going to stand by in silence. He wasn't about to watch anyone light into Rainey the way Gloria Lopez-Craine had, and in his split-second decision, he'd determined that the only way they had a chance of getting what they came for was to let Rainey's little brother know that he was, in fact, her little brother.

As for Ray Charles — or Ray, as his mother addressed him — he wore a stunned expression, but it noticeably lacked any taint of horror as his gaze bounced among the three adults in the three full seconds after Jacques's declaration silenced everyone.

And to Jacques's relief, the kid was the first to speak up.

"Mom, is that true?" His voice didn't waver as he looked at his mother, and Jacques liked the kid immediately.

Gloria Lopez-Craine's mouth hung in an _O_ , and she opened and closed it twice before any sound came out. "You heard me, Ray," her voice shaking audibly. "Go to the back."

Ray ignored her and turned his hazel eyes — identical to his sister's — to Rainey. "No wonder I thought you looked familiar," he said, pushing his glasses up his nose.

Gloria turned back to face Jacques with a narrowed stare. "I don't know who you are," she growled at him. "But I want you out of my salon now, and you can take that no-good Reeves woman with you. You're _not_ welcome here. Leave now before I call the police."

Jacques was about to try to reason with the irate woman when Rainey spoke softly to Ray.

"We have another sister, too. Her name is Holi. And she's sick—"

"Stop!" Gloria screamed, lunging toward Rainey with menace in her eyes.

Rainey instinctively stepped back, and a low snarl reverberated through the salon. Jacques glanced down to see Archie straining against his leash, still in Ray's grip, baring his teeth at Gloria.

"Archie," Rainey scolded in a whisper, her face pale now, her frame trembling.

Archie silenced immediately, but Jacques felt a surge of pride for the protective little poodle. Instead of praising the dog as he wished, Jacques reached out his hand to Ray, and the boy gave him the leash.

"We'll go now," he said to the room. "But Rainey needs to speak to her brother at some point—"

"He's _not_ her brother," Gloria spat. She turned and glared at Rainey. "He's _not_ a part of your family. Dylan Reeves gave up his claim years ago. Cliff Craine is his father."

Rainey gasped, and what little color she had left in her face drained away. But Jacques watched her swallow and rally. "For Ray's sake, that's welcome news," Rainey said, holding Gloria's gaze.

Jacques couldn't be sure, but the older woman might have blinked at this. It was a chance, however small, for them to meet on common ground.

But not now. Now they needed to leave.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out two of Heroine's business cards. If either of them wanted to reach out, this was a way to find him and thus, Rainey.

"We're not here to hurt anyone. We just need your help," Jacques said, offering Gloria one of the cards. She crossed her arms resolutely.

But as soon as he angled it to Ray, the boy leaped forward and took it, leaving his mother with a stunned expression.

"Ray!" she hissed. But he tucked the card in his back pocket before she could stop him.

Jacques set the other card on the salon's counter.

"No one here is a fan of Dylan Reeves," he told her, and again, he saw her expression change. It didn't soften, but instead of projecting violence, she looked wary. "But that doesn't mean their sister should die because of him."

This time, shock passed over both of the Lopez-Craines' faces. Jacques backed toward the door and grabbed Rainey's hand.

"We'll be in town overnight. We just want to talk. Please think about it and give us a call."

He tugged Rainey's hand, but her feet were rooted to the spot. Her eyes, he found, were locked on her little brother's.

At the look on her face, his heart twisted. The two siblings needed so much more than these few moments fraught with anger and suspicion.

Jacques gentled his voice as best he could. "C'mon, Rainey."

"Yes, please leave now," Gloria warned, her voice still shaken, but at least she no longer screamed.

Without taking her gaze from Ray, Rainey reached into the pocket of her skirt and pulled out the _Despicable Me_ PEZ. She wordlessly handed it to Ray, and Jacques saw the boy's face transform with a look of startled delight before Rainey followed the tug of Jacques's hand.

He pushed open the door, and a gust of wind blew it wide. As soon as he stepped outside, rain stung his face. Gripping Archie's leash in one hand and shielding Rainey from the storm as best he could, Jacques led them at a run across the parking lot.

When they reached the Impala, he quickly helped Archie into the back seat as rain pelted his back and shoulders. He straightened up to find Rainey staring unseeing at the door of the car and getting soaked in the process. He knew she probably couldn't even feel the rain, but he could. It was cold, and she'd soon be freezing. He nudged her gently aside, opened her door, and settled her into the front seat without a word.

As he rounded the hood of the car and ducked inside, Jacques knew his first priority was to put some distance between Rainey and the awful scene with Gloria Lopez-Craine. And his next goal was to find a place for the night where she could get warm and dry. If that place came with a stiff drink, so much the better. For both of them.

Rainey sat immobile and silent beside him as he started the car and practically sped out of the parking lot. He couldn't help but glance at the storefront of Glorious Locks, and even through the driving rain, Jacques was sure he saw the silhouette of a boy in its glass doorway. He had to turn to angle out of the parking lot before he could be sure, but Jacques could only hope his eyes hadn't deceived him.

When they merged back onto Highway 231, Rainey still hadn't spoken. She hadn't even shifted in her seat. Her hands were fisted in her lap, and her blouse and skirt were both drenched. He reached across to her and covered her left hand with his palm. Rainey jumped and flung her startled gaze at him.

"I know it seems bad right now, but it'll be okay." His attempt at reassurance sounded lame to his own ears, but he couldn't leave her to the torment of her thoughts. Beneath his hand, her fingers trembled, and he saw now that her teeth chattered.

"That... that couldn't have gone any worse. How... What... I..." Her voice trailed off as her gaze shifted down, her misery swallowing her again.

He just squeezed her hand and drove as the windshield wipers lashed rain off the glass. The cars in the oncoming lane all drove with their headlights on. Some even flashed their hazards. He made sure his low beams were on as he looked for a place where he could pull over and form a plan.

"Did you know that only half of aplastic anemia patients who can't find stem cell donors survive on drug therapy?" Rainey asked him, her voice just a rasp. She lifted her gaze to him, and Jacques could see the anguish in her eyes though she tried to hide it.

The car suddenly seemed airless, and Jacques could only shake his head.

"And those who do survive with treatment have a statistical likelihood of eventually developing acute leukemia?"

He couldn't find any words to respond to these facts, so Jacques squeezed her hand again. He could have been fooling himself, but he thought she might have squeezed back.

"And eighty percent of patients who don't respond to drug treatment — like Holi — die within two years?"

Jacques couldn't take his eyes off the road, but he didn't have to in order to know how much pain and fear he'd find in her yes. He searched for any words of comfort. "A lot can happen in two years."

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her nod fervently. He drove, silence enveloping them again. Until the sounds of Rainey's quiet sobs filled the car.

"Rainey," he murmured, his heart rending at the sound. He spotted a park on the other side of the highway, and he pulled off the road and stopped along of a row of trees whose white blossoms seemed to be losing the battle against the storm. Other than the doomed blossoms, the park was empty. Jacques killed the engine and turned to Rainey, moving his hand to her shoulder.

"It'll be okay," he promised again, hoping this time he sounded more convincing. Rainey just shook her head, wiping her eyes. She wouldn't meet his gaze.

"Why did he do it?"

Jacques's head jerked in confusion. "Who?"

"My dad. Why would he give up my brother?"

The stricken look on her face was like a spear through his heart. How could he answer that question? Without words, Jacques wrapped her in his arms and squeezed her against him.

Rainey grabbed a handful of his soaked shirt and buried her face. He wasn't surprised when her shoulders shook with sobs, but that didn't make the sight of her crying any easier.

He kissed the top of Rainey's head, her hair just as wet as his. Even now, her lavender-wild orange scent filled his head. He told her the truth and hoped it would ease her. "I can't explain your father's choices any better than I can explain mine."

Her breath hitched on a sob. "I-it's not just him," she cried into his shirt. "You know what really scares me?" Her words ended on a squeak that made his chest ache.

Jacques pulled her tighter against him. "Tell me." If she told him, maybe he could do something about it. Maybe he could ease her fears.

She hiccupped against him. "I'm afraid... I'm afraid that I'm just losing everyone I love... one by one."

"No," he soothed, drawing out the word as he ran a hand up and down her back. But Rainey just nodded soundlessly, keeping her face buried against him. She sniffled twice, and he could tell she was trying to speak again.

"I'm losing everyone," she said, her voice now throaty with defeat. "And in a way, it's all my fault..."

"No... no," he protested, stroking her hair. "You're not losing anyone. And none of this is your fault."

But she kept going as if he hadn't spoken. "... and if I can't be stronger and fight harder, I'll be all alone."

"Rainey," he murmured into her hair, kissing her again. "That's... that's crazy."

She pushed against him then, and she brought her watery gaze up to his. Her irises swam in greens and golds, and despite the pain they held, Jacques thought he'd never seen anything so beautiful. "It's true. I'm not strong enough to hold onto anyone," she said, trembling as she spoke. "Not even you."

The doomed words took hold in his heart like barbed hooks. Jacques clenched his teeth and shook his head. "That's not true." The rearview mirror vibrated with the depth of his voice as he gripped her arms. "You _have_ me."

The car fell silent. Rainey blinked up at him and shivered. She was soaked to the skin; they both were. But as her eyes focused on his, Jacques could feel the heat of her body beneath her wet clothes. His palms seared with it. His own body felt volcanic, despite the fact that water still dripped from his hair.

Her eyes dropped to his mouth, and before he could stop himself, before he could ask her permission, Jacques was kissing her.

Rainey's soft, wet mouth opened beneath his, an invitation that went straight to the base of his brain. He felt her hands on his face as his fell to her waist, dragging her as close as her seatbelt would allow. His tongue plunged into her mouth, seeking her heat and her sweetness.

He let his lips unseal from hers only long enough to echo his words. "You have me," he murmured into her mouth. And he was rewarded with her half-moan-half-cry, a lilting sound that came from her throat and carried a paradox of desire and fulfillment.

The sound spurred his blood. In two moves, he released both of their seat belts, but even though he lunged for her, the center console dug into his right hip as the gearshift blocked his knee. Vaguely, he knew he'd have bruises in the morning, but Jacques could not care. Rainey was in his arms, her mouth joined with his, her breasts pressed against his chest.

And her hands were everywhere.

From his face, one moved to his nape where she clutched his hair with surprising force, her fingernails grazing his skin. The other trailed from his shoulder down over his pectoral, making his nipples stand at attention beneath his wet T-shirt. She then moved her touch down his ribs, and his cock leaped as though it could reach her.

Jacques's breath stuttered when she found the hem of his shirt and her cool, damp hand pressed against the thermonuclear surface of his abs.

"Rainey—" Her name was an urgent plea for mercy.

"Jacques..." His own name had never carried such plaintive need.

At the sound, Jacques experienced both a burgeoning of his desire and a mastering of it. His focus shifted from the sensations she gave that threatened to overwhelm him to the way she responded to his touch.

And Rainey responded to his touch.

He moved his mouth to her angelic neck, the place he'd dreamed of returning to since their night in the courtyard. And when his lips and teeth marked the favored spot, Jacques had to wrap a steadying arm along her back as Rainey sagged with a sigh. With his free hand, he traced the V of her open collar, and he brought his lips up to her left earlobe.

Suckling on the darling, he whispered. "You're so beautiful." And a shudder passed through her. Jacques wanted to make her shudder again. Countless times. His fingers worked open the first button of her blouse. Then her second and third. He kissed his way down her neck, her collarbone, into the now open valley of her blouse where her creamy breasts rose and fell with her panting. He kissed the tops of each, nipping the skin through the lacey edge of her bra.

"Jacques—" The hand in his hair tightened again, and Jacques grinned against her cleavage. She sounded impatient, fretful, and knowing it was for him — that she had just as little control and just as much desire for him — made him absurdly happy.

He had enough presence of mind to lift his gaze and scan their surroundings. The storm raged on, and not a soul had entered the park. He looked down at Rainey, and her half-lidded eyes rose to his. He couldn't read the words in her gaze, but she lifted her mouth to his, and he felt her affirmation, giving him back the kisses he'd taken moments before.

As they kissed, his left hand cupped her breast through her lace, and the cadence of her breath changed. Jacques tugged at the bra cup and freed her right breast, the weight of it in his hand becoming one of the most sublime pleasures he'd ever known. As soon as his fingers closed on her tight nipple, he knew touching her would not be enough.

With three kisses against her lips — an unspoken promise that he'd return — he let his mouth fall to her breast, claiming the sweet flesh for his own. A tortured cry ripped from her throat, and while his eyes were half-closed, Jacques felt her buck beneath him. Keeping his mouth at her breast, suckling and teasing her nipple with his tongue, Jacques let his hand ride down the curve of her waist, down along her belly, and into her lap. With each suck, he could feel the way her thighs clenched together beneath her skirt, and Jacques quickly decided that flared skirts were his absolute favorite feminine article of clothing.

His eager fingers skated over the fabric of her plum-colored skirt until they met her bare thighs. He traced a figure eight against her skin, and as if in response, he felt her hand along his stomach respond in kind. The sensation nearly choked him.

"Easy now," he murmured against her breast, and to his surprise, Rainey gave a throaty chuckle, but she stilled her hand by pressing it into his stomach, splaying all five fingers as a kind of tacit surrender.

Unable to forget the touch of her hand and its proximity to the fly of his jeans, Jacques pulled in two steadying breaths through his nose and threw his being into the worship of her body. She had not stilled his hand or stayed his advances, so he let his fingers glide up her thighs, making a deliciously slow journey beneath her skirt until he touched the searing, silken fabric of her panties, and he heard Rainey's breath catch.

The lovely sound made him wish to return to her mouth, so he captured her kiss again, wanting to be close to her breath, her voice, and any words she chose to utter in this state. She received his kiss with such ardor and urgency that Jacques felt his heart turn over. Wordlessly, he understood that he had not been alone in all of his yearning. All these weeks, she'd carried that inside of her, too.

He understood why. He didn't need for her to explain her fears any more. Jacques could only hope that her surrender was a sign that she'd overcome them. They'd be together. As they should have been from the beginning. And he'd show her — over and over again — that he could be trusted with her heart.

The fact that she trusted him now with her other delicate parts made him feel about ten feet tall. His fingers traced over her soft mound, and she gave a muffled cry. He repeated the motion, and her body trembled again. He gripped her tighter around the back as his fingers slipped under the band at her panties.

Heat and her wetness met his fingertips, and this time, it was his moan that filled the cab of the Impala.

"Rainey... my God," he breathed against her mouth. He stroked her yielding, liquid-hot flesh, imagining its pinkness, its dizzying perfume — all woman, all Rainey — and he promised himself his mouth would journey there soon — when a Chevrolet center console and gearshift didn't stand as chaperones, and he had space and time to lay her down on a bed and feast on every inch of her.

Music flooded his head as the tip of his middle finger found her most sensitive spot, and he stroked a rhythm he was sure they both could hear. Rainey's head tipped back exposing her neck again to his mouth, and he allowed his middle and index fingers to bury themselves inside, his thumb keeping time to the song they played.

The percussion of Rainey's breath sped ahead, far quicker than he'd have imagined possible. And soon after, tiny vibrations encircled his fingers, the promise of a building crescendo. Jacques knew he was in grave danger of ascending with her, even though his sex was still tucked safely in his boxers and jeans. He'd never found himself about to come just from having his fingers inside a woman, but clearly Rainey was no ordinary woman.

She was his.

The moment this thought burst into his head, he couldn't hold onto it. Jacques pressed his lips to Rainey's ear. "I've got you," he whispered.

And whether she heard the words as assurance that she could let go or as evidence that he was staking his claim — both meanings could not have been truer as far as he was concerned — the words must have meant something to her because at their utterance, Rainey arched her back, clutching the hair at the back of his head even tighter, and clamping her thighs together as much as his devoted fist could allow.

"Jacques!" Her cry came as hidden muscles clenched around his fingers. Again. And again. And again. And Jacques looked down at her face just in time to see the most adorable frown of concentration and culmination smooth out over her perfect brow.

He bent down and placed a gentle kiss on her flushed lips as he slowly withdrew his fingers, and he watched her eyes flutter open. Her pupils were dark pools, deep and otherworldly. He smiled down at her, certain this was a view he'd never tire of seeing. Not if he lived a thousand years.

Rainey smiled back at him. Then she blinked, and he watched as her gaze cleared.

"Oh, my God." She gently pushed his hand aside and resettled her skirt.

"What's wrong?" Jacques asked, frowning at her sudden distress.

Her eyes darted to the back seat as she started doing up her buttons. "We just rounded third base in front of Archie."

"What?" Jacques looked over his shoulder to see the dog curled in the middle of the bench seat, wagging patiently at the two of them. The crack of his laughter ricocheted through the Impala. "What?! Did you just say rounded third base to describe what we just did?" Somehow, he managed to speak the words through his laughter.

Rainey shrugged as she buttoned her top button, but her face was now scarlet. "What would you call it?"

He mastered his laughter and gave her an arch look. "Long overdue."

She swatted his knee. And Jacques promptly hauled her into him for a kiss. For a whole quarter of a second, she didn't yield. But then she did. Her arms wrapped around him, and the soft noises from her throat fell on him like blessings. He drew back to find her still blushing.

"You okay?"

She blinked three times and chewed on her lip. "Sure," she said, sounding anything but sure.

He nodded, knowingly. This was Rainey after all. He couldn't expect that she'd be even-keeled about their foray into unchartered territory — long overdue though it was. But if she thought she could push him away again, she'd be wrong. For right now, he could be sure for the both of them.

# Chapter 24

"We need to find a place to stay tonight," Jacques announced, keeping her tight in his arms.

The rain still pounded against the car, and Jacques grinned down at her with such an easy, relaxed glint in his eye that Rainey wondered if she'd just imagined the steamy, toe-curling, _oh-my-God-he-had-his-hand-up-my-skirt_ interlude.

But she couldn't have imagined it. Because she could still feel it. It had been a while — quite a long while — since anyone (other than herself) had brought her to orgasm. And when she did it solo, it felt nice and all, but it didn't rearrange the plate tectonics of her whole body, and Rainey was quite sure that the ground beneath her had shifted.

Irrevocably.

In fact, the events of the last hour had been more than a little earth-shattering. She'd met her brother and in the process completely wrecked their plan of talking to Gloria. And she'd let Holi down. She'd confessed to Jacques her greatest fear. And then she'd let herself lose control with him.

So, when he started talking about finding a place to stay, Rainey could only nod. The roaring noise in her head was making rational, linear thought sort of impossible.

Jacques released her from his embrace, but he kept her hand clasped in his as he took out his phone. The hand, she allowed herself to admit, felt good. She looked at Jacques out of the corner of her eye, and her heart gave a painful squeeze.

He was everything she wanted. Not just in a man, but in another human being. He was thoughtful, and compassionate, and smart. He laughed at her jokes, and he made her feel interesting.

He made her feel beautiful.

She craved him. She savored every piece of knowledge about his nature and his past. She hungered for more. Rainey couldn't imagine a time when she wouldn't want to be near him.

And the moment they'd just shared was without a doubt the most passionate of her life. She wanted more. But above everything else, Rainey wanted to love him.

_Does that mean I already love him?_ She held her breath at the thought. _I_ can't _love him._

She couldn't even allow herself to answer the question. Yet she couldn't deny how much she ached. Loving him would be incredibly easy. And if things were different and she could have him for good, she would love him well.

Rainey pictured a Saturday morning in a fantasy future. She'd make him waffles with powdered sugar for breakfast, and they'd go the flea market on I-49 in search of choice vinyl albums and organic yarn. Rainey would never complain about how much money he spent on music, and in turn, he would never complain about how balls of yarn could be found in every corner of the house. They'd play his maddening games in the car on the drive home, and then make love all afternoon. She'd learn to cook his favorite Asian dishes, and they'd share a glass of wine on the front porch every night.

Jacques voice on the phone pulled her out of her reverie.

"...yes, Gilchrist... G-I-L-C-H-R-I-S-T...Yes, just the one night." He glanced over to see Rainey watching him, and his lopsided grin was like a stealth assault. Her heart pounded with an intensity she couldn't name. "We're about ten minutes away, and we just got caught in this storm, so we're soaking wet. Would our room be ready when we arrive?"

She watched Jacques listen to the person on the line while she could only focus on the words _our room_.

They'd be sharing a room. Again. Of course, they'd be sharing a room again. It was what she'd expected and looked forward to when she awoke that morning. But a lot had changed since that morning.

Jacques frowned at her. _"You okay?"_ he mouthed. Rainey's eyes widened, and she nodded. Did he have to notice everything? Every thought that crossed her mind?

"Yes...Great...That'd be great...See you soon." Jacques ended the call and started the car. "I found us a B&B that allows pets." He gave her a self-satisfied smile.

"Oh... okay. Good."

His smile grew, and his eyes took on a wicked cast. "And we're married."

"Huh?" Rainey's mouth fell open with the sound.

He could only chuckle. "Just go with it. The owners seemed sorta... _old- fashioned."_

"O-okay," she managed.

Ten minutes later, near the center of town, they pulled up to a deep-green Georgian style home with a copper awning above the front door. The placard on the black wrought iron gate that separated the house's front garden from the sidewalk read _Copper House. Built in 1829_. Below was another that read _This property has been placed on the National Register of Historic Places by the U.S. Department of the Interior._

The rain had slowed to a drizzle, but since Rainey was already soaked, there was no point in outrunning the drops, so she paused to read the signs as Jacques swung the gate open. She glanced up at him. "How much is this?"

Jacques carried their bags and didn't meet her eyes when he answered. "About the same as last night," he said with a shrug.

Rainey stepped into the courtyard. "Well, I hope you know I'm paying this time."

She heard the gate clink shut behind her as Jacques chuckled. She turned around and narrowed her eyes at him. "What's so funny?"

Jacques shook his head, his mouth twitching despite his best efforts. "No, dear. We're married, remember? And we're registered under the name Gilchrist, so..." He gave her a helpless shrug, and Rainey felt her jaw clench.

"You did that on purpose," she said through gritted teeth, but she was fighting, too, to keep from smiling. What was it about him and his 1950s' sensibilities?

Jacques shook his head, losing the battle of his smile. "No, I didn't, but I'm not complaining either."

Before she could growl a response, the front door of the B&B opened, and a very round, white-haired woman called out a greeting. "Welcome to Copper House! Y'all must be Mr. and Mrs. Gilchrist."

The woman's last four words sucked the air from Rainey's lungs. She quickly tried to mask her reaction, covering her opened mouth with her hand, but it felt like someone had just offered her a gift. A gift so precious it almost couldn't be accepted.

She felt a blush stain her cheeks, and she tried her best not to look at Jacques, though she could feel his eyes on her.

"Y'all come in out of the rain!" the woman urged, and Rainey realized she'd come to a halt just shy of the house's copper awning. She darted inside with Archie, and the dog made a show of shaking off in rare canine form. Water sprayed all over the welcome mat, her, Jacques, and their hostess's feet.

"Archie!" she squealed. But their hostess only chuckled.

"No harm done." She turned to a chair by the door and hoisted up a stack of towels. "Willard said you'd been caught in the storm. I'm afraid your room's not quite ready yet, but we do have a fire in the parlor where you can keep warm."

"Thank you, Mrs...?" Jacques began.

"Please, call me Dottie," their hostess offered.

"Thank you, Dottie," Jacques said, taking a towel off the stack and handing it to Rainey. He took the second, draped it over his shoulders and then knelt with the third to dry Archie.

"Jacques, I can do that," Rainey protested.

He just looked up at her and grinned that merciless grin. "No, honey, I've got this," he said, scrubbing the towel over her wet dog.

Jacques was enjoying their situation too much, but Rainey had to admit that the endearment made her knees go a little weak. The same seemed to be true for their hostess because she threw her palm over her heart.

"My lands! Young love!" she swooned. Then her eyes met Rainey's. "Enjoy it, dear. In forty years, you'll be bickering over who's going to unstop the toilet in the Derby Room."

Jacques spluttered a laugh at this, and Rainey, on the brink of hilarity, wrapped the towel around her shoulders.

"Come on. The parlor's this way. I'll get you checked in over there."

They followed Dottie through a door to their right and passed a sprawling staircase that was polished to a high shine.

Jacques walked beside her, and as they cleared the hallway, he wrapped an arm around her waist, leaned down to her ear, and whispered in a sultry voice. "Rainey, no matter what happens, I promise I'll always unstop the toilet in the Derby Room."

Her laugh erupted as a humiliating snort that seemed to echo against all the polished wood, and she collapsed against Jacques as her eyes watered and she ached for breath. He tightened his arm around her and practically had to drag her along behind their hostess.

"Mrs. Gilchrist, get a hold of yourself," he whispered again, mock scolding.

But this time, instead of tipping her further into hysterics, his words quelled the storm. Hearing him call her Mrs. Gilchrist in that seductive whisper left her weak-kneed for an entirely different reason.

"Here we are," Dottie chirped. "Get close to the fire while I get your paperwork sorted."

She left them, and Archie, recognizing a warm and comfortable spot, immediately ran up to the hearthrug, turned two quick three-sixties and flopped down with grateful groan.

The fire was warm, and Rainey concentrated on absorbing its heat instead of glancing up at the irresistible, incomparable man by her side.

_It's going to hurt like hell when he leaves._

Fifteen minutes later — after Mr. and Mrs. Jacques Gilchrist were officially registered guests at The Copper House Bed & Breakfast, Dottie's husband Willard led them upstairs to their room. When they saw that plate on their door read _Bluegrass Room_ and the one next door read _Derby Room,_ Jacques mimed wiping sweat off his brow, and Rainey found herself fighting giggles all over again.

Their host opened the door and revealed gleaming wood floors, a dark wood four-poster bed, and tucked into one corner, a Ben Franklin fireplace with a blaze already banked. The room, painted a robin's egg blue with cream trim, was appointed with all the period furnishings and accessories that would make the officials at the National Register of Historic Places fairly quiver with glee.

"Wow," she uttered, breathless. White-haired Willard carried in their bags, and as he did, Rainey leaned into Jacques and whispered, "This place _couldn't_ be the same price as the Best Western."

Jacques just shrugged as he moved past her. "Close enough."

Before she could utter a word of protest, Dottie bustled in behind her carrying a silver tray. "Here you go, dears. Mint Juleps," she said, thrusting the tray at Rainey. "We normally serve these in the parlor, but seeing as you're probably ready to get out of those wet clothes, I thought I'd bring them up here."

"Thank... you," Rainey said, quite certain now that The Copper House was far beyond Best Western's price point. But she couldn't put up a fight now, and obviously Jacques knew what he was doing. She could always find a way to pay him back later. She picked up one of the pewter glasses full of amber liquid, crushed ice, and sprigs of mint. "Here you go, honey," Rainey said, batting her eyelashes at Jacques.

She meant, of course, to make him laugh, but she watched his eyes blaze, his chest expand, and his Adam's apple bob before he took the glass from her, muttering his thanks. Rainey realized the endearment left him clearly affected. A wave of tenderness rose inside her.

And it struck Rainey then that she'd been remarkably selfish over the last four weeks.

Her eyes followed Jacques as if she were seeing him anew. And not with the eyes of someone who was crippled with fear. But as someone who cared deeply for him.

Rainey grabbed the remaining cocktail off the tray and took a healthy swallow. The drink was cold. And strong. Strong enough to set her choking.

"Careful," Jacques cautioned, stepping closer and patting her on the back. "That's pretty much straight Bourbon."

"Straight from Bourbon County," Dottie added with pride.

"Haaghh!" Rainey rasped, breathing fire.

Jacques's mouth twitched and his eyes lost their look of concern. He clinked his glass against hers. "Cheers, baby." And then she watched him take a sip, his gaze never leaving hers.

To keep from staring at him, Rainey took another sip. This one more tempered, and she managed to swallow without coughing.

"Well," Willard announced, striding toward his wife. He claimed the empty tray from her before turning to face them. "If y'all have everything you need, we'll wish you a good evenin'."

Next to him, Dottie nodded. "There's fresh towels and his and hers bathrobes in the lavatory, and when you get hungry, you'll find plenty places right on this street where you can get some good eats," she said brightly. Then she clasped her hands together, her eyes twinkling. "Breakfast is at seven. Tomorrow, it's strawberry pancakes, eggs any way you like, breakfast potatoes, and a melon medley."

Rainey's eyes rounded at this heavenly piece of news. "Really?" she gushed. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Jacques suppress a chuckle.

Dottie gave her a slight frown. "And coffee and tea, of course," she added.

Rainey nodded. "Of course. That sounds... that sounds _wonderful."_

Their hostess's face split with a smile. "Best meal of the day!" she sang.

Beside her, Jacques definitely snickered.

"Well, goodnight then," Willard boomed, grabbing his wife by the elbow. "C'mon, Dot. Let's leave the young people alone." And with that, the older couple bustled out of the room, closing the door behind them.

For an awkward moment, Rainey kept her eyes on that closed door because she was sure if she turned around, her gaze would whip like a magnet to the four-poster bed. To stall, she took another sip of her potent drink.

"Have you seen the bathroom?" Jacques asked behind her. Rainey turned, glad for the distraction.

"No," she said, shaking her head.

He motioned her over. "Check it out."

Rainey stepped past him, stuck her head through the bathroom door, and gasped. The vintage tub with its high back, clawed feet, and exposed plumbing was a thing of beauty.

"Gorgeous."

"I think so too," Jacques whispered behind her, making Rainey jump. She spun around to find him grinning down at her. "Why don't you take a bath and get into some dry clothes? I think your lips are turning blue."

Rainey rolled her eyes. "They are not. Besides, you found this place. You should go first."

Jacques just shook his head. "Not happening. Besides, I missed a call from Kate earlier," he said holding up his phone. Then he tilted his head toward the left. "There's a balcony, and I think it stopped raining. I was going to take my authentic Mint Julep out there and call her back."

He nodded then toward the tub. "Take a bath."

Rainey realized he wasn't merely suggesting, and arguing probably wouldn't get her anywhere anyway. Besides, she was still wet and cold, and the tub did look divine...

"Okay, I'll go first."

Rainey reclined in the exquisite tub, rubbing French-milled, rose scented soap into a plush, white washcloth. The heat of the water had chased away the chills from her drenched afternoon, and the bourbon in her authentic Mint Julep had teased the tension from her shoulders.

She'd managed to wash her hair under the arched spigot, and she'd rung it out and tucked it up in a bun. The bed and breakfast was remarkably quiet. The only sound were the splashes and droplets she made in the bath, the occasional pop from the fireplace in their bedroom, and the muffled sound of Jacques's deep voice on the balcony.

A frosted window on the exterior wall must have faced out onto it because Rainey was sure Jacques was just there. Just beyond the wall and opaque glass. He sounded happy, and Rainey immediately recalled the look on his face when she'd called him _honey._

The look had been a tangling of startled surprise and unmitigated joy. And it had stilled her down to her soul. The moment had been a revelation for her, and now, alone in the tub, she held it close to examine it.

From the instant she met Jacques in her driveway, he had shown her his signature kindness and compassion. In the first hour of knowing him, he'd proven to her he was someone special, someone she needed to explore. Someone rare. But as soon as she'd discovered that he — like her father — was a musician, her guard had come up. And when she realized that he — like her father — was destined for fame and success, she'd stopped thinking of Jacques, this rare, special person she needed to explore, and started thinking of herself. To protect herself. To shield herself from pain and disappointment.

And as Rainey sat in the bathtub in a B&B in a Kentucky town where one good-hearted man had driven her — in search of her brother in order to save her sister — the truth, sudden and profound, struck Rainey hard. Jacques wasn't like her father.

She was.

Dylan Reeves always ran from anything painful. Anything difficult. He'd never been faithful to his marriage vows. That would mean putting up with the ache of temptation and the burden of someone else's happiness. He never placed the needs of his wife and children above his own. He slinked away from even the slightest emotional responsibility, always quick to avoid a confrontation that might lead to grief or even discomfort. And when grief had come to Dylan Reeves — had come to all of them — he pulled away completely, leaving the rest of his family to manage their broken hearts on their own. He hadn't been there to fight for any of them. He hadn't fought for his marriage, and he hadn't fought for Rainey's mental health. It was clear to her he'd never fought for Ray Charles. And he wasn't going to fight for Holi. He wasn't going to be by her side through whatever lay ahead. It didn't eat him up inside that she could be taken from them in just two short years. Because if he stayed far enough away, nothing could touch him.

No, if there was any chance that Dylan Reeves might have to feel pain, he'd cut and run. And with a crushing sense of shame, Rainey understood that when it came to Jacques, she was doing exactly the same thing.

That look of pure, unexpected joy on Jacques's face had somehow awoken her to the truth. All this time, she had been so worried about her own heart that she hadn't paid attention to what she was doing to his.

And he deserved so much more than her fear and selfishness.

Besides, what was her excuse? Out of the two of them, was her past really that much worse? His mother had abandoned him. His father was in jail — had been behind bars for much of his life. Jacques had plenty of reasons to act out of fear and selfishness. And yet he didn't. He'd sought Rainey even after she'd pushed him away, and when she still wouldn't give in to the urgings of her heart, he'd given her his friendship.

"What a fool I am."

As soon as the words left her lips, Rainey heard the balcony door open as Jacques stepped into their room.

"Rainey? You still in the tub?" he called.

She stood, water spilling down her body. "Yeah, just getting out," she called back.

"No rush," he said, and she heard the zipper on his duffle bag. "I was gonna just change real quick and go find us something to eat. You take your time—"

"Wait!" She yanked a towel off the nearby rack, wrapped it around her body, and stepped out of the tub.

"You wanna come with me?" Jacques asked before seeming to reconsider. "Maybe you should stay here. It just started raining again."

"Then why are you going out?" she asked, hoping to stall him as she tried to dry her legs.

"Because we need to eat," he said dryly. "I'll be right back."

She shimmied the towel along her back and tried a different tack. "What did Kate have to say?" she hollered through the door.

"I didn't get her. I was talking to Pal."

"Oh?" she asked, rubbing down her shoulders and belly. "How's he?"

"He's fine... Rainey, are you okay?"

She gulped. Was she okay? No, not really. She needed to talk to him, and not through a bathroom door. She needed him to know how she felt, and she needed to show him what he meant to her.

"Yes?" Two bathrobes wrapped in dry cleaner bags hung on the back of the door. Rainey grabbed the smaller one and ripped open the plastic.

_"Yes?_ You don't sound so sure about that. Will you be okay while I go out? I won't be gone long."

"No, I-I mean, yes, I'd be fine but—" She dropped her towel and threw the robe around her shoulders. "Don't leave just yet."

He was silent while she yanked the tie closed and knotted it with a bow.

"What's wrong?" Jacques's voice had softened with concern.

The sound made her sigh. Rainey gave herself a quick once over in the mirror. Her face was flushed from the bath. Her hair, wrested in a haphazard bun, needed to be combed out, but that would have to wait. Rainey knew herself. She knew that she needed to seize this moment of courage before it slipped away, and if she let Jacques leave their room, she might lose her nerve while he went in search of dinner.

Rainey gripped the antique crystal doorknob, took one steadying breath, and opened the door. Jacques stood on the other side wearing a worried frown.

"What's going on?" he asked.

"Nothing... really..." She started, stopped, and then felt the full force of her nerves.

His eyes narrowed, and then they dropped to the robe. He blinked twice and grinned. "That's a good look for you."

His teasing smile swept away some of her nerves, but Rainey still didn't know how to find the right words. She took a step toward him and held his gaze.

"Thank you."

The temptation to look away was overwhelming. Heat rushed to her cheeks, but she didn't break her stare. His eyes, the warm, welcoming brown she'd grown to love, were still smiling, and she watched as the smile gave way to an intense focus.

"What is it?" he whispered, his brows drawing together.

Her heart racing, Rainey raised both hands, took another step, and placed them on his chest. Without hesitation, Jacques's arms closed around her, and his frowning brow lifted in question.

"Thank you," she said again.

"You're shaking. Are you still cold?"

Rainey ran her hands up to his shoulders and shook her head. "No, just nervous," she admitted.

Jacques blinked in surprise. "Why are you nervous?"

She reached up and gently grasped the collar of his T-shirt in both hands. She tugged, and Jacques lowered his head without protest. Rainey stretched up until her lips nearly touched his.

"Because..." she whispered, and then she kissed him. Jacques inhaled a slow, deep breath that lifted his chest and nearly took Rainey off her feet. Or maybe it was the kiss. But he held her firmly against him and let her claim his mouth. She kissed him hard, loving the way his lips yielded, soft yet firm, against hers. Before she could advance, though, Jacques nodded.

"Yeah," he whispered against her mouth. "I can see why that'd make you nervous." And then he was kissing her smile because, of course, his words made her smile. She let her tongue sweep over the seam of his lips, and he answered in kind. The tip of her tongue touched his, and she drew it into her mouth, inviting him to fill her. His sharp inhale turned into a moan as he breathed out. The sound gave her courage, and she let one hand travel into his hair.

When they'd been in his car during the storm, she'd held onto his hair for all she was worth, and now it felt like a dear friend. He'd changed into dry clothes, but the back of his hair was still just a little damp, and somehow, Rainey found this immeasurably sweet.

He'd gotten soaked trying to help her.

Everything he'd done in the last four days — ever since he'd arrived at her house the night she learned about Ray — he'd done to help her. Rainey struggled to order her thoughts, but tangled in his kiss, that was easier said than done.

Yet she knew kissing him wasn't enough. It wasn't a matter of owing him a debt, though Rainey felt sure she'd be indebted to him for the rest of her life. No one outside of Holi and her mother had ever been so devoted to her.

No, she could never repay him for that, but she needed to make it clear how she felt, and her kiss would only tell him so much. She pulled back and looked up into his half-lidded eyes.

"I'm not very good at this," she confessed.

She watched Jacques swallow as his eyes grew alert. He shook his head. "I disagree."

Rainey bit down on her laugh. "That's not what I mean," she whispered. Then she licked her lips, hoping the next words to leave her mouth would be enough. "I've been a tremendous fool."

Jacques regarded her with skepticism, leaned in, and took her bottom lip between both of his. The maddening sensation of this gentle touch cascaded down her body like a waterfall. He released her flesh slowly but didn't retreat when he spoke.

"Why do you think that?" he murmured, his deep voice rumbling through her.

It felt as if each of her cells were trained to respond to his voice and his voice alone, and at the sound they all stood at attention. Rainey swallowed, looking up at him from beneath her eyelashes. "Because I pushed you away."

Surprised satisfaction lit his eyes. This time, he took her bottom lip between his teeth, and Rainey quivered from head to toe. "And this is something you regret?" he purred after releasing her.

She brought her gaze to his. Her hands moved from the back of his neck to the sides of his beautiful face. She let her thumbs run over the scrubby terrain of his stubble and let her eyes trace over his whole face. His dark brows that flared with such expression. His dear brown eyes. The strength and perfection of his nose. His tempting, hypnotizing lips. The masculine lines of his chin and jaw.

It was a face Rainey wanted to see every day for the rest of her life.

She didn't fool herself. No chance of that existed. None at all. They might stay together for a few weeks or even a few months, but eventually Jacques's music would run away with him, and sooner or later, it would outrun her altogether.

But she was done making her father's mistakes. She'd be grateful for whatever time they had together. Starting right now.

"Yes," she said, pressing her lips to his with tenderness. "Yes, it's something I truly regret."

Jacques's hand came up to her face and brushed away a tendril that had strayed from her bun. He smiled down at her as though he possessed the most coveted secret.

"You know, that's easily fixed," he said, his eyes twinkling with conspiracy.

"Oh?" she asked, playing along.

He nodded sagely.

She tilted her head and gazed up at him, anticipation and desire streaming into her veins like a drug. "And how so?" she asked.

He pursed his lips as though puzzling out the answer. The playful, coy expression on such a masculine mouth made her tingle all over. "Well, what's the opposite of pushing me away?"

The room fell completely silent as though even the air awaited her answer. Without a word — and with sudden force — Rainey pulled Jacques down to her mouth. When their lips met, she did not merely kiss him. She claimed him. She devoured him. Her kiss, so urgent, bordered on violence.

Rainey angled her body and stepped back until her legs hit the mattress, and with an unmistakable pull — not a push in sight — she fell backward, taking Jacques with her.

His weight on top of her felt like an answered prayer. His hard lines pressed into her soft curves with a cosmic sense of rightness. She felt, too, the undeniable evidence of his desire for her there against her thigh, yet she could scarcely believe it. Before she could think better of the question, Rainey's shaking voice set it free.

"Wh-why... why do you like me?"

Above her Jacques's body went rigid. Then he pushed up onto his elbows and frowned down at her. "You've _got_ to be joking."

But she wasn't joking. She shouldn't have questioned it. She should have just accepted his affections as evidence of a benevolent universe, but in truth, his feelings for her, his passion for her humbled Rainey beyond anything she'd ever known.

"Oh, my God," he murmured, his frown deepening. "You're _not_ joking."

Rainey shook her head. "Forget I asked," she said. Her hands were at his waist, and she slipped them beneath his shirt and met his taut, warm skin, ready to pick up where they'd left off.

"Oh, no," Jacques said, reaching down and grabbing both of her wrists before hauling her arms up near her head. His stern expression told Rainey she'd struck a nerve. "I won't be able to forget about it."

Rainey shut her eyes at her own stupidity. _"Please_ forget about it. It's been a long time since I did this."

Silence.

And then his whisper tickled her nose. "Open your eyes."

She opened one.

Jacques's mouth twitched almost imperceptibly, but he did a good job of keeping it in check. "Did what?"

Rainey rolled the one open eye and made a futile attempt to turn up her hands in frustration. "This. Anything."

She watched him inhale slowly, and a shade of concern crossed his eyes. He lowered his mouth and gently plied a kiss to hers. "The night we first went out for dinner, you told me it'd been two years since you were last kissed..." He stopped, and Rainey could see his hesitation. "That long...? Or longer?"

Rainey bit both her lips, regretting she'd said anything. Her heart, that most uncooperative of organs, started a chaotic thrumming.

"Longer than two years," he concluded aloud, but his expression never changed. He didn't look surprised or horrified, just concerned and irrepressibly intent on keeping his gaze to hers. "Three years?"

Rainey's eyes stung. She swallowed hard. This was not the seduction she'd planned, but she would not allow tears to intrude into this space. But to be sure they didn't, she shook her head instead of speaking.

"Four?"

She shook her head again.

"Five?" His voice was barely a whisper. It was his gentleness that made her able to look at him, and in his eyes, she was surprised to see pain where she'd expected pity. She understood then that he felt pain _for her._

"Six," she found herself saying. "Not since high school. Not since the accident."

His frown shifted and resettled on his brow. "I don't understand. What—"

"I was dating someone at the time," she explained, not wanting to make him grasp at straws. "After the accident, I couldn't leave the house. Not for anything... At first, Chase was patient, supportive, but then..."

"Then what?" An edge sharpened his voice.

Rainey gave him a wistful smile. "Chase was a good guy," she said, hoping to reassure him. "He didn't want to hurt me, but he also didn't know how to help me. I never blamed him for breaking it off."

Jacques's brow rose in an ominous arch. "He left you?"

"We were seventeen." She spoke evenly, but that didn't mean she wasn't grateful for his sweet and protective display. "What else could he have done?"

His answer was immediate. "Come to see you every day. Helped you take it step by step. If you didn't want to leave the house, he could have started by taking you out onto the porch," Jacques imagined, troubleshooting as he went. "And then he could have taken you down the street. Then around the block. Until you were ready for more."

She could only smile at him, at the indignation in is expression. If he hadn't had her hands pinned to the bed, she would have reached for him.

"That's what I would have done," he insisted.

Rainey believed him. If she would have been Jacques's high school sweetheart when she'd lost John Lee, he probably would have done exactly that. Given what he'd done for her so far, it was hard to imagine anything less. But that still didn't mean she deserved it.

"But why?" She needed the answer. Moving forward now seemed impossible without it.

His brow arched, and his lopsided grin made her grateful she was already flat on her back. "I think you know."

Rainey shook her head. "I don't."

"Yeah, you do. You just need to give yourself permission to say it. So, go ahead," Jacques said. "I'm waiting."

Rainey fast blinked. "Wait, what? You want me to tell you why _you_ like _me?"_

Jacques nodded, his self-satisfied smile dangerous up close.

"I-I can't do that. That's ridiculous."

He glanced at her pinned arms and their surroundings. "Well, we're not going anywhere until you do, so you'd better take a shot at it."

Rainey just stared. And then she squirmed. She could see by the look on his face he had no intentions of moving. How in the hell had she gotten herself into this?

"Jacques, I don't think—"

"C'mon. You know you got this."

Did she? Rainey let her eyes drift down to the relative safety of his neck. He was beautiful there, too. She hoped she'd have a chance to kiss him there. Then her eyes flew to his.

"You like my neck."

Above her, Jacques threw his head back and roared with laughter. Then he collapsed on her and laughed more. The feeling of his jubilant weight on top of her was unparalleled. Nothing in her life had felt so good.

His lips found her neck, and he kissed her three times. "Yes." He laughed again. "Yes, I love your neck."

The word _love_ stroked like a feather down her spine. "And I make you laugh," she said, this time with more confidence.

Jacques raised himself up on his elbows again so he could look down into her eyes. His own were shining. "My God, yes. You make me laugh more than anyone I've ever met," he said. "Which means with you, I feel better than I've ever felt."

She sucked in a breath. It took a moment for speech to return to her, and when it did, she felt out of practice. "Well, that's... I mean... I'm glad to hear that." And then she forced a swallow and held tight to her courage. "I feel the same way about you... Being with you feels better... better than anything else."

His eyes warmed as his smile suffused his whole face. He nodded, seeming to take in this truth. "Keep going. You're doing well. What else do I like about you?"

"Really? I have to keep going?"

He gave her a grave smile. "Oh, yes. There's a lot more."

Rainey gusted a sigh of frustration, but then she looked at Jacques. Really looked at him. It would be incredibly easy to enumerate a list, pages long, about what she adored about him, but that wasn't going to help her out now. It wasn't like _she_ was about to become a famous musician.

But then a thought struck her. "You like that I know you'll be successful — as a musician, I mean."

Jacques pinned her with his gaze. "I like that you _beli_ eve in me," he corrected. "I don't know if you realize how rare that's been in my life."

The look in his eyes, so serious and penetrating, made her breath still.

"Outside of Pal, nearly everyone I know has questioned my goals, my plans," he said. "When I dropped out of UL to pursue music, my business professors told me I'd regret it. My girlfriend, Emmie, broke up with me. She said she couldn't be with someone whose future wouldn't be stable."

Rainey frowned because when he said those words, she could see the hurt, even though it must have been years old. A flicker of ire sparked toward this old girlfriend. _How dare she?_

"Even members of my own band." Jacques gave a bitter half laugh and shook his head. "A guy I'd played with for years told me I needed to grow up."

"What?!" Her temper flared. "I can't believe he said that. He'll regret it for the rest of his life."

With a blazing look, Jacques's focus sharpened. "And then there's that right there."

Her chin drew back. "There's what?"

"Not only do you believe in me, but you defend me." His voice was drenched in awe. "You always take my side... and you always look out for me." He was quiet for a moment before his mouth quirked. "Even when I don't need you to."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "I don't know what you're talking about."

He gave a low chuckle. "Defending me and looking out for me? You don't know what I'm talking about?" He shook his head in amused disbelief. "Well, there was that time with Casey North — I'm pretty sure I wrote a song about it..."

Rainey felt her cheeks heat. _Oh, yeah. That._

"And you got bent out of shape once when we were on the phone, and Kate was riding me..."

She pressed her lips together, remembering that too.

"You let me sleep for an hour in a Starbucks' parking lot when I was supposed to be driving you..."

"But, that's not—"

He interrupted her. "You let me sleep because you thought I needed it. Not even Pal, who's given me everything, gives me that." He eyed her sagely, almost daring her to argue. "And let's not forget when you swiped my credit card and stuffed it down your bra to keep me from paying for a hotel room."

The heat in her cheeks burned hotter. He had a point there.

Above her, his eyes softened. "You look out for me, and even though I'll never let you pay for my hotel room, it feels good. I haven't had a lot of that in my life either." His gaze searched hers for a moment before he bent down and gave her a single kiss. When he pulled back, he raised his brows in question. "Now, are those enough reasons for you to understand why I like you? Because if not, I've got more."

Her eyes rounded. "There's more?"

Jacques nodded. "A lot more. There's how adorable you look when you think about pancakes and waffles—"

"Pancakes and waffles are amazing," she defended.

He fought his smile. "There's how mad you get when we play dumb games—"

"How am I supposed to compete in a music competition against a musician?"

"There's how much you love your family, and how you'll go to the ends of the earth for them..." His expression sobered. "...even for the ones you don't know... even for the ones who don't deserve it."

Rainey had no comeback for this.

"You're mad as hell at your dad, but it's clear you still love him," Jacques said gently. "I know all about that."

Rainey blinked. "You said he doesn't deserve it. Does that mean you think I shouldn't love him?" she asked, fearing the answer even as she did.

Jacques shook his head. "No. That's not my call. But I do think it means you have a heart as big as the sky, and the people who get to stand underneath it are damn lucky."

She couldn't help her smile. "That sounds like a song."

He shrugged innocently. "It might be. One day."

Rainey wriggled her wrists, still trapped in his hands. "Can I have these back now?"

Jacques pursed his lips and assessed her arms. "I don't know. I kind of like keeping you prisoner like this."

She wasn't ready to admit it aloud, but she liked it too. It kept him close, but Rainey wanted to touch him.

She shifted beneath him and hooked her left leg behind his right, drawing her bare heel along the inside of his knee. As soon as she did, Jacques stilled and his teasing gaze sharpened. He entwined his fingers with those of her left hand before releasing her right. And free to explore, it traveled back down to the hem of his T-shirt, finding again the smooth plane of skin over the firm muscles of his back.

"Do you know why you like me?" he purred.

The ridiculous question made her giggle, but it didn't stop the journey of her hand up his spine. "I'd be a fool not to like you."

He pressed his lips to the space just below her left ear. "That's not why you like me," he said, full of confidence.

She spread her fingers, spanning the valley of muscles between his shoulder blades. The terrain was fluid beneath her fingers as he moved his free hand down the length of her arm until his touch landed on her waist.

"Oh?" she managed, though her mind wasn't completely tuned in to the conversation. "It's not?"

Against her curls, Jacques shook his head. "You like me because I'm really good at finding B&B's." He punctuated his sentence by capturing her earlobe with his teeth.

Rainey sucked in a breath. "That's not..." But the words that formed her protest seemed to float out of her head like soap bubbles, the sensation of the tip of his tongue tracing her ear washing her mind clean.

"And you like that I carry a first-aid kit on road trips." He was trying to make her laugh, and it was working, but when she laughed, the sound came from deep in her throat, a husky purr she didn't recognize. The hand at her waist moved lower until it stroked the length of her thigh, still hidden under the bathrobe.

"And you like that I'm the one man in an all-girl band." This time she shook him with her laugh. "Oh, and that I live with my grandfather."

"Stop," she begged. "You shouldn't be teasing when I'm trying to show you how I feel." Too late, Rainey clamped her mouth shut. Jacques pulled up to stare down at her, his eyes alert.

He didn't say a word. He just gazed down at her with sharp attention. His focus, so unrelenting and seemingly endless, made all the nerves in her body roll up in her stomach like a ball of yarn.

"How _do_ you feel?" he asked finally.

Rainey bit her lip. He was the one who could open his mouth and spout song lyrics. She couldn't compete with that. If Rainey could write a song for him, she'd pour her beating heart into it, but she had about as much a chance of that as she did staying afloat in the ocean with her hands and feet bound in chains.

She brought her free hand between them and pressed hard against his shoulder, lifting her hips. Jacques took her cue and rolled off her, but before he could make another move, Rainey followed and climbed astride him. Mimicking his actions, she took both of his hands and pinned them to the bed beside his head.

Heat flared in his eyes, but Jacques remained silent.

With her movement, Rainey knew that the robe had separated beneath her, so when she shifted down, she settled bare onto the crotch of his jeans. The proof of his arousal and sensation of rough denim along her soft flesh made her shiver. It wasn't enough, though, to surpass the splendor of having him beneath her.

Hours before, Jacques had lit her ablaze, taking her places with his hands and mouth that she'd almost forgotten existed. He'd made her feel desired and desirable. Beautiful. Needed. Now, with his whole being beneath her and a night that stretched out before her, Rainey wanted to do the same for him.

She fisted his T-shirt and hauled it up over his head. Of course, Jacques had to be a willing participant for this task, and thankfully he was. Neither of them spoke now, but his quickened breath communicated everything.

Spreading her fingers, Rainey placed them lightly on his bare chest, and for the first time, she felt Jacques shiver. And it filled her with immense pride. He brought his hands up to her face, and Rainey caught them, shaking her head.

"No, keep still," she whispered. "I'm showing you, remember?"

Locking eyes with hers, he allowed her to lay his arms back down on the mattress before he blinked and gave her a hooded gaze.

"Oh, my God," Jacques murmured when she ran her fingertips down his torso, just grazing him with her touch. Rainey reveled in touching him, and she feasted her eyes on his male beauty. With the tips of her fingers, she traced the seam between each muscle in his shoulders and down his arms — and there were many. She watched as her hands skated back to his chest and a crop of chills peppered his skin. When she let her ring fingers outline his tight nipples in synchronous circles, Jacques hissed in a sharp breath, closing his eyes with an expression of near agony.

The sight of him sent ripples through her middle. Watching him come apart in ecstasy would be like a sacred rite. Rainey wanted to give that to him as much as she wanted to claim it as her own. She knew it didn't make any logical sense, but Rainey could not help but feel that if she gave him that bliss, she'd be able to keep it as well. She'd have that moment of beauty that would belong to her. And no matter what happened, no matter when Jacques's music took him, nothing could take the moment away. Memorizing his perfect form with her eyes and fingers, Rainey knew that claiming him — even just once — would give her heart and memories a treasure to hold that was far sweeter than regret.

But as she sat atop him, the impulse that drove her wasn't the one that focused on taking, but the one centered on giving. From the moment she'd met him, Jacques had given of himself. She couldn't think of a time when she'd been with him when he didn't show her an act of kindness or consideration or treated her with care and concern.

He was always giving.

And this time, she wanted him to take what she had to give. She wanted him to know that she was his. For as long as that lasted. Rainey leaned over him and took his mouth, letting her lips tease and taste his before her tongue sought entry.

But when she gave, he took. He took her kiss with a groan of satisfaction. And Rainey kissed him like she was made for it. For that and nothing else. When his hands lifted to her hair, Rainey shook her head against his mouth. At the silent scolding, he gave a huff of protest, but he dropped his hands, this time tucking them behind his head.

The position drew her eyes to the sublime splendor of his biceps and the carnal, masculine thatch of hair in his armpits. Kissing his mouth was exquisite. Sacred. Undeniable. But the need to kiss those biceps made her tear her lips from his and move with precision and focus down the side of his jaw, to the muscled slope of his neck, over his broad shoulder and up the inside of his left arm. The skin there was shades lighter than his shoulders or forearms, and as Rainey tasted the flesh, she smiled. Here was a secret even the sun did not know.

"Rainey..." he rasped, his whole body shuddering beneath her. "My God..."

She let her tongue stroke once more over the arch of muscle. "Does it tickle?" she whispered.

His eyes were shut, his brow furrowed. "Yes... no... it feels..."

Speechless Jacques was a new phenomenon for her. Inspired, she scooted lower, dragging her lips down the terrain of his arm to the top of his chest. Her hands ran down his sides until they met his jeans. His arousal was unmistakable beneath her. With steady hands, she unbuttoned his fly and snaked his zipper down.

"Rainey." His voice held a note of caution, but this was her turn. It was only fair. After all, he'd breached her undies just hours before. She glanced up under her lashes and found him watching her. With the tip of her index finger, she touched the point where the band of his boxer briefs met his skin. His muscles bunched, and his breath tore as she ran her finger low across his abdomen.

"Rainey." This time he spoke through gritted teeth, but he kept his hands anchored under his head, his whole body now twitching with what appeared to be barely contained energy. She let her finger make its lazy way back, his struggle mesmerizing. And then — with her heart pounding — she slipped her hand beneath the band, and Jacques's control broke.

In a lightning-fast move, he grabbed her wrists. "Enough!"

# Chapter 25

"Are you with me?" he growled, gripping her wrists as though they were the reins of his control.

"I'm with you," she answered, breathless.

Rainey's eyes went wide when her back hit the mattress, but heat flared in them as Jacques covered her body with his. She'd pushed him to the edge of his limits, and she hadn't even touched him. The woman was going to make him lose his mind, his heart, and even more farther south.

"I need to be inside you."

She nodded. "Yes."

In her one, breathy assent, Jacques heard the whole world. And it was a world that belonged to the two of them alone.

His fingers sunk into her hair, pulling it free so that her locks spilled into his hands. "You are mine," he confirmed, grinding his hips into her even though his jeans still held them apart.

"Yes." Her admission was half-cry, half-sigh, and Jacques thought the beauty of it would slay him. He kissed her deep, worshipping her mouth as one hand tugged down the tie of her robe. When the palm of his right hand ran over the silken skin of her waist, finding nothing separating them beneath her robe, Jacques's body trembled with need — the need that knows deliverance is in sight.

Yet as much as he wanted her, as much as he needed to claim her, as much as Jacques longed to find release, his ache to join with Rainey transcended all other desires. He wanted to be as close to her as he could possibly get. He'd kept his distance long enough.

But when he finally closed that distance, joined with her, and tipped into bliss, he wanted her to be right there with him. Nothing less would do. She might not feel in her heart what he already carried in his, but this was a moment they had to chase down together.

So, he would have to fight for restraint as he brought her with him — which was maddening now that he pushed her robe open and could take in all of her beauty. She was the muse to conquer all muses. Human and divine. Rainey's skin, as fair and luminescent as an opal, was an unbroken, creamy perfection, and he longed to taste every last inch.

Her breasts now bared before him, not trapped under the confines of her clothes as they had been that afternoon, left him helpless. Jacques would have begged to kiss them if he'd been denied the pleasure.

But no denial emerged from Rainey's lips, only fretful panting and intoxicating whimpers as he closed his mouth over her right breast and sucked to his content.

"Oh, Jacques..." Rainey's hands fisted in his hair again, and this sensation, this claiming, both familiar and new, filled him with gratification. She needed him. She wanted him, and one day, if he were very lucky, she might love him.

It was new, and it surprised Jacques with a frightening strength, but as he lay above her, desperate to enter her, Jacques Gilchrist knew he loved Rainey Reeves. He loved her for all of the reasons (and countless more) he'd avowed moments ago that he'd _liked_ her, but that had been such a cop-out. The promise of love had made it impossible to let her go, and love, unnamed and unknown, had driven him to take her on this journey. It was love that had possessed him to find a sanctuary for her tonight, and it was love that demanded to be consummated now.

Jacques was smart enough and — for the moment, anyway — clear-headed enough to know that even though he was ready to admit this truth to himself, Rainey was nowhere near ready to hear it. Her life was in too great a state of turmoil to process that, and if he gave her the burden of his heart and all he felt, Jacques feared that she would run again.

And he could not let that happen.

So, for now, he would let his body speak for him. With kisses and caresses, he told her what his mouth could not utter in words. He moved from her right breast to her left, silently vowing his love. And Jacques was relieved to find that he spoke no monologue. Rainey's heart, insistent and strong, beat hard against his worshipping mouth. Her body squirmed deliciously beneath his. In fits and starts, she pulled him against her, grinding her pelvis into his, driving him nearly out of his head.

His fingertips grazed down to her smooth, quivering belly and then down again until he found the whisper of hair at the apex of her sex. He growled his pleasure, and Rainey bucked against him when he slipped two fingers inside her. Her soaked flesh gave him a heady surge of pride that mixed with a humbling tenderness.

This was sacred. Her desire was his holy ground, the place he was meant to worship.

The knowledge drove him down, and in one move, he'd shifted down her body, spreading her legs. With her knees pressed into his shoulders, Jacques gazed at her pink, glistening shrine.

"Jacques," she spoke, a question in her tone.

He answered with his mouth against her flesh. The taste and scent of her charged him like a live wire. He felt a jolt of desire rocket from the top of his head to the balls of heels. She was beauty. And need. And desire. And fulfillment.

And love made flesh.

All for him.

He heard her call his name, but taste and touch had overthrown all other senses. He was tongue and lips and teeth feasting on pure love. He was hands and fingers cupping her rounded bottom as she trembled in his grasp. He was face and neck, cradled in the valley of her straining thighs.

But with the third echo of his name, her words drifted through his haze. "Jacques, I... I need you..."

He would admit to himself later that it took a moment — a rather long moment — for him to understand what this meant. But once he did, Jacques was up like a shot, and it was all he could do to kick out of his jeans and boxers.

He fell on her again, ecstatic at the sensation of his naked body pressed to hers. Soon, soon he would know what it felt like to be inside her. He pressed the tip of his cock against the searing heat of her.

_Soon —_

Her lips were near his ear. "I'm not on the pill," she panted.

Jacques froze. He swallowed and nodded. Condom. He had to find a condom.

"My wallet," he muttered, pushing himself off her. Where was his damn wallet?

"Jacques..." He heard her draw a deep breath as he picked up his jeans. "...please hurry."

He nodded again like a man convulsing. The front pockets were empty. The back pockets — curse them — were empty.

"Damn," he hissed, dropping the disappointing jeans.

_"Jacques—"_ Her cry seemed to light each nerve in his body like a fuse. Her eyes were closed, and she wore a small frown on her lovely, flushed face. Where was his fucking wallet?

And then he spotted his wet jeans in a heap at the foot of the bed. He picked up the sodden garment, groped around until he found the leather rectangle in the back pocket, and yanked it free.

"It's been _six years,"_ she whimpered. He felt those words — and the plaintive tone — deep in his core. His fingers prized the condom from his damp wallet, which he let drop to the floor. As he leveraged back onto the bed, he tore open the packet, and then he was there between her legs again. Right where he needed to be.

Her eyes flew open and held his. "It's been a lifetime." The words were just a whisper, but they might as well have been a shout from heaven. Because as she said them, Jacques heard both the words and the sense.

It had been a lifetime. She had waited a lifetime to be loved. Just as he had.

Just as he had.

And in that moment, Jacques knew his purpose.

He hovered over Rainey, smiling down at her. "For me too." Jacques brushed his lips against hers. "For me too, love."

In one, fluid movement, he thrust inside her to the hilt.

Rainey's lips parted. "Oh, God..."

For the span of four heartbeats, they held perfectly still, their eyes locked on each other. The sweet torture of her body, her heat contracting around him, her thighs pressing into his hips, made him afraid even to move, but the look in her eyes...

He could have sworn on his life that her eyes spoke the words he so desperately wanted to say.

Her mouth closed and opened as if she wanted to tell him a sacred truth. And then she closed her eyes with the slightest frown, and before he could press her to speak, she rolled her hips and called his name. "Jacques."

And the world tipped off its axis and rolled like a marble down a flight of stairs. His hips obeyed hers like heavenly bodies obey gravity, his motions as precise, as irrefutable as the laws of physics. When she wrapped her legs around him and lifted her hips, he drove them higher on the bed, his own body straining to claim more of her before their falling ceased.

"Rainey," he echoed with her name, knowing for him that it was code, a symbol that now meant love. Love. Love.

His mind was swept clean of anything else. All that remained was the increasing rhythm of their bodies, the mounting ascension of her cries, and the blinding radiance of bliss that overtook him.

And all of it meant love.

Minutes passed. Perhaps even hours. The only sound in the room was their recovering breath and the sparking embers of the dying fire. When Jacques came to his senses, he rolled them over so Rainey lay on top of him, knowing he had to be crushing her with his spent weight.

And when he did, she gripped his shoulders, resting her cheek on his chest as though she were loath to let him go. Jacques smiled in the gathering darkness of the room. He tightened his arms around her.

There would be no letting go.

He dragged his fingertips delicately down her back and watched as goose bumps broke out over her arm.

"Are you cold?"

She tilted her chin up so her eyes met his, and she shook her head. The sight of Rainey, naked and gazing up at him from his bare chest was just about the sweetest in the world. His grin was irrepressible.

"Are you hungry?"

She gave a coy shrug, her eyes never leaving his. "The thought of food is tempting, but I don't think I ever want to leave this room."

His laughter shook her body as it rested on him, and the sensation made them both giggle.

"I have credits on my Uber account I can use for UberEats," he said, still teasing his fingers up and down her back. "We don't have to go anywhere."

She arched an intrigued brow at him. "You do?"

He nodded.

Rainey gave him skeptical smile. "But we'd still have to get dressed to meet the driver."

Jacques shook his head slightly. _"I_ would have to get dressed. You will stay right here."

_"That's_ hardly fair — especially since you're paying for it," she argued, frowning. "I should get dressed and meet him."

This time his head shake was more adamant. "You will do no such thing."

Rainey lifted her head in challenge. "And why not?"

He leveled her with his gaze. "Because you look more beautiful and enchanting in this moment than any woman in history. Even clothing could not shield your post-coital glow." He spoke with a teasing tone, but he was absolutely serious. "I refuse to let any other man see you like this."

"Post-coital glow?" she parroted, blinking at him.

"You should look in the mirror. Your cheeks are rosy. Your lips flushed. Those curls of yours are seductively mussed." He touched the pad of his index finger to each spot as he named it. Already, he could feel the stirring of his desire. There was no way he'd share this Rainey with the rest of the world. "When you think about it, I'm really doing a public service. Your beauty is lethal."

She narrowed her eyes at him, but there was no hiding the pleasure his words had given her. This was an argument he'd clearly won.

"So, what do you want for dinner?" she asked, conceding without admitting defeat.

He shrugged. "I don't care."

But his stomach betrayed him with a rumbly growl.

Her answering smile was faux innocence. "It sounds like you care. Are you dreaming of Chinese?"

"I'll get whatever you want," he said evenly, though his stomach growled again at the thought of wanton soup and General Tso's chicken.

"Let's get Chinese," she said, mirth lighting her eyes.

_I love you._

The words nearly leaped from his lips, and his cock stiffened anew. She was the perfect woman. The perfect woman for him.

An hour later, they were sprawled across the bed, a feast of Chinese takeout now decimated before them. Rainey had insisted on reclaiming her robe, and without a shred of shame, Jacques had gone down to the Copper House lobby to claim their food in his drawstring pajama shorts and T-shirt.

The UberEats driver hadn't even given him a second glance — Jacques guessed that everyone ordering UberEats showed up at the door in their pajamas, but he'd run into Willard on the way back to their room, and the older man had given him a solemn nod of approval though it wasn't even a quarter to seven.

Rainey got up to clear the near-empty takeout boxes, and Jacques tracked her movements across the room.

"Come back."

She dropped her chin and gave him a teasing stare. "I'm just cleaning up."

"I'll clean up. You stay here." He knew how ridiculous he sounded, but after chasing Rainey for so long, Jacques was only too aware of how short the night would be and how fragile their new bond was.

Not because his ties were weak, of course. But because he knew Rainey had been exceedingly brave all afternoon. And at some point, she'd likely feel some doubts about how quickly things had changed between them.

Jacques intended to hold the ground he'd gained, and he felt instinctively that he needed to keep her close to do it.

"You are insane. Do you know that?" she asked, clearly exasperated, but she came back to bed all the same, leaving cellophane fortune cookie wrappers and an empty carton of fried rice there in the middle of the bed. Jacques leaned forward and collected these items and moved them to the nightstand beside him.

He sat back against the headboard and pulled her into the crook of his arm. This. This was how he wanted each day to end. No matter where they were. No matter what they did. Jacques wanted the day to close with Rainey tucked against him.

He reached over to the nightstand again, plucked up the TV remote, and handed it to her. Rainey eyed him but made no move to switch on the TV. Archie, sensing that the bed was no longer a dining table _and_ that he wouldn't be kicked like he'd nearly been during their lovemaking, jumped on the mattress and turned around twice before settling down.

"I don't get to clear the dishes, but I do get to choose the channel? Is that right?" Rainey asked, disbelief dripping from her words.

Jacques suppressed a chuckle but said nothing.

"It's every woman's dream," she breathed in mock awe.

He narrowed his eyes at her teasing. "Just don't pick something stupid."

Rainey arched a brow. "And what would be stupid? I need an example."

Jacques shrugged, giving more attention to the way her hazel eyes sparked with amusement than answering her question. "I don't know. _House Hunters."_

Rainey gasped. "I love _House Hunters."_

His eyes rounded, but before he could speak, Rainey's horrified expression teetered, and her smile won out. "Just kidding. I hate reality TV."

"What do you like?" he asked, wondering if he could guess before she answered.

She shrugged beneath his arm. "I usually read, but—" she said, reaching over to the side of the bed and pulling out the little sack that carried her yarn and hooks. "—if I want to crochet, I sometimes put on _Gilmore Girls_."

"Why _Gilmore Girls?"_

Again, the shrug. "Because it's nostalgic, and comfortable, and I've seen every episode already, so I don't have to pay too much attention." Her cheeks pinked. "Besides, I've always had a thing for Jared Padalecki."

Jacques blinked, savoring the chance to tease her. "The guy from _Supernatural?_ He was in _Gilmore Girls?"_

Rainey mimed a horrified gasp. "Of course! How could you not know that?" Then she narrowed mischievous eyes at him. "You know, you've got a little of that Dean-Forester-Sam-Winchester thing going for you."

Jacques nodded, his expression deadpan. "I see how it is. You're into me because of your lifelong Jared Padalecki crush." He forced his mouth into a grim line. "I don't feel cheap at all."

Sputtering a laugh, Rainey swatted him on the elbow. Before she could withdraw, Jacques tagged her hand and brought it to his lips.

Rainey pretended to ignore him. Blushing, she flicked on the TV, flipped through about four channels, and then shoved the remote back at him. "Here. You take it. I'm good with whatever. Besides, I should have finished these by now."

Jacques frowned. _These_ could have only meant the lacey crochet band she held that was about two inches wide. The yarn she used was a pale green that reminded him of pistachio ice cream.

"And what are these?" he asked.

She looped her index fingers through the ring and held it up to him. "Well, sometime tomorrow, I hope they'll be a pair of beach shorts?"

He could only blink. Shorts made out of _yarn?_

His confusion must have shown on his face because she reached over to the nightstand and took up her phone. "Here. Look. I'm making these."

Rainey pulled up a picture, and Jacques nearly choked on his tongue. The lacey shorts in the image had maybe a one-inch inseam and a scalloped edge that fell just barely below the pattern model's butt cheeks. And if that weren't skimpy enough, the intricate pattern left finger-sized holes all over the front and back, rendering a peep-show of skin.

"Y-you're going to wear those?"

She looked at him as though she were waiting for him to say something more, and when he didn't, she said. "Um... yeah. I'm going to wear them to the beach... with my bikini bottoms."

Jacques swallowed. She was going to wear them. To the beach. With her bikini bottoms.

In full view of other men.

"When are you going to the beach?" Clearing his calendar and booking a beach vacation suddenly seemed absolutely critical.

Rainey's eyes swept the ceiling as though the answer hung from it. "Well, we were supposed to go to Laguna Beach in June — we started planning it when Mom and Kendall moved — but with Holi's health..." She looked back at him, a frown tugging now at her brows. "I don't know what we're going to do."

Jacques didn't need to be told that she wasn't just referring to the beach vacation. He tightened his arm around her.

"I don't know what we're going to do," she said, again, her voice sounding hollower this time. She leaned her head back against his shoulder, clearly needing comfort.

"It'll be okay," he said. And he meant it. He didn't know what would happen to Holi, but he'd be by Rainey's side whenever it did.

His phone rang then, the silent buzzing competing with the white noise of the television, but Jacques made no move to answer it.

"You should get that," Rainey said, straightening up.

Jacques shook his head. "It can wait."

But Rainey frowned. "What if it's Gloria trying to reach us?"

He picked up the phone and saw the name on the display. "It's Kate," he said. "I'll call her back tomorrow."

He tapped the side button to dismiss the call and set the phone down. Glancing back at Rainey showed him her fresh disappointment.

"Why won't she help us?" she said, her voice a plea.

Jacques gathered her in both of his arms and pulled her against his chest. "I don't know. But give her time. It's just been a few hours, remember?" He thought of the way Ray had snatched up his business card. Intention had been written all over his face. "And don't underestimate your little brother. I don't think we've heard the last of him."

Rainey tipped up her face and gave him a sad smile. "He's really a neat kid," she said, conviction clear in her voice. "I'm sorry I blew it with Gloria, but I'm not sorry I met him. I got five minutes with him, and that was enough to show me how special he is."

Then she giggled in his arms. "He wants a Labrador retriever."

Her happiness at the memory made him smile. "Oh, really?"

"Yeah, he had this book in his backpack all about labs." Her smile grew. "He showed it to me."

"He likes to read. What a surprise." Jacques tried to bite down on his smile, but Rainey's arched brow at his sarcasm made it impossible. Then he sobered. "He's going to want a relationship with you. He's going to bug the shit out of his mom until she reaches out to you. Just give it time."

Relief and something like hope filled her eyes, and Rainey nodded. "Thank you for saying that. It makes me feel better."

Jacques released her and tipped his chin at the bundle of yarn she still clutched in her hand. "You should finish those," he said. "June's just a few weeks away."

She looked down at the band of yarn and back at him. "Yeah, but I doubt we'll be able to make the trip."

Jacques shrugged. "Then you and I will go. I've never been to Laguna Beach," he said. "Besides, if you think I'm letting you wear those without me, you're crazy."

_"Letting me?"_ She elbowed him lightly in the ribs, but she suppressed a laugh.

"Yeah, you can't wear those if I'm not around to chase off all the other guys who are eyeing those see-through shorts." He was joking. Sort of. If she went to the beach without him, he wouldn't mention the shorts again, but Jacques knew he'd be thinking about them the whole time she was gone.

Her jaw dropped. "They're for the beach. They're supposed to be see-through."

"That's exactly why I want to be there," he said, tickling her in the ribs in return.

She squealed and batted his hand away before he could do it a second time.

"Wouldn't want to miss that."

She narrowed her eyes at him in mock exasperation. "You're impossible."

In response to that, Jacques nuzzled her gorgeous hair and planted a kiss on her neck.

Rainey pursed her lips and tried not to smile. She picked up her crochet hook and worked it through one of the stitches in her band of yarn. Then she deftly wrapped the string of yarn around it and pulled it through, making one loop. She repeated the step until she had two loops, and then she drew more yarn through those.

Clearly, his kiss hadn't been enough to disrupt her focus. And since no one could call Jacques a quitter, he tried again. Her crochet hook paused mid-loop this time.

With the third kiss, she tossed her work over the side of the bed and fell into his arms.

# Chapter 26

By nine o'clock the next morning, they still hadn't heard from Gloria, and while Jacques continued to tell her not to give up hope, Rainey's gut said otherwise. She'd made herself call Ash and brief him on their ill-fated visit, and he'd shared her disappointment.

Otherwise, the morning had been close to perfect. Archie had woken them at seven for breakfast, and as soon as they'd taken care of him, Jacques had scooped Rainey up and tossed her —squealing mid-air— onto the bed. By the time they'd emerged from the Bluegrass Room and made their way down to breakfast, they were ravenous.

The delicious spread had momentarily distracted Rainey from the sense of dread she felt about the return trip home, but after the meal was over, she found it hard to pack, and she dragged her feet as they loaded up the car.

Jacques's eyes were on her as they'd left the B&B, but it wasn't until they'd been on I-65 for thirty minutes that he spoke up.

"What's wrong?" His hand closed over hers before he lifted it and settled both on his knee. The comfortable intimacy of the gesture touched her, and it soothed one of the two fears she tried to keep at bay. But, no matter what, heading home meant she'd have to face both eventually.

Going back meant her time with Jacques — both precious and unforgettable — would be coming to a close. He'd been sweet and surprisingly territorial when she'd shown him the pattern for her beach shorts, going so far as to suggest they take a vacation together, but would that really happen? Their time on this road trip had been an oasis from reality. Indeed, Jacques's real life had continued to chase them if the number of missed calls from Kate were any indication.

But Rainey tried her best not to feel melancholy about it. She told herself to enjoy the remaining hours she had with him. Make some memories. Stare at him until her eyes hurt. Kiss him and touch him and inhale his scent.

She started by squeezing the hand that held hers. "I'm just dreading going home," she said, honestly. "I don't know what I'm going to say to Holi."

His brown eyes softened on hers. "Just tell her the truth. You did your best."

Rainey shook her head in frustration. "I just feel like there's more going on with Ray's mother than I know. Why would she hate my dad so much if he supported them all that time? I mean, Larry said it was three years, right? Until she told him to stop?"

A crease formed between Jacques's brows, but he hid it from her when his eyes went back to the road. "There was a moment yesterday when I thought you got through to her."

Rainey fast blinked. "Wh-what do you mean?"

"It was when you said... I think it was when you said you were glad Ray had another father." Jacques shook his head. "I can't be sure, but she looked... I don't know... appreciative."

Rainey thought about the little brother whom she'd met once and already loved. If he had a father in his life who was there for him, who protected him, and gave him all the love a boy could have, Rainey was grateful. Ray deserved that. Everyone did.

And it wasn't something Ray would have gotten from Dylan Reeves. Rainey found herself wondering what life would have been like if her parents had divorced sooner. If her mother and Kendall had found each other sooner. Would she have been able to call her stepfather _dad?_ Would she have grown up knowing that kind of love?

Would it have made all the difference in the world?

She hoped it would make all the difference for Ray. And judging by how curious and outgoing the boy was, how willing he was to speak his mind and make connections, Rainey could see that he was growing up with confidence and strength. Clearly, he hadn't grown up waiting for the other shoe to drop. Wondering if his family was on the brink of dissolution every time his dad came home late.

Rainey sent up a silent prayer that Ray would never have to suffer the kind of loss she'd endured with John Lee's death, but she also suspected that if he did, he'd have the support he'd need to see him through.

She would have liked to explain to Gloria how lucky she was that Dylan Reeves wasn't a part of Ray's life. And at the same time, she wanted to punch her father in the teeth for letting him go.

The whole mess was so confusing and overwhelming it made her head hurt. They were approaching Nashville, and she pulled on her sunglasses to dim the glare of the sun. Up ahead, she saw road signs for the I-40 W. Huntsville/Memphis exit. It was two miles away.

The questions swirled around her head. Why was Gloria so angry with her father? Why had he given up Ray? Why had he — or Larry — left it up to her to reach out to Gloria for help?

All she had were questions. And only one man had all the answers.

They passed under the sign announcing that the exit to Memphis was one mile away.

"Jacques?"

"Yeah, babe?"

Rainey swallowed, her heart in her throat. "Can we make a detour?"

Jacques eyes shot to hers. "Memphis?" he asked, though it was clear in his gaze he didn't need to.

"Yeah." Her voice shook, but she gave a nod.

Jacques flipped on his right blinker, giving Rainey three hours to figure out what she was going to say to her daddy.

They exited I-40 onto Sam Cooper Boulevard just after one-thirty. It was a Tuesday afternoon. And, as Larry had said, her father was in the middle of recording an album. Which could only mean one thing.

Rainey could find him at Young Avenue Sound.

He'd cut his last two albums at the studio located in the heart of the Cooper-Young neighborhood. Rainey had never been there, of course, but she knew her father liked the midtown location for its soulful feel. And he'd become a regular at the Young Avenue Deli one block away and Tart Cafe, his favorite pastry shop, around the corner.

These were the kinds of things he talked about. Memphis. The vibe. The local color. His favorite haunts. Nothing more substantial. Nothing serious.

So, she knew exactly where he'd be.

They found the studio easily enough but had to circle the block to find a spot for the Impala, and before they even parked the car, Archie's distressed whine seemed to give voice to the vibes Rainey must have been sending.

"I'll walk him," Jacques offered, setting the car in park and killing the engine.

"Let's walk him together. Maybe it'll help settle my nerves."

Jacques reached over and grabbed her hand. "I'm here. I'll be right beside you."

Rainey let her breath go. It still felt like she had a bag of sand in her stomach, but the reassurance of his presence helped.

"I know my dad. This is probably pointless." She was talking to herself almost as much as she was to him.

Jacques gave her an assessing frown. "Why are we here, Rainey?"

She could tell by the look on his face that he knew the answer. Jacques was making her say the words aloud to cement her purpose.

"We're here for answers." The words were true, but she spoke them almost like a question, sounding unsure and afraid. When would she ever be more than a spineless weakling?

He nodded. "Anything else?"

Rainey heaved a sigh. "I don't... I don't know."

Jacques's assessing gaze didn't falter, but he gave her a slow nod. "You're entitled to answers," he said, his deep voice resonating with conviction. It was almost enough to convince her. "You're entitled to more than answers."

Rainey felt her throat tighten and her nose sting. The man by her side had absolute faith in her. Maybe she could at least pretend to have faith in herself. She nodded back. "More than answers."

With that, they stepped out into the Memphis afternoon. The sky was cloudless, the day considerably warmer than the one before. They'd had to park on New York Street, and as they made their way up the residential side, Archie happily marked every lamppost and hedgerow.

Jacques held her hand, but they walked in silence, Rainey lost in her thoughts. Her heart thumped almost painfully. She was afraid, but she wasn't a hundred-percent sure why. It was as though she knew danger loomed, but she couldn't discern which corner hid it.

They reached the back of the studio, their eyes scanning its imposing white-on-white brick facade. No side entrance welcomed them, only two signs that read _Young Avenue Sound — Private Parking — Towing Enforced._

As they rounded the corner on Young Avenue, Rainey started to wonder if it would be difficult to even get inside. If her father and his band were mid-recording, would they even gain admittance?

But when they reached the front entrance, Rainey simply pushed the door open and found herself in a sleek vestibule. Soft lighting, mounted art, and stylish but welcoming seats and settees flushed out the space.

And the world hushed.

Until light, padded footsteps announced someone's arrival, and Jacques and Rainey turned to see a young woman clad in a sleeveless striped sweater and skintight Capris nearly tiptoe into the room.

"Well, what have we here?" she crooned, taking in the three of them but letting her eyes settle on Archie. "Hey, puppy."

The woman — who looked to be in her mid-twenties — wore old-fashioned white-rimmed cat-eye glasses, and she styled her jet-black hair in a high ponytail that flipped up at the ends like a cartoon character's.

When she said nothing more, Rainey stepped forward and cleared her throat. "Um... i-is Doc Dylan Reeves recording here today?"

The woman blinked at her, a veil of detached professionalism settling over her features. "I'm sorry, but all of our session bookings are private and off-limits to the public." She spoke as though she'd memorized the little speech and had delivered it countless times.

Rainey balked at the woman's canned pronouncement, but she made herself step forward. "We're not the public," she said and then shook her head. "I mean, I know Dylan Reeves. He's my father."

With her eyes shuttering in stunned surprise, the woman inched back. "I-I beg your pardon?"

Rainey took another step farther into the room, her nerves leveling off a little. As promised, Jacques remained right by her side. "I'm Rainey Reeves, and I need to see my dad. Is he here?"

The woman's mouth fell open slightly as though Rainey had said something shocking and unpleasant. Rainey frowned at her response that seemed so out of place.

"You're his _daughter?"_ the woman asked, stressing the word as though it were scandalous.

"She's said it twice," Jacques answered, his voice forcing both women to look up at him. "Is the man here or not?"

This shook the receptionist out of her stupor, and she stammered. "Y-yes. They're in the middle of a session right now, but he's here." She strode over to the desk near the front windows. "I-I'll just leave word that you're here, Miss Reeves."

"Thank you." Rainey said the words almost without realizing. Her attention was lost on the woman's obvious distress. Why was Rainey's presence so disturbing?

The woman sat down at her desk and typed a quick missive on her sleek laptop. An email? A chat message? Rainey couldn't be sure. Whatever it was, she knew it would make absolutely no noise in the recording studio.

Rainey looked up at Jacques to see his eyes on her. His bore a question, and she read immediately what it meant.

_Are you okay?_

She gave a slight lift of her chin to indicate that she was, indeed, okay — even if her legs shook beneath her, and her stomach wanted to turn itself inside out. Jacques stepped closer, entwined their fingers, and eased into her space. As though her space were their space.

She looked up into his eyes, those dark pools of warmth. And her legs grew steadier, her breath coming deeper.

The sound of tapping drew her attention away from Jacques, and she found the receptionist watching her, the tip of her pen beating a rapid staccato against her desk blotter.

Their eyes held for an awkward moment, prompting Rainey to speak. "Any idea how long they'll be?"

The woman inhaled, and her lips parted, but she didn't speak immediately. "It shouldn't be much longer."

She stood then, her eyes never leaving Rainey. Then she crossed her arms over her chest and openly stared.

Beside her, Rainey felt Jacques shift even closer.

A scurrying sound came from the hall to their right just as the receptionist spoke again. "I didn't know that—"

"Rainbow, what are you doing here?" Larry practically raced into the lobby and came to a halt in front of them, his wide eyes moving from Rainey to Jacques and back. Rainey hadn't seen Larry since he'd come down with her dad one weekend in October. The man she'd known all her life looked the same — even if his graying mane held a little grayer. But it was clear to Rainey that while he looked the same, he also looked surprised, and Rainey sensed that it wasn't pleasantly so.

"Hi, Larry. Good to see you," she said pointedly. "I need to talk to my dad."

Her answer, which should have been obvious, didn't seem to register or affect Larry at all. He still wore his look of surprise. His mouth worked a few times before he actually spoke. "I-I wish you would have called," Larry said, running a hand over his hair and accentuating his already pronounced, dead-center part. One either side of it, his gray hair fell in matching waves. His feathered style would have been right at home in 1982. "We're in the middle of an album, and you know how long the hours are. I—"

"I know, Larry, but I'm here now, and I need to see him." Rainey worked successfully to keep any pleading notes out of her voice. She felt the urgency, but Rainey refused to let herself sound like she was asking for something she wasn't entitled to. He was her father, for Christ's sake.

Larry just gave her a helpless shrug. "I'm just saying it may be hours before we call it a day, and—"

She felt Jacques stiffen beside her, but she spoke first. _"Call it a day?_ Larry, I'm not waiting for him to finish an album. I want to talk to him _now."_

That's when Rainey noticed the sweat beading near his temples. Why the hell was he trying to keep her from talking to her father? What was he afraid of?

She glowered at him. "Does my father even know I'm here?"

Larry shook his head and held up a hand. "Not just yet, but I will give him a message that—"

"This is bullshit," Jacques boomed beside her. The room shook with the explosion of his words, and Larry actually took a step back. "Either you get Dylan Reeves out here to talk to his daughter, or I'll knock down every door in this building and drag his ass out."

If Rainey hadn't witnessed his outburst, she would have never believed it. Jacques stood tall, his shoulders suddenly broader than she'd ever seen them. He looked larger than life. Larger, even, than he did on stage. And while she'd seen him be stubborn and maybe even defiant — as he had been in the hotel lobby when she'd insisted on paying — she'd never seen him angry.

But Jacques looked menacing.

This was surprising on its own, but what really took Rainey off-guard was how much she liked it. She'd always had people in her life who loved her, people who cared for her.

But this was the first time she'd ever seen anyone _fight_ for _ her._

Her speechless awe was interrupted when Larry, scowling, notably stepped farther away from Jacques. "I'm guessing you're the young man I spoke to the other day. Rainey's _friend."_

Jacques's jaw ticked. "Buddy, I am way more than her friend, so lose the attitude." The look in his eyes sent tingles rushing from her solar plexus to her toes. Not because it carried a threat, but because of its intensity. The look carried a vow.

She tucked the moment in her heart to take it out and examine it later, and she turned to Larry.

"What's going on, Larry?"

He frowned, pressed his lips together, and blinked like he had something in his eye. Then he blew out a frustrated breath, and his shoulders dipped a little. "When Lacey sent the text that you were here, I knew what was up. You're here because of Gloria, aren't you?"

Conviction ascended through her spine. "I'm here for a lot of reasons, Larry. Why are you trying to keep me from seeing my father?"

Larry's body responded as though she'd struck him. "I'm not — I'm not trying to keep you from seeing him," he defended.

Rainey crossed her arms over her chest. "Then what the hell's going on? I feel like we just stepped into Oz."

"Okay, fine," Larry admitted, shaking his head, shamefaced. "I'm just trying to stall."

_"Why_ are you trying to stall?" Jacques asked, stepping slightly forward as though offering Larry a reminder of his presence — and his proximity.

Larry assessed him and shook his head. "Because I didn't expect this," he said, gesturing to them with upturned palms. "I haven't told Dylan yet that I spilled the beans. I didn't think you'd show up here with all your questions. At least not this _soon."_

Rainey narrowed her eyes at him. "What _did_ you think?"

His face seemed to sag. His whole posture seemed to sag. "I figured you'd call back, and I'd intercept you before you talked to Dylan."

Rainey slapped her thighs. "Why didn't you just own up that you'd told us about Ray? I mean, you couldn't hide that _forever."_

His patronizing look made her jaw clench. "I know that, Rainbow. But I'd been trying to talk him into telling you, and when that didn't work, I was trying to get him to give me his blessing to share the secret." Larry crossed his arms over his chest. "It would have worked, too, if you wouldn't have raced over here."

Rainey felt her eyebrows leap. "Raced? It's been five days since I spoke to you, Larry. Holi's life is at stake. I think that warrants a sense of urgency." Her voice was climbing as her bewilderment mounted. "And we didn't come straight here. We found Gloria Lopez-Craine and her son. We met them both. She refused to help us. And _then_ we came here. For answers. And I'm sure as hell not leaving until I get them."

Out of the corner of her eye, she might have seen the Jacques grin.

During her scolding, Larry's face had gone from pinched to stunned to grim.

"You found Gloria?" he asked frowning. "And she won't get the kid tested?"

Rainey shook her head. "She wouldn't even talk to us." Rainey folded her arms across her chest, suddenly chilled at the memory. "She threw us out as soon as she learned who I was.

Larry winced. "Oh, fine," he said, his shoulders bowing in defeat. Then he seemed to shake himself off, took the three steps that separated him and Rainey, and dipped down to kiss her cheek. "It's good to see you, Rainbow."

For all of his faults and misplaced loyalties, Larry had always been like an uncle to her, and Rainey softened a little. "It's good to see you, too," she conceded, though an edge of irritation was still clear in her voice.

He sighed again. "I guess I'll go take my medicine." He turned and then muttered over his shoulder. "No need to knock down any doors, Hercules. You trying to get us on _Access Hollywood?"_

Before Jacques could respond, Larry disappeared down the hall again. Rainey reached for Jacques, her hand clasping his wrist.

"Thank you for sticking by me. It means the world to me, really." she whispered, holding his gaze with hers. What she had to say next wasn't easy. Most of all, she didn't want him to think her ungrateful. The corners of his eyes lifted with his smile. Rainey knew he was about to speak, and she couldn't let him. "But — but when he comes out..." She bit the corner of her lip and worried it. "...I think I need to talk to him by myself."

Jacques's left brow drew up with his frown. "Rainey—"

"I have to, Jacques," she said, feeling the truth of it deeply now. "I think it's about time."

He said nothing then, but his eyes held her with keen, unbroken focus.

"What if—"

"Rainey, my God!" Her father's voice — a sound that made music critics think of Tupelo honey and cayenne pepper, a buttery rasp — commanded every head to turn and witness his entrance.

He aimed for her with a wide smile, but unlike the one Jacques's had given her seconds before, it didn't reach his eyes. He didn't break his stride until he crushed her into his hug, her nose pressed against his royal blue silk shirt, and the smell of his cologne like a punch of nostalgia. And pain.

"Dad," she squeaked, his hug knocking her just a little off balance and making her feel about six years old again. There was a time when she'd wanted to cling to him forever so he couldn't leave again. So he would hold her tighter.

Now Rainey pulled away first, like she had for years. It was easier that way.

"Dad, we need to talk." She watched his face give away nothing, his eyes so like her own. So like Ray's. Except in Ray's — even in the first three minutes of meeting him — Rainey had read his genuine thoughts and feelings.

Looking at her father now, she saw he wore a mask of pleasant surprise, but she could discern that it was paper-thin. What did he really feel? Was he angry she'd come? Was he irritated by the interruption? Was he possibly even afraid of what she had to say?

Rainey had no way of knowing.

He looked handsome, as always. Even edging closer to sixty, Dylan Reeves was handsome. And she could see he'd kept himself in great shape, so no one would be able to guess his age. His complexion was darker than hers — she favored her mother — so he always looked like he'd just returned from a beach holiday. Maybe he went to a tanning salon for all she knew, but if he did, his skin hadn't gone leathery and dry. His hair, longish and curling at the ends like hers, was streaked with gray, but it still retained much of its original dark brown. Even with years of hard living, months on the road, and late nights for each one, Dylan Reeves could still pass for a man in his late forties.

Her father made a show of letting his eyebrows climb in disbelief. "You came all the way to Memphis to talk?" Then he gave a chuckle for their audience of Jacques, Lacey the receptionist, and Larry, who'd followed behind him. "If I'da known you were coming, I'da rolled out the red carpet, baby doll."

Rainey guessed if he'd known she was coming, he would have tried to reschedule, but she didn't say that. Not yet. Not with so many eyes watching them.

"It was kind of spur of the moment. A-and we can't stay long," she said, hearing the stammer in her voice and hating it. Now was not the time to get nervous. She'd been pretty pissed off with Larry. She needed to hold onto that. "Dad, this is Jacques Gilchrist. He's my fr—"

"Boyfriend," Jacques cut in, stepping forward and offering his hand, even though the expression he wore was less than inviting.

Rainey's father accepted Jacques's hand, but she could see a hint of confusion in his eyes. Maybe it was faked. She couldn't tell for sure. "Oh? Is this a special occasion? Did you come with an announcement?" Then he chuckled. "Or maybe to ask my blessing?"

Rainey felt her stomach plunge with embarrassment at the same moment she watched Jacques's grip on her father's hand go from firm to uncomfortable. Her father's face could only hide so much.

"I hope I'll be so lucky one day," Jacques said, and even though he glowered at her father, his eyes blazed with a heat that singed her clear to her bones. Her heartbeat quickened at his words.

_Did he really just say that?_

Solidarity, Rainey decided. He was showing her loyalty instead of letting her father in on the truth. They'd only known each other about a month. They wouldn't have the kind of future her father was teasing about because their paths would soon diverge. But Jacques was far too kind and protective of her to say any of that, and Rainey was grateful.

Dylan Reeves gave Jacques his game-show-host grin, made up of contrived approval. "I see. Well, nice to meet you, Jacques."

At this, Jacques managed a nod, and Rainey saw what it cost him. Again, she was grateful. But she didn't know how long Jacques could keep his distaste under control, and she had work to do.

"Dad, can we find someplace to talk? Just the two of us?"

"Uh, yes... sure, baby..." Then his eyes searched the room, landing first on Larry's with unspoken significance and then on the receptionist's. "Lacey, honey, would it be alright if we use one of the empty mixing rooms?"

Rainey's eyes found the receptionist sitting with her arms crossed, a scowl on her face. "Of course, _Dylan,"_ she said, her tone now ice-cold. "Please use whatever space you want to meet with your _adult_ daughter."

Rainey watched Larry and her dad wince simultaneously.

All at once, she got it. She understood exactly why the receptionist had reacted with such surprise to learn who she was. Poor Lacey was sleeping with her dad — or was on her way to it. And, clearly, she didn't know he had grown children. Indeed, she was probably old enough to be one of his grown children.

And given Dylan Reeves's track record, she might have been.

Even pushing sixty, her father hadn't changed. He was incapable of change. Rainey let go a slow sigh, locked eyes with Jacques once more, and followed her father down the shadowed hallway.

They passed two doors on their left before he opened one on the right and held it for her. The small room was dim, soundless. A window faced an empty studio. In front of it spanned a built-in desk crowded with electronic equipment, computers, mixing boards, and controls. Two rolling chairs made up the only furniture, but Rainey didn't even consider sitting. The urge to pace the tiny room like a caged animal struck almost immediately.

"I gotta say," her father said, grinning as he pulled the door closed. "It's good to see you with someone... even if he isn't the warmest guy in the world."

Rainey bristled. "Actually, Dad, Jacques _is_ the warmest guy in the world... in my world, anyway." Something in her tone — protectiveness or pride — must have snagged his attention because he blinked at her in surprise.

"Well, I guess I'll just have to get to know him," he said with false cheer. And Rainey felt her jaw set.

Too many responses flooded her mind. _Like you've gotten to know Ash? Or Holi? Or me?_

_Or your son?_

She wanted to let loose the words, but she had no idea what would happen after that. Would she open the valve on the resentment and anger she'd carried for years and be blown away with its pressure? Would her father hear her out? Would she get the information she needed to help Holi?

Rainey tamped down her response so she could focus on her reasons for coming.

"Dad—"

"I know what this is about, so let me save you the trouble," he interrupted, his tone laced with superficial benevolence. "Larry confessed that he told you about my... my... well, about the boy."

Rainey's brows shot up. "You mean Ray? Your son?" An edge of warning sharpened her voice.

Her father tilted his chin to the left and regarded her, his eyes narrowing slightly. "His mother _said_ he was mine, but I never had any proof—"

Her jaw fell open. The image of her brother flamed before her eyes. Ray was so undeniably his. Theirs. "Have you ever _seen_ him?"

A look of distaste marked his features for an instant and was gone. A bland expression of patience took its place.

"Yes." The word was soft but empty of emotion, and it raised more questions than it answered.

Rainey crossed her arms over her chest. "Well, if you've seen him, then you know he looks exactly like you and Holi." She waved her hand between them. "He has our eyes."

He blinked at her in obvious surprise.

"Oh, yeah, Dad. I've met him—"

"Yes, Larry told me," he interrupted again. "I know he meant well, but Larry should have left well enough alone."

"Well enough?!" Rainey nearly choked. "Holi could _die,_ Dad. Ray may offer a chance to save her. Don't you get it?"

Her father frowned, shaking his head as he turned away from her. "That's not going to happen. I know you worry, Rainey, but it's not good for y—"

"Dad, look at me!"

Even in the muted room, her voice rang like a banshee's. It was the first time in her memory she'd shouted at her father. He turned his startled eyes to hers, but before he could speak, she advanced on him.

"You don't know. You don't know what's going on with her. Holi's weak, and tired, and frail. Dad, she has to wear a mask to protect from infection." Her hands balled into fists as she raged. "You wouldn't even recognize her. Do you know what her chances are without a stem cell transplant?"

Pain pinched his eyes, and he started to shake his head, but Rainey knew it was in denial, not in reply.

"She may not even have two years, Dad." Her voice pitched and stumbled with the words, but she fought back against the growing lump in her throat. "I won't let that happen. Not when there's something I can do. Ray — your son, our brother — might be the answer. But his mother won't help. She won't even hear me out, and I think you know why."

Her father pressed his lips together, and his eyes narrowed. She waited for his answer, feeling adrenaline sting her fingertips and spur her heart. Soon the onslaught would leave her shaking and nauseous, but for now, she held her shoulders back and her chin high.

"Why, Dad? Why does Gloria Lopez-Craine hate you so much? What did you do to her?"

He winced. "Nothing." His answer was barely a whisper.

_"Nothing?_ That can't be true. What happened the last time you saw her?"

At this, a shadow fell over his brow, and he lowered his gaze.

"Dad." He didn't look up. _"When_ was the last time you saw her?"

She watched his right brow raise and lower before he shook his head slowly. "The last time I saw her was in a hospital room in Louisville the day after Ray Charles was born."

Rainey felt like she'd been struck. Like a croquet mallet had connected with her head and sent it spinning down a wide, green lawn.

"What?" She didn't know how she'd even formed the word. It sounded more like a rush of breath. Her face had gone numb, and she couldn't feel her lips. Rainey racked her brain to remember what Larry had said the week before. "Larry said you took care of them. That you looked in on them until she married."

Her father's mouth was a flat line. "I took care of them, and I would have kept doing it if she'd let me."

Rainey frowned. None of this made sense. "Dad, stop evading. What did you do? Why does she hate you so much?"

With a gusty sigh, her father pulled out one of the office chairs in the control booth and collapsed into it. He scrubbed his face with his hands before dropping his elbows to his knees.

"I told her we'd get married," he said finally.

"You _what?"_

Her father shrugged. "Gloria had nothing. She was barely twenty, waiting tables and putting herself through beauty school. When she told me about the baby, she said she didn't know how she'd manage. I promised her I'd take care of her."

He planted his hands on his thighs and nodded with resolve as though this course of action was noble, admirable.

"But that wasn't good enough. She wanted to be a family." He gave a little shake of his head that seemed to suggest Gloria's wishes were ill-advised. "Even though she was young, I knew she'd be a good mother. She was just scared. Once the baby was born, I knew she'd be fine as long as I paid the bills. So, I got her a little place, visited when I could, and told her everything would be alright."

Rainey pictured a young Gloria, scared and vulnerable. The father of her child a blues legend offering to marry her. He would have been everything to her. "Let me guess. She fell in love with you."

He blinked once, a flash of something like regret passing over his face before he shook himself. Not, she knew in denial, but in dismissal. "Like I said. She was young. I knew she'd get over it."

Rainey felt the betrayal as though it was her own. "So you kept seeing her, you told her you'd marry her, and you let her fall in love with you." Her voice was low, but angry. "And then she gave birth to your son, and she never saw you again. Do I have all this straight?"

Her father folded his arms over his chest and tucked his chin, a defensive posture if she ever saw one. His eyes narrowed. "It wasn't like I left her on the streets," he hissed. "I gave her a nice place to live. I gave her a car. I paid all her bills. I made sure she had everything that I'd given to your mother and you three."

He stood from his chair, shaking his head and holding out his hands in frustration. "And it wasn't enough. Just like with your mother. Melinda could never understand that writing the blues and putting together an album just doesn't mix with loading the dishwasher and dropping kids off at school. Those things just wreck creativity."

Rainey flinched, his words jabbing at old wounds. Memories of her parents fighting. John Lee, in tears, sneaking into her room at night. To hear her father tell it, he sounded like the wronged party. Was this supposed to make her feel sorry for him? He couldn't be bothered to parent his children? To be a husband to his wife? Because it _wrecked his creativity?_

Rage seemed to pool under her feet like a lava flow. It rose up her bones into her chest. When she spoke, she might as well have breathed fire. "So you walked away from your infant son the day he was born." She spat the words. She could have shouted them. She could have shouted down the walls. Instead, she kept her voice level. But her tone was lethal, dripping with disdain. "How long did you string her along, Dad? How long before you had Larry intercept her calls? Before her only contact with you was a check in the mail?"

Hot tears threatened, but Rainey fought them. Gloria and Ray's betrayal felt immediate. It felt personal. She knew all too well what it was like to wait for him. To call. To come home. To simply be there.

And he never had been.

She lost her battle with a lone tear that streaked down her cheek. And although her throat was painfully tight, she forced out the words. "You weren't there for me, Dad."

Dylan Reeves blinked at his daughter, seemingly surprised by her shift in subject and her raw and sudden emotion.

"When John Lee died, I needed you. And you weren't there."

Her father frowned at her, and it was not the frown of a penitent man. Rainey thought saying the words would have shattered her. Her voice shook as she spoke. A tear had escaped, but she didn't shatter.

She flicked away the single tear, and when she spoke, Rainey's voice held. Her throat ached, but maybe that was because she'd held back the words for so long.

"You've had four children, Dad. And you've let us all down."

Dylan Reeve's frown turned into a scowl. "You've wanted for nothing," he hissed. "You and your sister don't have to work a day in your life if you don't want to. That's because of what I've given you."

Rainey shook her head. "No amount of money could have helped me deal with watching my brother die. I needed you. I needed you to walk me through that. And instead, you pulled away. You let me down. Whenever you've faced the choice to do the hard thing for your children or the easy thing for yourself, we've always come out last."

She cleared her throat, finding the words easier to voice now that she'd freed herself to say anything. "I can't speak for Holi or Ray, but this is the last time you'll disappoint me, Dad," she said, her chin quivering but her voice ringing clear. She squeezed her fists so tight her nails dug into her palms. "If this drug trial doesn't work, and we lose Holi, I will _never_ forgive you," she swore. His eyes widened at this. "Because I will know you let us down yet again—"

Her father shook his head. "You don't know that Ray Charles is a match, Rain—"

"He goes by _Ray_ , Dad," she growled. "And you're right. I don't know, and I won't know, but I'll always wonder. And if I lose my sister, I'll always wonder if you could have saved her by simply being a better man."

He reached for her, his eyes both surprised and pained. "Rainey—"

"No." She gulped, stepping out of his reach. She walked to the door and slowly pushed it open before facing him again. "Wanting anything from you is too painful, so from now on, I want nothing. I don't want your money. I don't want your phone calls. I don't want the birthday cards and Christmas presents your manager picks out for me. But I'm sure you'll be relieved that you won't have to worry about me getting in the way of your creativity."

She shook her head at him, making a promise to herself as she did. "I don't need you in my life." Rainey took a deep breath and released it, already feeling lighter. "Neither of us needs to pretend anymore."

The words held an honesty and conviction she hadn't known she possessed. In a perfect world, she'd cherish a relationship with her dad. One that was genuine, mutual. One where she could share the ups and downs of her life with her father supporting and loving her through each.

But Dylan Reeves probably wasn't ever going to change, and she wouldn't wait for him any longer. She wouldn't cling to an image of him that wasn't real, and she wouldn't accept his excuses. Not anymore.

Still wearing a look of surprise, he said nothing as she turned to go, and Rainey told herself it was no less than what she expected.

When she stepped out of the sound booth, her gaze fell to the end of the hall and landed on Jacques, who looked like he was straining against imaginary chains. Archie stood at his feet, pulling at his leash with the same impatience. Rainey gave Jacques a shaky smile, and that was all he needed to meet her midway.

He collided with her, wrapped her tight in his arms for an instant, and then pulled back and braced her by the shoulders. "Are you okay?"

Swallowing hard, she nodded. Now that she was with him, feeling his touch, reading the concern and genuine emotion in his eyes, she felt vulnerable, fragile. Like she'd fall apart any second, and she didn't want to do that. She reached down and gave Archie a reassuring stroke as he balanced his front paws against her thigh.

"Let's get out of here," she rasped.

This was all she had to say. With a quick jerk of his head, Jacques grabbed her hand, and they sped to the lobby. As they crossed the sleek space, Rainey's eyes met the receptionist, who looked more than a little sheepish.

"Whatever you do," Rainey told her. "Don't let him get you pregnant."

Lacey the receptionist's eyes widened with the warning, and at once, her cheeks colored.

_Yep. She slept with him._

Rainey gave a resigned shake of her head before she pushed through the exit. But as she stepped outside into the spring afternoon with Jacques and Archie, she let thoughts of her father's indiscretions roll off her.

Somehow, she'd found the courage to tell her father what she felt. To tell him how he'd let her down, let them all down. Time after time. And she'd made it clear — both to him and to herself — that she would not accept that any more.

Lightness rose up through her limbs. She felt almost weightless. As they walked to the car, the sun touched her face, and she tipped her chin up to it, savoring the warmth. Jacques's hand in hers was a conduit to joy, as if she'd plugged into the universe's source of happiness.

Everything felt brighter. Lighter.

Or maybe she was truly proud of herself for the first time in six years.

Either way, Rainey smiled up at the sky and gave thanks for the feeling.

# Chapter 27

He'd expected she'd need comforting when she emerged from the showdown with her father. He'd anticipated she would need reassurance that she'd done the right thing in confronting him. Jacques was ready to offer both and then some.

But when Rainey emerged from the music studio, she'd beamed.

He'd heard her. Or at least he'd heard the rise and fall of her voice from down the hall. The soundproofing in the studio was good enough that he couldn't have made out her actual words — not that he was spying, but he wanted to make sure she was okay and that her father never mistreated her — but he could hear well enough to know that she'd done most of the talking.

And Jacques had wanted to cheer for her. He wanted to cheer for her now, even as they drove through Mississippi headed home.

Instead, he kept his hands on the wheel while she fed him Chick-fil-A nuggets and waffle fries.

They'd stopped only long enough to walk Archie, fill up the Impala, grab a bite for dinner just outside of Jackson. Twice, he'd managed to trap the tip of her index finger between his front teeth, run his tongue over it, and suckle it before setting her free.

Both times, he heard her breath catch.

"Delicious," he whispered the second time.

She giggled and popped a waffle fry into her mouth.

It was just after seven o'clock, and they would make it back to Lafayette around ten-thirty if there weren't any accidents on the basin bridge. Jacques wondered when he should tell Rainey that he wouldn't be taking her home.

He wasn't ready to let her go, and she needed to meet Pal sooner or later. It might as well be over coffee in the morning. Given her stubbornness and what he guessed would be her hesitation to sleep under his grandfather's roof, Jacques figured he might need the three-or-so hours to convince her. He was about to launch into his argument when his phone rang.

Again.

Kate had called while he'd waited for Rainey in the music studio, and he'd ignored it. She'd called again while he was filling up the car an hour ago, and here she was again. Obviously, the girl couldn't wait for him to get back to her. The lanes in front and behind were empty, so Jacques swiped his finger across the screen and held the phone to his ear.

"Hello," he said, finishing the bite of waffle fry Rainey had just fed him.

"Gilchrist! What the hell? I've been trying to reach you for two frickin' days!" Kate's cranky rasp burst through the phone and had Jacques pulling the device away to preserve his hearing.

"Like I told you Sunday, on a road trip with my girl," he said, grinning at Rainey.

She grinned back and took a sip of her soda.

Jacques realized if he kissed her then, she'd taste like root beer and bliss.

"You can't answer the damn phone?" Kate shrieked, pulling him away from his kissing fantasy. "Don't you know what it means when someone leaves you a voicemail saying 'Call the fuck back! Like now!'?"

Jacques could only chuckle at her tirade. "I called you back last night. You didn't answer," he defended lightly. "But you have my attention now. What's up? We got another gig?"

"No, dumbass, we've got a record deal."

The blood vessels in Jacques's ears must have dilated because as soon as he heard Kate's words, all sound went gauzy and muted with a hum. Like he'd pressed seashells up to his ears. Moving stiffly, he flicked on the Impala's blinker, glanced in the rearview to check for traffic, and aimed for the shoulder.

"Jacques, what's wrong?" Rainey questioned him with rounded eyes.

He couldn't find the words to reassure her, and his hands held the steering wheel and phone, so he couldn't say what he needed to say with touch.

"Gilchrist?" Kate's impatient voice seemed to echo from a great distance.

Angling the car safely away from the traveling lanes, Jacques came to a stop. Archie stood up on the seat behind them, excited that they'd soon be taking a walk.

"Jacques? Babe, everything okay?" Rainey's hand was now on his knee. Worry etched her brow.

Her touch seemed to ground him because then the words were there. "It's fine," he managed. "Good news."

"Fuck, yeah, it's good news," Kate growled. "JAG wants to sign us."

Jacques choked. "JAG... As in Jagjaguwar..." He swallowed and tried again. "As in the label of Bon Iver... and Foxygen... and Mighty Tiger..."

"Yeah, that JAG," Kate said, a grin of satisfaction now evident in her voice.

Jacques quickly switched the phone to his left hand and grabbed Rainey's with his right. "Holy shit," he breathed, his voice going a little shaky. Everything was going a little shaky.

Rainey's fingers tightened around his, and in her eyes, he saw comprehension.

"JAG?" she mouthed, her bottom lip disappearing between her teeth.

"When are you getting back? We need to talk, like, yesterday," Kate complained. "My dad's looked over the offer, and he says they're — and I quote — _'sufficiently motivated.'_ But we all need to sign off on this, so don't leave us hanging, Gilchrist."

Jacques blew out a breath to settle his nerves. "We're headed back tonight. We'll be back in a few hours." He let his eyes lock with Rainey's, wanting to share this moment with her. He could see she understood the significance of it. Her eyes were wide and shining, and she wore a smile that seemed to hold pride, happiness for him, and something else. Something deeper.

_Acceptance?_

Kate's voice broke through his musings. "So, that means you can meet us tomorrow at my dad's office at like ten o'clock, right?"

Jacques blinked. "Yeah, I guess so."

"Don't give me that guessing bullshit," Kate groused. "Will you be there or not?"

Jacques shook his head at his irascible bandmate. It was a good thing playing with her and the other girls was the best gig he'd ever known. "You're kind of bossy, you know that, Crawford?"

"I've been told," she admitted. "You didn't answer my question."

He stifled a laugh. No need to make her any more unbearable than she already was. "Of course, I'll be there. No one wants this more than me."

His response must have pleased her because her voice softened — as much as Kate Crawford's voice could soften. "Good. I..." She paused.

Jacques's attention piqued. Kate was never at a loss for words.

"...I got a little worried when you up and took off this week."

Jacques couldn't resist. "Kate Crawford, did you miss me?" he teased.

At his words, Rainey grinned anew. He gently lifted her hand to his lips and marked it with a silent kiss. Her eyes held his with warmth.

"Don't get your hopes up," Kate barked, but he could tell she was smiling. "But I'm glad to know you're headed back."

"Yes," he reassured. "I'll be there tomorrow. Wouldn't miss it."

They were silent for a moment. "So..." Kate rasped. "You said you were with your girl... That all working out?"

Jacques's grin was automatic and full-force. Despite her thorns, Kate Crawford was a romantic.

"Yes, I think so." His own voice went soft at the words. He watched Rainey's brow arch with curiosity.

"Does that mean I'll get more songs?"

Jacques laughed. "Definitely."

"Good," she said on a scratchy laugh. "Then get your ass home. And if we sign this thing tomorrow, we're going out to celebrate. You can bring your girl."

Jacques could imagine few things sweeter than celebrating a record deal with Rainey by his side. His smile was almost painful. "Looking forward to it."

Kate ended the call without a goodbye. Jacques set the phone down on the dash and locked eyes with Rainey.

"You've been offered a record deal," she said, a tremor in her voice.

He still held her hand in his, so he picked it up and smoothed her fingers with his thumb. "That just happened, right?" he asked, his gaze moving between her eyes. "I didn't just dream it?"

He watched her swallow and smile. "You didn't just dream it," she said with a little shake of her head. "And if you dreamed it before now, it just came true."

Jacques let the words sink in for a moment before he grabbed Rainey in his arms and crushed her to him.

"Oh, my God," he murmured, unable to say much else. He wanted to tell her how much he loved her and how perfect the moment was for him because she was by his side. How he'd never forget the beauty of it. He brought his lips to her ear. "I'm glad you're here. I'm glad you're the one I get to share this with."

Her arms around him squeezed tight before she pulled back to meet his gaze. "Jacques, I'm so happy for you."

And, indeed, an earnest happiness filled her eyes, but again, he saw another emotion there. The same acceptance or resignation he'd read in them when he'd spoken to Kate.

His eyes narrowed. "But what?" he asked softly.

He watched her blink in surprise at his question. "But nothing. You're incredibly talented, and the band is perfection," she proclaimed, conviction sparking in her eyes and straightening her spine. "You all deserve this."

Her insistence pulled at the corners of his mouth. He'd had few supporters in his life, but Jacques now felt certain that the universe had settled that debt in Rainey.

"It means a lot that you think that," he said, resting a hand against her cheek and letting his thumb caress her soft skin. "I can't tell you how much."

Beneath his fingers, he felt her jaw tighten, and she bit her lips as though she were holding something back. He looked into her eyes and found them shining.

"What is it?" he asked on a whisper. "What are you not saying?"

She shook her head and blinked. "It's just... wonderful news," she said, giving him a watery smile that turned his heart to melted butter. Rainey was welling up for him, but he sensed her feelings were complex and, if his guess were correct, somewhat painful, too.

"But there's something else. Tell me what it is."

Rainey looked down so he was now looking at the top of her head. He watched her turn it from side to side. "I'd rather not."

The sight was so sweet, he almost laughed, but he ran his hand over her hair instead and kissed her part. "I won't be able to get us back on the road until I know what's up," he said gently.

At last, she raised her chin until her eyes met his. Their shine had gone, and a look of resolve had come over her. "I want this for you," she said, her gaze unflinching.

He gathered a handful of her curls into his fist and gripped tight. "I know you do," he said, waiting for more.

She drew in a long breath through her nose. "I just wish we'd had more time."

Jacques's eyebrows shot up. "Are you using past tense?" he asked, frowning.

Rainey said nothing, and a thrill of fear ran down the length of his body. On instinct, the hand that wasn't wrapped in her hair reached for her waist.

"What are you saying?"

She blinked. "You'll go."

Realization struck him like a bolt from the blue. They'd come full circle. Right back to the reason she hadn't wanted to get involved with him in the first place.

"You _think_ I'll go," he corrected, noting the difference.

Rainey rolled her eyes. "You'll go. It's inevitable.''

Jacques shook his head. "No, it's not." Then he heaved a frustrated sigh. "I mean, yeah, I will go, but I'll always come back. Always."

She looked up at him under her lashes, and instead of appearing convinced or comforted, she regarded him with a maddening look of condescension. As if she were indulging his naiveté. Jacques gritted his teeth.

"You don't believe me," he growled.

Her expression softened, and her eyes moved between his. "It's not that I don't believe your intentions," she said, bringing a hand to his cheek. "I just know all too well how this works."

Jacques narrowed his eyes. The blood in his veins seemed to simmer. "I should have beaten the shit out of your dad when I had the chance."

This declaration earned him a grudging smile. "I can't say I disagree with you, but I don't think it would help matters."

"I'm not so sure about that," he said, not smiling at all. What if Rainey needed a clear and unequivocal demonstration that the way Dylan Reeves had treated her was completely unacceptable? Wouldn't she be able to better trust Jacques if she watched him punish her father for what he'd done?

Jacques could feel his pulse in his head as his temper threatened to get the better of him. He inhaled through his nose. No, of course assaulting her father wouldn't have improved her opinion of him.

But it sure made for a gratifying fantasy.

And since physical violence was off the table, Jacques had only one course of action.

He blew out his breath. "I guess I'll just have to prove you wrong," he said.

They pulled into Pal's driveway closer to eleven o'clock. An accident on the Atchafalaya span had slowed traffic to a crawl on the last leg of their journey, but Jacques wasn't complaining. Rainey had fallen asleep just after ten, and she hadn't stirred when he pulled off the interstate and onto University Avenue. This meant that she couldn't object to his plan to take her home with him.

The crunch of gravel beneath his tires and the silence that filled the car when he killed the engine must have been enough to do the trick. Beside him, Rainey inhaled a yawn, stretched in her seat, and opened her eyes. Archie stood up on the back seat and pranced, clearly excited about the prospect of getting out of the car.

Jacques watched Rainey's eyes focus out the windshield before she frowned. "Where are we?" Her voice was an adorably sleepy croak.

"At my house. C'mon. You get Archie. I'll get our things."

She jolted. "But — but aren't you taking me home?" she asked, frowning.

He opened the car door and unfolded himself before ducking his head back into the cab and laying it out in a way he hoped would leave no room for argument. "No, because you're staying with me."

Jacques watched her mouth fall open, but he didn't wait for her to respond before he shut the door. Still, he heard her muffled protest.

"Wait. Jacques—" Her passenger door flew open, and she jumped out of the car. "What? I-I can't stay here. In your grandfather's house? That's... that's crazy."

He rounded the back of the Impala and popped the trunk. "No, it isn't. I live here, too. I'm a grown man, and I can bring home anyone I want." He slung her backpack and his duffle bag over his shoulder and lifted out his guitar case. Then he shut the trunk with the firmness of finality. "And I want you."

His watched the effect of his words jolt her frame. Her eyes widened. "But what will your grandfather think of me?"

Jacques moved to her, stopping just before he reached her. He opened the rear passenger door, found the end of Archie's leash, and guided the dog out of the car. "The truth," he said, shutting the car door. "That you're damn important to me."

If his earlier statement jolted her, this one made her soften. He watched it happen, the way her shoulders eased and her hips shifted, and the sight sent a current straight to his sex. Jacques draped his free arm around her and steered her toward the house, fully prepared for her to dig her heels into the gravel and refuse to budge, but she fell into step beside him and they ascended the front porch steps.

He fished out his keys and unlocked the front door. "Now, Pal will be asleep, so we need to be quiet going up the stairs," he whispered.

The front door swung open noiselessly, and Archie poked his nose inside, sniffing the air. As always, the house was completely dark, the only light coming from the glow of the streetlamps filtering through the windows.

"I can't see a thing," Rainey whispered.

Jacques grabbed her hand. "Here," he said, moving her grip to the back of his jeans. "Follow me."

It would be hard enough going up the stairs with his guitar case in one hand and a dog leash in the other — especially when it was connected to an excited dog who was encountering new territory. They couldn't possibly negotiate the narrow staircase side by side without knocking the guitar case against the wall and waking Pal.

"Okay," she breathed, grabbing on.

And so they climbed the stairs, Archie surging forward, his toenails scrambling on the wood of the stairs and making Jacques wince. But soon enough, they were in his room, and Jacques closed and locked the door behind them.

He left the light off.

His bare windows let in enough light for the outline of his furniture to stand out in relief. Jacques set down his guitar and their bags, and as soon as he dropped Archie's leash, the dog wasted no time jumping onto Jacques's bed.

"Archie!" Rainey whisper-scolded.

Jacques turned to her and placed his hands on her hips. "It's alright. He knows the score."

"What do you mean?" she asked, still watching the silhouette of her dog on his bed.

He slipped his hands under the hem of her shirt and found the soft welcome of her skin. His already eager cock leaped with the contact. Jacques brought his lips to the slope of her neck. "He goes where you go. And he's figured out that no matter where we are, you sleep with me."

His lips felt the working of her throat as she swallowed. Her body swayed into him just a fraction, and he took full advantage, wrapping an arm low across her back and tugging her against him so he knew she felt the press of his desire.

She sucked in a startled breath. "Jacques—"

But before she could say more, he covered her mouth with his. In her, he tasted belonging... purpose... home. Jacques knew no matter where he journeyed, he'd return to her again and again. She was his true north.

He had to make her understand.

"Rainey..." His hands traveled up the sides of her waist, lifting her shirt as he went. Her hands anchored at his shoulders. He pulled the shirt up over her bra before she made a show of protesting.

"Jacques, your grandfather..."

"Is asleep," he finished. "And I want to make you mine in my own bed." At his words, he felt her knees give just a little against him. He tugged her shirt the rest of the way and tossed it behind him. Holding her against him in one arm, he kissed his way down her neck and let his free hand slide up her ribs and along the curve of her bra until he found the friendly little clasp between her breasts, and with a single flick, the cups sprang open, and his hands and mouth were full of her.

"Oh..." she panted, her chest heaving against him.

After a moment of her helpless — but stifled — cries and his satisfied moans, he released the nipple he'd suckled and licked a trail back up her throat to her mouth and feasted there again.

"Are you mine?" he growled in her ear, the feel of her fingers tangling into his hair threatening to fracture his control. He'd let himself lose it soon enough, but first she had to know the truth.

"Yes, yes, I'm yours." With a swiftness that surprised him, she released his hair and whipped his T-shirt over his head. And then her bare breasts pressed into his chest, and their searing heat was like a fuse that ignited a path straight down his body.

"Christ!" He backed her into the mattress and followed her down, struggling to keep his focus. "Say it again. Say you're mine."

"I'm yours," she said with feeling. "I'm yours, Jacques." Her hands were at his fly, and time was running out.

"For how long?" he managed, though the telltale strain in his voice gave so much away. But he needed to hear it. He needed to know she wouldn't give up on him because of his music. Or because of her father.

Her hands stilled between them, and her eyes, flashes of white in the darkness, met his. She said nothing, only the sounds of their labored breathing breaking the silence.

"How long, Rainey?" he asked, running the long middle finger of his left hand down her cheek and over her lips. "Tell me the truth."

Her breath hitched, and he felt it through his whole body. "Until you let me go," she answered, her voice shaking.

His smile stretched so wide, Jacques's face ached. "I'll never let you go," he swore.

But Rainey didn't return his smile. He watched her frown instead, the deep crease evident even in the dimness. "But you will." Her voice was barely audible, but she might as well have shouted the words, her conviction was so strong.

Jacques shook his head, his smile never wavering. "I won't because I couldn't. Don't you understand, Rainey?" He cupped her face, feeling the supreme satisfaction of holding himself above her as she lay in his bed. The rightness of knowing he'd make love to her again and again before the sun rose, and then he'd awake beside her and want to relive the night and morning for the rest of his life. "I love you."

Her gasp was so sharp, so quick, he nearly missed it, and if he had, he might have worried, because she went still beneath him. So still he was sure she wasn't breathing.

Then her hands came up and gripped his biceps, and when she finally spoke, her voice was a plea. "Jacques?"

He heard the fear and knew at once she needed to hear it again. Maybe all night. And that was fine by him.

"I love you," he said again. "Rainey, I love you." He kissed her once. Twice. By the third one, she kissed him back, her hands coming to his sides and moving slowly up and down his body.

He told himself he didn't need to hear the words in return. Not yet, anyway. The way she looked at him — when they'd made love for the first time, when their eyes met after she'd confronted her father, when she'd teared up at Kate's news — let him know what he needed to know. If she didn't love him yet, she was close enough.

He could say it now for the both of them.

"You're my love, and I'll always come home to you," he vowed. "I don't care if I'm gone two nights or — God forbid — two months, I'll be counting the hours until I'm with you again. And the whole time I'm gone, I'll be writing songs about—"

"Jacques," she interrupted, her grip tightening on his arm, "stop talking for a minute."

He shook his head. "No, I can't. Because I know you. You're going to try to deny what I feel. I love you, and I can't let up until you finally get that—"

"Jacques—"

"—this is the real thing. I've never felt like this before, and I know you're afraid, but—"

"Jacques, damnit, I love you too!" She gave him a little shake, but it was nothing compared to the impact of her words.

Jacques blinked once, and then his smile grew beyond his control. Soon, he laughed at himself, shaking his head.

"I'm a fool," he murmured before covering her face with kisses.

Rainey pushed at him, frowning. "What? Why? Why are you a fool?" she asked, near-panicked. "For loving me?"

Laughter bubbled up from his chest. "No, woman," he said, grasping her interfering hands and pinning them by her head. "For thinking I didn't need to hear you say it. For thinking I could give you more time. I'm a moron... Say it again."

Her smile reshaped the universe. "I love you, Jacques." She tugged her right hand, and he released it. She immediately brought it to his face. "I love you so much."

_I'll never get tired of hearing that._

He understood what a leap it was — after all she'd been through, after all she was going through — to say the words aloud. Even if he'd said them first. She'd never believe it if he swore under oath, but she was the bravest woman he knew.

And she was his.

The thought spurred his desire. The hunger to claim her again with his body now that he'd declared the contents of his heart overtook him. Jacques pushed up on his knees, settling between her legs. His hands landed on the fly of her shorts, and within seconds he'd dispensed with both those and the lace panties he'd one day have to take more time to enjoy.

But not tonight.

"Are you tired?" he whispered above her. Smiling, Rainey shook her head. "Good. You heard me say how much I love you, but now I need to show you."

Then — with his able body, his poet's heart, and his wicked imagination — he did.

# Chapter 28

Rainey's body shot off the bed as she awoke to a trifecta of noise: an uncommonly loud accordion, a man's voice lifted in song, and Archie's incessant and highly disturbed barking.

Her heart was already in mid-gallop when her eyes peeled open, and she had to blink against the assaulting sunlight that nearly lit the unfamiliar room ablaze.

_Where am I?_

She turned her head to the left where Archie zipped back and forth, barking furiously at a closed door that seemed to blast Cajun music like some kind of South Louisiana hell mouth.

"Archie!" she scolded. "Hush!"

As soon as the words left her lips, Rainey felt warm limbs surround her, and Jacques's gravelly groan centered her at last.

"Damnit, Pal," he grumbled, and before Rainey could reply, he yanked a pillow over both of their heads, muffling the painful cacophony.

"What's happening?" she pleaded under the shelter of the pillow, and Jacques pulled her into his embrace as though protecting her from the rest of the world.

"Pal is happening," he croaked, his voice a low roll of discontentment. "I can't apologize enough."

Beneath the covers, she reached for his hand and brought it to her still-racing heart. "It scared the shit out of me."

Jacques pushed himself up, knocking the protective pillow off their heads and looking down at her with a stormy expression.

"Jesus Christ," he muttered, clearly feeling the rapid staccato of her heart. "He's not trying to scare you. He thinks he's being funny."

Rainey's eyes bugged. "He knows I'm here? I mean, for sure he knows Archie's here..."

Jacques gave her a rueful smirk. "Oh, he knows you're here," he said, collapsing on his side next to her.

Rainey rolled to face him. "But how do you know?"

His brow arched. "You hear that song he's playing?"

Of course she could hear it. Everyone on the block could hear it. The accordion wheezed happily, and Jacques's grandfather's voice rose with impressive volume. "I hear it, but he's singing in French. I can't understand it."

He sniffed a laugh, his eyes twinkling. "It's _'Je Suis Tout Pour Toi'."_

"What's that mean?" she asked, almost afraid of the answer.

Jacques licked his lips and appeared to try to tame his smile. Two bright spots of color rose on his cheeks. "It means _I am all for you._ It's also known as the Cajun Wedding Song."

"Oh, my God!" Rainey groaned, reaching for the discarded pillow. She pulled it over her face as mortification coursed through her. "He heard us?"

Even with the pillow over her face, she knew Jacques could make out her question.

"Well, I don't think he heard _everything,"_ he hedged, tugging her closer. Rainey felt the length of his naked body against hers, and she covered her overheating face with her hands, even though she still hid under the pillow.

She groaned. "I'll die if he heard _anything."_

Pulling the pillow off her head, Jacques chuckled. "He probably just heard us come in last night. His bedroom is downstairs on the other side of the house." He peeled her hands away from her face before pressing a kiss to each cheek. "Besides, my love, you were _very_ quiet."

Rainey gave him a squinty stare. "What about you?"

Jacques shrugged. "I was quiet enough. He is pushing eighty, after all. And, baby," Jacques said, tipping his head toward the door and the blaring Cajun song, "just listen to that accordion. He's at ground zero with that thing every day. That's got to cause some hearing loss."

She couldn't help her laugh, even though her cheeks blushed scarlet, and she didn't know if she'd ever been more embarrassed. Smiling, Jacques leaned in and kissed the tip of her nose.

"C'mon. Let's get dressed and head down. I promise, he'll love you. It's impossible not to love you."

The heat scalding her face seemed to pour down her whole body. He'd told her he loved her countless times during the night — a night that had lasted into the wee hours of the morning — and whenever he had, Rainey's heart had executed a triple Salchow and stuck the landing every time.

But now as the organ settled in its rightful place, she could only heave a sigh of dread. Why had she thought she could spend the night with Jacques and face his grandfather in the morning?

"Please don't make me," she pleaded, making her voice sound like a whiny tween.

Jacques laughed at her efforts, but he shook his head and pushed himself up in the bed.

The sight of his bare chest lifted her spirits, but Rainey still didn't want to go through with facing his grandfather. She tucked the edges of the sheet under her arms and got ready to beg, but before she could, Jacques lowered his chin, and his eyes, softening, met hers.

"I know you don't want to, but please come down," he said, his voice gentle, but even in the gentleness, she heard how much he wanted this. "Right now, he's all the family I've got."

His words speared her heart, and Rainey bolted up in bed, shedding her mortification. "Right. Of course." If meeting his grandfather made Jacques happy, then she wasn't about to deny him that. Taking the sheet with her, she slipped out of bed and picked up her clothes strewn around the room to the sound of a new Cajun waltz.

Grinning, Jacques sat in the middle of the bed with the bedspread pooled in his lap. "May I just say how amazing you look wrapped in my sheet?"

She tried to ignore the flutter in her stomach his grin caused. "In _your_ sheet? No other sheet would look as good?" she teased.

Jacques pursed his lips as if considering. "There's no denying you'd look great in _any_ bed sheet, but I think it's fair to say you look best in mine."

Rainey shimmied on her panties while trying to maintain some modicum of modesty. Even after two nights with him, dressing in front of an audience was far out of her comfort zone.

"You're beautiful," he said softly, as though reading her mind. Of course, his compliment only served to make her more self-conscious. She turned her back to him to slip on her bra, but she glanced at him over her shoulder and shook her hips in time to his grandfather's accordion as she did.

"C'mon. Get dressed. Let's go face the music."

Jacques held her hand in his firm grip as they crept out of his bedroom, Archie at their heels, the sound of his grandfather's voice and accordion magnified by the structural megaphone the stairway provided. It was deafening.

It was also hilarious.

And old man with white hair and tan coveralls stood at the foot of the stairs, his body arched back and swaying to the rhythm as he belted out lyrics in French she couldn't possibly understand. His eyes were closed, and he frowned in concentration, but his bellowing mouth was wide with a smile of joy.

Rainey had to press a knuckle to her mouth to keep from giggling. Jacques's grandfather was adorable.

A half-dozen steps from the bottom, Jacques's foot caused the stair to creak, and his grandfather's eyes flew open. They fell on her immediately, and though he didn't miss a beat in his song, his smile widened.

At this welcoming, Rainey managed to feel just a little less embarrassed.

The older man stepped aside to let them descend the stairs, but he kept playing his song until Jacques led all of them to the kitchen. Then he ended the waltz with a flourish.

_"Mais, bon matin et bienvenu, jolie,"_ he said, offering her his hand.

Rainey took it.

_"En anglais, Grandpere._ Rainey doesn't speak French," Jacques said, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

His grandfather's twinkling eyes moved from hers to Jacques's and back. "We might have to fix dat, but welcome all de same, _cher."_ His thick Cajun accent and warm greeting made her smile because he was exactly as Jacques had described him.

"Rainey, this is my grandfather, Albert Gilchrist." He pronounced his grandfather's first name with a French accent, and Rainey found it beautiful. "Pal, this is my girlfriend, Rainey Reeves."

At the word _girlfriend,_ Rainey's heart did a little tap dance. Then she remembered his words of love from the night before, and her four-chambered organ danced _Swan Lake_.

_Don't get carried away,_ she warned it. _Remember where he's headed._ She took a calming breath.

"It's so nice to meet you, Mr. Gilchrist."

The old man's eyes flew open, and he held her hand in a grip that belied his age. _"Mais,_ can't be callin' me dat. I'm Albert, or Grandpere, or Pal, me, but we can't be so formal if you de one T-Jacques set his cap fa." Then he tugged her forward and leaned in as though he were confiding a secret, but his grumbly, old-man voice held the same volume. "He been pinin' fa you a good, long while—"

"Okay, Pal," Jacques interrupted, grabbing her wrist and freeing her hand from his grandfather's hold. "I promised Rainey breakfast, and we're both starved."

He hadn't promised her breakfast, but she didn't mind the fib or the interruption. Pal's declaration had left her speechless anyway. Archie, prancing with excitement and the pointed need to go outside gave her the perfect escape.

"I need to take Archie outside," she begged off. "I'll just be minute."

Jacques led her through the house to the back yard and pressed a kiss to her cheek. "He likes you already. Just relax," he said, wearing his lopsided grin. "I'll get coffee started."

And then he ducked back inside the house while Archie set off to explore the yard. Three minutes later when they returned inside, Jacques met them at the kitchen door.

"Have a seat," he said, steering her to the table before pulling out a chair. "Coffee's on, and I started on breakfast."

Rainey hesitated before sitting. "I can help with that, Jacques," she protested.

"No, _cher,"_ Pal said, shaking his head. He set down his accordion and took the seat at the head of the table. "You let him show you he can put food on da table, yeah. A man dat'll cook fa ya be one you can rest easy marryin'—"

"Pal," Jacques scolded, his expression one of frustration mixed with horror.

Rainey had to bite her lips not to laugh.

Pal threw up his hands with startled innocence. "What wrong wit sayin' dat? You t'ink nobody else was afta Lucille when we was courtin'? If she was alive taday, she'd tell you I was head an shouldas above da res cuz I knew how ta make ma own rice an gravy." He speared Rainey with a mischievous grin. "And it was good rice an gravy, _cher."_

Her laughter won out. How could it not? Rainey officially loved Jacques's grandfather.

At her mirth, Jacques's look of horror eased, but he gave Pal a glower of warning before leaving them at the table and moving to the counter.

"Pal, let's try not to scare her off before she even has a cup of coffee, okay?" he said over his shoulder.

"I'm not scarin' nobody," he said, grinning at Rainey. "'Sides, I t'ink she's tougha dan she looks."

"I know _that,"_ Jacques muttered.

The words were so low Rainey almost missed them, but she hadn't, and they sent a column of warmth down her chest.

"T-boy tole me y'all went on a mission, and ya didn' have much luck," Pal said, giving her a concerned frown. "He said ya sista has somethin' like leukemia."

His sudden change in topic and his candor left her blinking, but Rainey managed to find her voice. "Y-yes. She has aplastic anemia, which..." She shrugged and nodded. "...has a lot in common with leukemia."

Pal made a face as if he'd swallowed something bitter. "Not too good," he murmured shaking his head. "My wife Lucille died a breast canca five years ago... Terrible."

Pal held her gaze as he spoke, offering up the sadness in his eyes, and it was then that Rainey recognized the honesty and rawness she'd always found and admired in Jacques. His grandfather had it too. Her heart, already soft toward him, squeezed.

"Jacques told me," she said softly. "I'm so sorry for your loss."

"Well," he said, giving her a sad smile. "You have to have somethin' first before you lose it. Me and Lucille had it good. We was married fifty-three years when she died. Das a whole lotta good."

Rainey's eyes bugged. "Fifty-three years?! That's incredible," she gushed and glanced at Jacques.

He'd started a fresh pot of coffee and was cracking eggs into a skillet at the stove. She caught him peeking at his grandfather with a proud grin before his eyes found hers. He held her gaze for a moment and then licked his lips.

_"I love you."_ He mouthed the words silently to her, but as far as her soul was concerned, they were shouted from every corner of the earth.

Her chest quaked as she tried for breath. Maybe she was a coward, but she couldn't respond in kind while sitting next to his grandfather.

"Excuse me for a second," she whispered to the man she'd grown quite fond of, and she pushed herself up from the table. Rainey stepped behind Jacques, and laying a hand on the small of his back as he cooked, she spoke loud enough for Pal to hear. "Can I help with anything?"

Smiling at her, Jacques tilted his head toward the cabinets at his left. "You can get down some coffee mugs."

Rainey made sure she kept her back toward Pal when she tapped Jacques on the back to get his eyes.

_"I love you, too,"_ she mouthed when she had his attention.

He gave her a wry smile. "That'll earn you an extra piece of bacon," he teased.

Their flirty game was interrupted when the front door opened. Another old man with a heavily lined face and a friendly smile stepped into the kitchen and greeted Jacques's grandfather, his Cajun accent just as thick.

"Mornin', Albert. I see Jacques's car is back." Then he took in the two of them by the stove in the opposite corner of the kitchen and gave a double jolt of surprise. _"Mais,_ I didn' know you had company."

"Rainey, dis our neighba, Floyd Cloutier," Pal provided, pointing to her with his coffee mug.

She lifted a hand in greeting. "Hello. Nice to meet you."

"Floyd, dat's Rainey Reeves," Pal said. "Dem's courtin'."

Floyd looked at Pal like he was Captain Obvious. "Well, I got eyes, me," he muttered before turning to Jacques and pinning him with a stare. "She know 'bout ma words?"

Beside her, Jacques froze in the middle of flipping a piece of bacon. "Uh, no, Floyd. I can't say the subject's come up."

"What?" Rainey frowned, looking at each man in turn. "What are you talking about?"

Jacques glanced from Floyd and then back to her with a cautious expression. His eyes went back to his neighbor. "I'm guessing you have something to say to her?"

The neighbor's eyes lit with warmth, and his wrinkles made way for a smile. "Dat I do."

Jacques gave a resigned sigh, finished flipping the bacon, and set his spatula on the stovetop. His mouth worked before he met Rainey's eyes. "Floyd has a... _a gift,"_ Jacques said, caution lacing his voice, his eyes watchful.

"A gift?" Rainey looked between Jacques and Floyd. "What kind of gift?"

The older man ducked his head a little demurely, and Rainey couldn't help but smile, even though Jacques's caution made her a tad nervous.

"Well, I got dis way 'bout me. Been like dis since I was a boy," Floyd said, turning up his palms as if he had no explanation. "When I see a body, first t'ing, I see t'ree words dat gonna be part of dere day."

She blinked in rapid succession. "You mean like a premonition?" Her eyes shot to Jacques. He had a psychic neighbor — an old, Cajun man, no less — and in more than twenty hours in the car and three nights in the same bed, this hadn't come up?

"It foolproof," Pal noted with a nod.

Rainey's eyes went back to Floyd. "And you have words for me? Like right now?"

Floyd shrugged. "I got words fa ever'body, but you is new."

Rainey felt a jolt zing through her. When she could speak, she fired off a list of questions. "And they always come true? A-are they ever bad?" she stammered. "Is something bad going to happen today?"

She heard a rattle and turned to see Jacques move his cast iron skillet off the stove. He wiped his hands on a dish towel and stepped in front of Rainey, facing Floyd and giving him a stern look. "Floyd, not everybody is up for your little predictions."

Jacques's protective stance and rush to shield Rainey grounded something within her. He thought she couldn't handle whatever Floyd had to say. He thought — as most of her actions in the time they'd known each other had led him to think — that she wasn't strong enough to handle bad news or an unnerving fortune.

But even if she'd been a weak little weakling, couldn't she change? After all, she'd crossed the South in search of a cure for her sister; she'd told off her no-good father, and she'd given her heart to a musician. If someone would have predicted she'd do any of those things six months ago, she would have called them crazy.

She grabbed Jacques by the elbow. "Hold on a second," she said, mustering courage. "Maybe I want to hear what he has to say."

"Well, do you, _cher?"_ This came from Pal, and he eyed her with warm amusement.

She looked at all three men in turn, her eyes settling on the one she loved. "Give me an example of one of the predictions Floyd's given you."

He folded his arms across his chest, not giving any of his thoughts away. "Sunday when we left?"

"Yeah?" she asked, her stomach tightening.

Jacques arched a brow full of meaning. "Floyd's words for me were berry, Birmingham, and Best Western."

The jolt she'd felt a moment before shot through her with triple force, but she willed herself to stay calm. "Okay, I get Birmingham and Best Western, but why berry?"

Jacques couldn't suppress his grin. "You asked me for berry Capri Sun if they didn't have Tropical Punch." He quirked a sexy, knowing brow at her. "And they didn't have Tropical Punch."

Her mouth fell open, but she smiled all the same, feeling the hair on her arms stand on end. "Okay... that's pretty... wow." She wrinkled her nose at Floyd. "Do you ever predict bad things? I mean, berry, Birmingham, and Best Western..." Her eyes found Jacques. "Those were all good things." Beneath his heated gaze, Rainey recognized a deep happiness.

"Very good things," he murmured.

She pulled her eyes back to Floyd in time to watch him shrug. "Sometimes dey not good." He gave her a friendly grimace. "One time, ma wife Netty, her words was earring, elbow, and electric. Soon as I tole her, she remember de 'lectric bill was due, and she rush down de stairs fa her checkbook, slipped on de last steps, and crack her elbow. Durin' all de commotion 'tween dat and de hospital, she lost a pearl earring somewhere in da mix."

Rainey's eyes went wide. "That's awful!"

Floyd nodded his head in enthusiastic agreement. "Fa t'ree weeks, she didn' want nuttin' ta do wit ma words."

"I don't blame her," Rainey said with a concerned frown. The she shook off her worry. _What the hell_ , she thought. "Okay, just tell me."

Floyd smiled, looking a little relieved to finally have permission. "Watermelon, witness, waiting."

"Watermelon, witness, waiting," she repeated dumbly. _Witness what,_ she wondered. Then she shrugged. "That doesn't sound too bad."

Jacques gave her an arch look. "Just don't choke on a watermelon seed," he said, half-serious, as though hearing Floyd's prediction for her had made him just as nervous.

"I'll do my best," she teased.

He gave her a look that seemed to say _"You'd better,"_ and then he turned back to the stove. "Breakfast is ready."

Jacques was meeting the rest of Heroine at Kate and Kara's dad's office to go over the record deal they'd received, so after breakfast, he drove Rainey and Archie home.

The ride felt like a free fall.

Even though Jacques's neighborhood was just a few minutes from hers, she couldn't help but take out her crochet hook and yarn. She'd finished her shorts, but she'd bought enough of the sea-glass green yarn to make a cover-up, and she might as well keep herself busy. After spending three solid days with Jacques, she was going to have serious withdrawals.

_Floyd should have added_ withdrawals _to his list of words,_ she thought fitfully.

"You okay?" Jacques asked when they stopped at the light at Johnston and St. Mary.

"Yeah," she fibbed. "Why do you ask?"

He gave her a no-nonsense look. "Because your shoulders are up around your ears, and you haven't said a word since you told Pal and Floyd goodbye."

She brought her eyes back to the yarn in her lap. "I'm just... thinking about getting back to reality," she hedged.

Jacques's hand settled on her knee, and she found herself meeting his gaze. "Are you worried about Holi?" he asked.

She hesitated for only a second. Holi hadn't exactly been the focus of her concern. "Yes... of course."

He narrowed his eyes at her, but before he could press, the light changed, and she pointed to it. "It's green," she offered.

Jacques negotiated the turn onto Johnston Street, but he said nothing until he merged into the turning lane in front of Fatima Church.

"So, my meeting's in twenty minutes."

Rainey eyed his profile. He didn't look at her, and he didn't say more. "Yeah?" she prompted.

A long moment passed. A break in traffic allowed him to make the turn into her neighborhood.

"Yeah. So... I'm wondering if you're going to tell me what's really bothering you before I have to leave."

Rainey sighed, but she didn't want to give ground and look like a coward. "It's nothing. I'm fine," she said, and she told herself she would be. No matter what. That almost made it the truth. Didn't it?

Jacques pulled into her driveway, killed the engine, and gave her a hard stare. Rainey found it easy to smile at his serious, scrutinizing expression. Serious and scrutinizing — like everything else — looked good on Jacques Gilchrist. Her best defense, she decided was to stare back, even if she had to bite her lip to keep her smile in check.

He narrowed his eyes at her. "You're so damn cute. Even when you're keeping something from me." He gave a tight shake of his head. "It's infuriating."

"I told you everything when I said I love you." It was an equivocation, but no less true. Telling him she loved him summed it all up. He had her heart. And it would hurt like hell when he gave it back to her.

Jacques's serious expression softened. "I don't know how long this will take, but I want to see you tonight."

She wanted to see him too. And she hoped _seeing_ him meant sleeping in the same bed. Among other things.

"I'd like that," she admitted. "You're welcome to come over. I think I should be here tonight. Ash has had to do everything for Holi solo for the last three days, so I want to be here to pitch in."

Jacques nodded. "Of course." Then his eyes locked with hers. "As long as I'm welcome, I'll be here."

Rainey's breath hitched. It was in moments like this — moments like last night when he'd said he loved her, moments like the look in his eyes after she'd walked away from her father — when Rainey could abandon all doubt.

_Maybe this can work._

"You are always welcome," she vowed, and Jacques, shaking off the last of his scrutiny, rewarded her with a genuine smile. He reached for her, wrapped a hand behind her neck, and tugged her to him.

He kissed her once and spoke against her lips. "Have I told you this was the best road trip of my life?" He pulled back just far enough so he could look into her eyes. His were soft and warm.

"Um... no, but I can safely say the same." She hoped he knew it was true. She'd travelled all over as a kid, but the last few days had been better than the best tour stop or family vacation. If Rainey ever had the chance to do it again, she'd claim it without looking back.

Jacques pressed his lips to hers again, lingering, savoring before he pulled back. "I'll help you in with your bags."

Rainey shook her head and unlatched her seatbelt. "You'll be late. This meeting is too important."

Despite her words, Jacques was out of the car and carrying her backpack and now empty ice chest to the front porch before she could stop him. She collected Archie, her purse, and craft bag and followed him.

"You need to go, Jacques," she scolded gently. He'd set down his load by her front door, and when she reached him, he turned and threw his arms around her.

"I'm going," he said, kissing her one last time. And then he was walking backward as he spoke. "I'll see you tonight."

He was halfway to the Impala when the words bubbled up inside her. "Thank you!" she shouted. "Thank you for everything!"

Jacques gave a wave as he opened the driver's side door. "I love you."

"I love you!" she shouted back.

And then he was gone.

_I'll see him tonight,_ she reminded himself, knowing full well that the meeting ahead would change everything for him. For them. But she took a fortifying breath and opened her front door, ready to face whatever the future held.

The living room, at least, held her sister, who lay stretched out on the couch, blinking at the slice of sunlight Rainey's entrance poured over her.

"Hi!" A smile quickly followed her startled greeting. "I didn't expect you back this early." Holi made to push herself up, and Rainey quickly protested.

"Don't get up. I didn't mean to wake you," she said, setting down her bags and unclipping Archie's leash. The dog ran forward, and despite her protests, Holi sat and patted her lap for him.

"Hey, Archie-boy, I missed you." The poodle hopped up and let her shower him with affection. Holi looked at her sister. "Where's Jacques?"

Rainey carried the ice chest toward the kitchen and stopped at the counter. Half a Sugar Baby watermelon rested on a cutting board next to two crescent-shaped slices. A shiver ran down her spine.

"He... uh... he had to go to a meeting." In her distracted state, she blurted Jacques's news. "Heroine got a record deal."

"Holy crap! Are you serious?" Holi's shock pulled Rainey out of her stupor, and she looked back at her sister.

"Yeah, it sounds like a big deal... I'm really happy for him." _I_ am _really happy for him,_ she thought with a genuine sense of relief.

She felt Holi's eyes on her as she rinsed out the ice chest. "So, what's going on with you two? Still just friends?" Her voice dripped with doubt.

Rainey faced her again. "I'm in love with him." The words were easier to admit than she would have imagined.

Holi blinked. "Well, I knew that before you left. The question is, does he know it?"

The corner of her mouth tugged up disobediently. "He knows it. And he feels the same." Then she ripped a wad of paper towels from the roll on the counter. "Not that it will matter in the end."

Holi's eyes narrowed in distaste. "Why do you have to be so fatalistic? Why not just enjoy what life is giving you right now?"

Hearing the words from her sister — who was being forced to come to terms with her own mortality — left Rainey dumbstruck.

"You're right," she said, setting the clean ice chest on the counter. She walked across the space and took a seat on the couch beside Holi. "Of course, you're right. I just..."

Holi raised an expectant brow. "You just what?"

"The way I feel for him?" Rainey struggled to put everything into words. "It's so big... so much greater than anything I've felt before that it's hard to put the fear of the inevitable aside."

"Rainey," Holi said, shaking her head, "take it from me. You can't know what the future holds."

She shrugged and tried to swallow the sudden lump in her throat. Her future held loss, and pretending otherwise was just delusional. "So, you mean I should just be happy with what I have now?"

Holi's hand closed around her wrist. "Yes... and no."

Rainey frowned at her sister.

"I mean, yes, of course you should be happy with what you have now. Now is all any of us can guarantee, but—" She sighed, clearly frustrated as she grasped for the right words. "—don't be... don't be afraid to h-hope." Her voice broke on the last word, and Rainey's eyes flew wide.

"Holi—"

Holi shook her head with a fierce look in her eye and squeezed Rainey's wrist almost painfully. "No. I'm not crying today," she vowed, her voice straining with the effort. She cleared her throat. "Ash asked me to marry him last night, and I said yes."

Holi held up her left hand and displayed a ring that absolutely dwarfed her frail finger. Rainey gasped, and her vision blurred with sudden tears of joy.

"Oh, my God, Holi!" At once, she crushed her sister in her embrace, overcome with emotion. Tears streamed down her face, yet she found herself laughing. "That is _wonderful_ news."

Holi squeezed her in return. "I knew you'd feel that way," she said, still straining to speak.

How she could keep from crying at a time like this, Rainey would never know. But when Holi pulled back, she saw her sister was blinking away tears.

"We're not waiting. We're going to do it Saturday."

"Saturday!?" Rainey remembered the feeling of being struck in the head with a volleyball in eighth grade P.E. The sensation of surprise was exactly the same.

Holi nodded. "We'll do it here. It'll be simple and small. Just family. Ash's dad is friends with a justice of the peace, and he's agreed to officiate," Holi said, brushing her hand through the air. "We're not doing any of the flowers or dresses or bridal parties or anything like that, but we'd like you and Ash's brother Tyler to act as our witnesses."

Rainey felt — she actually felt — the blood rush from her head. _Watermelon, witness, waiting_. "W-witnesses?" she managed.

Holi shrugged. "You know, be my maid of honor without all the fuss."

Rainey gripped her sister's hand and hoped she wouldn't pass out. "O-of course," she stammered. "I'd be honored."

Holi frowned at her. "You okay? You look a little pale there."

Rainey quickly shook her head. "It's just a surprise. A very happy surprise."

"You understand, right?" Holi asked, pinning Rainey with her gaze. "We don't know what's going to happen. But we're making the most of what we have and hoping for the best."

The lump in Rainey's throat quadrupled in size and tears leaked from her eyes. For a moment, all she could do was nod. "I understand."

# Chapter 29

"I can't make it tonight, Rainey," Jacques spoke over the phone, his voice heavy with disappointment. "I'm so sorry."

Her afternoon had been a whirlwind of planning and phone calls. Holi and Ash might have been satisfied with a wedding without any fuss, but Melinda and Rainey took it upon themselves to make a little fuss. The wedding, at the very least, would have flowers, champagne, and a cake. And with a party as small as theirs, why not have Ruffino's, Holi's favorite restaurant, cater?

"Oh, my gosh," she gushed, still adrenalized with happiness. "It's no big deal. You won't believe what's happening here. Holi and Ash are getting married — Saturday!"

"W-wow!" she heard him splutter. "As in this Saturday?"

"Yeah, I know. Pretty sudden, right?" She hadn't stopped beaming because Holi hadn't stopped beaming. She almost looked healthy again. Rainey knew the exhaustion would catch up with her, but for now, the household hummed with joy. "Do you guys have a show? Can you make it? It's going to be super small, but I'd love for you to be here and—"

Rainey gasped as the most amazing idea took form in her head.

"Wait a minute! If you can make it, would you be willing to play something? For the ceremony, I mean? Is it weird that I'm asking? If it makes you feel awkward, please just say—"

"Rainey."

She halted her litany of questions, realizing she sounded like a maniac. "Yes?"

Jacques cleared his throat. "I wish I could be there. Truly. But the reason I can't come tonight..." He paused.

She heard him breathing. It was a sound she realized she loved. She'd heard him breathing for three days and nights, and the rhythm now felt like home.

"We signed the contract."

Her heart bubbled over with genuine glee and more than her fair share of pride. "Jacques, that's great!" she cheered.

"Yeah, yeah it is."

She could hear the satisfaction in his voice, but his tone held an edge, too. A little hesitation. A little doubt.

"It's just... They want to get things moving right away. We're flying out to L.A. tomorrow for two weeks to shoot three music videos and do photoshoots for the album and the media kit for the tour—"

Rainey's mouth fell open. "The tour?" she heard herself ask.

"Yeah." Jacques chuckled. "The contract is for distribution of the album we cut, plus a second album to be released later this summer, and a ten-city tour. Can you believe it?"

Rainey blinked. He was going to L.A. ahead of a ten-city tour. "Yes," she said emphatically. "Yes, I can believe it."

She heard him laugh, the sound happy and loose.

"Well, that makes one of us."

Rainey willed herself to overcome her shock, but she couldn't help the sobering of her voice. "Jacques, I'm so, so happy for you."

He was quiet for a moment. "Aw, Rainey..." It was almost a moan.

"What? What's wrong?"

He sighed. "I really want to see you tonight, but I've got a million things to do, and our flight leaves at 5:20 tomorrow morning."

Rainey steeled herself against disappointment. "Is there anything I can do?"

Jacques hesitated. "You've got your own stuff going on. I'm not going to ask you to drop everything and come over."

Rainey was about to tell him that, indeed, she could — if he didn't mind her riding her bike, which she knew he would — when he spoke.

"Would you...?"

Her heart leaped. "Would I what?"

His voice was soft, low. Almost liquid. "Would you leave your door unlocked so I can slip in tonight and at least lie with you for a few hours before I have to leave?"

Taking a cue from his voice, her bones softened too. "Yes," she answered, the word breathy and low. "Yes, of course."

"Mmm..." His deep voice rumbled into her ear and tickled all the way down. "...good. Good. I don't know when I'll get there, but I'll get there."

Not that she expected him to, but he didn't get there by dinnertime. And he didn't get there hours later, when her fingers were too tired to crochet, and the words of her latest Kristen Ashley novel started to swim together.

She sat bolt upright to a pitch-black room what felt like hours later. She searched the bed with her hands and found only Archie and empty sheets. The clock read 1:12 a.m., and she flopped back on her bed, heavy with disappointment. The house was completely silent. No hushed latching of the front door or welcome masculine footfalls on the stairs. She stared up at the ceiling, wide awake. His flight would leave in just four hours. He'd have to be at the airport in three.

He wasn't coming.

Rainey reached for the phone at her bedside. Jacques would have texted if he'd realized he couldn't come.

Her home screen stared back at her completely free of messages. She toyed with the idea of texting him to see if he was okay, but then she forced herself to set aside her phone. Rainey knew she'd never survive the next two weeks — much less a ten-city tour and whatever came after that — if she let herself start chasing him down for contact now. She closed her eyes and willed sleep to come...

And then the mattress sunk beneath her, and Jacques's arms wrapped around her.

"Mmm... you feel so good."

Rainey woke up smiling, gripping Jacques's shoulders. "What time is it?" she whispered.

He nuzzled her neck, pulling her closer as he stretched out beside her. "It's a little after two. I have to go in a couple of hours, but I needed to see you." His voice was gravelly, and he sounded exhausted.

She rubbed a hand down his back. "Have you slept?"

"Not yet. It's been crazy. That meeting took hours. I've never signed my name so many times." Jacques gave a sleepy chuckle. "Then Kate wanted to squeeze in a rehearsal since we hadn't played together in a few days, and she didn't want us to be rusty when we got to L.A."

Jacques let out a half groan, half yawn and ran his hand up and down her side. "Then we packed up our gear. I went home and brought Pal up to speed... made sure he'd be set for a couple of weeks... talked to my dad... showered... packed... then I came here."

Rainey kept rubbing his back. "You need to rest."

He kissed her neck and then kissed her lips. "I'll sleep on the plane."

Despite his words, Rainey could feel the heaviness in his limbs. She rolled into him so that he moved onto his back and she draped herself across his body. Jacques heaved a great sigh, his arms settling around her waist.

"Rest," she ordered.

She felt him nod, and in a matter of seconds, his breathing evened out. When she was certain he was asleep, she reached across to her nightstand, picked up her phone, and set a two-hour timer so he wouldn't miss his flight. And then she settled onto him again, the solid warmth of his body the most welcoming of beds. She lay wide awake, feeling the rise and fall of his chest and listening to his breath, doubtful that sleep would return before her alarm rang.

He had come to her. Just as he'd said he would.

And based on his account of the evening, he'd come as soon as he could. Jacques had chosen her over sleep. With a day full of travel ahead of him.

Rainey rested her hand on his chest and felt the beating of his heart. His true, loving heart. And sleep took her.

She awoke to full sun, a hungry and impatient Archie, and an otherwise empty bed. Frowning, Rainey picked up her phone. It held two texts from Jacques. The first was received at 4:07 a.m. The second at 6:30 a.m.

* * *

_J acques: You are so beautiful. I can't bear to wake you, but I promise, I did kiss you goodbye. I love you._

_Jacques: Just landed in Houston. Our flight to L.A. boards in 40 min. I'll text when we land. Love you._

* * *

Her phone told her it was five minutes to eight, so chances were his flight had already taken off, but she replied just in case.

* * *

_R ainey: You are a scoundrel for not waking me up so I could kiss YOU goodbye. I'll forgive you this time. Have a good flight. I love you, too._

* * *

To Archie's obvious relief, she flung the covers aside and followed him downstairs to his food bowl.

A shower and a cup of coffee later, Rainey tackled the job of placing the catering order for Saturday night and finding a florist who could do a bridal bouquet, a handful of boutonnieres, and a few arrangements for the house on short notice. The first florist told her he couldn't possibly squeeze them in for Saturday, but the second was only too happy to oblige. She even directed Rainey to the shop's website where she could choose her design and place her order. So, Rainey and Holi spent an hour doing just that.

"Ash already bought the rings," Holi said when they were done. She sat on the couch next to Rainey, her eyes turning wistful. "I just wish..."

Rainey's ears perked. "You just wish what?"

Holi shook her head. "It's not important."

"Um, Holi, if it's about your wedding, then it's important." Rainey said, all seriousness.

Her sister studied her for a moment, seeming to debate whether or not she'd share what was on her mind.

Rainey let out an impatient huff. "Would you tell me, already?"

Holi stared at her, both startled and amused. "Something's different about you," she said, narrowing her eyes at her sister.

It was Rainey's turn to look startled. "What do you mean?"

"I don't know. That's what I'm trying to figure out," Holi said, the corners of her mouth turning up in a smile. "It's like you're gone for a few days, and you come back ready to kick ass and take names."

"What?!"

"Yeah, like yesterday, when I told you Ash and I were going to have a simple ceremony. No cake. No flowers. No nothing," she said, her smile growing. "You wouldn't hear of it. You were like a woman possessed, laying out plans, ordering a cake, getting a stylist to come to the house Saturday to do our hair and makeup—"

"Well, you're getting married," Rainey defended "You deserve to shine on your wedding day. If you feel like I'm meddling—"

Holi's hand closed over hers. "I _don't_ feel like you're meddling. I feel like you're taking charge, and I love it." Holi's eyes were wide and clear, and she held Rainey's gaze with unyielding focus. "I don't know what happened to you on that road trip. I don't know if it was admitting to yourself that you've fallen for that hunka-hunka-hotty-rock-star or if it was you swooping down on Dad and telling him what a sack of shit he is, but something about you has changed. And it's changed for the better."

Rainey could only swallow. If she'd changed, shouldn't she feel different? Did she feel different?

"I don't know, Holi," she hedged. "I still feel like me."

Holi studied her for a moment. "Maybe it's too soon for you to see it," she said gently. "But I see it, and it's a welcome sight."

The force of Holi's gaze made her feel like a butterfly specimen under glass. She shook off Holi's hand. "Okay, whatever. Enough about me," she said, wanting to move the attention off her. "What were you about to say? What do you wish you could have for your wedding day?'

Holi sat back, looking contemplative. "It's not really for me. It's for Ash."

"What?" Rainey pressed.

"I want—" Holi bit her lip. "—I want to surprise him with something."

Rainey felt herself smile. "Tell me. Maybe I can help."

Holi drew up her knees onto the couch and turned to face Rainey. "Well, you know what we always say to each other?"

Rainey bit her lip to keep from giggling. "You mean when he says, 'I love you, Holiday,' and you say—"

"'I love you back, every night and every day,'" she finished, blushing now. "Yeah, that."

Rainey let herself giggle then. "What about it?"

The wistful look returned to Holi's eyes. "I wish I could put that inside his wedding band." Then she shrugged. "Not the whole thing, but maybe just the 'every night and every day."

"Oh, my God!" Rainey crowed. "That's so sweet!"

For the first time, Holi looked doubtful. Rainey couldn't remember the last time she saw her sister looking doubtful. "You think so?"

"Of course!" she shouted. "He'll love it!

Relief stole over Holi's features, but she quickly bit her lip again, looking hesitant. "I know it's asking a lot, but could you help me do it?"

Rainey gripped her sister's hand. "Holi, of course I'll help you do it. I'll take it to a jeweler's today. Surely they'll be able to have it ready by Saturday."

"Thank you, Rainey," Holi said, her eyes softening with emotion. "This means a lot to me."

Rainey wanted to tell Holi that she'd do anything for her, but she knew they'd both end up in tears if she went there, so instead she kept her words practical.

"Where's the ring?"

Rainey helped Holi up the stairs and to her room. When she took the black velvet box from her dresser, Holi hesitated again before handing it to Rainey.

"Are you sure you don't mind? Even if you go to Buttross Jewelers, you'd have to wait for the bus both ways," she said, wincing. "It would take like an hour."

Rainey snatched the box from her. "I don't mind setting off on a romantic mission for my sister," she said smirking with mischief. "Besides, maybe I'll walk there and catch the bus on the way back."

Holi tried to protest. "Rainey—"

"It's like a mile and a half. I'll probably beat the bus."

Holi sat on the edge of her bed. "I hate being sick. I'm too tired to argue with you."

Rainey tossed her head back with a laugh. "Then don't argue with me and get some rest. I'll be back before you know it."

Ring box in hand, Rainey left her sister to rest and headed downstairs. She stopped at the hall tree that stood by the door to collect her purse and sunglasses. The walk would be sunny and warm, so she didn't want to carry more than was necessary. Just her phone and her wallet.

When she turned to the door, her eye fell on the brass, wall-mounted key rack. Rainey stopped and stared. Holi's car keys hung next to her house keys.

Rainey stood perfectly still. The hairs on the back of her neck and down her arms rose. A pulse of energy moved down her spine all the way to her heels. Her feet felt grounded.

Not stuck. But steady.

No one else was around. No one would know if she tried and failed.

Before she could think twice, Rainey grabbed Holi's keys and walked outside. She descended the porch steps and found herself standing in front of Holi's Cooper. It was a hardtop four-door. Pepper white. As cute as a car was allowed to be.

She'd ridden in it — both shotgun and in the tight back seat — countless times. But now, she tiptoed to the driver's side and gripped the door handle. It was warm from the late morning sun, and the warmth felt reassuring.

Rainey pulled the door open and stared at the steering wheel. The driver's seat. The brake and gas pedals. Holi had renewed her driver's license online three years ago when the Office of Motor Vehicles had mailed Rainey the renewal form. Rainey had thought it was a waste of the thirty-five-dollar fee at the time, but now she was grateful to her sister for being so pushy.

_I can just get in. Nothing wrong with just getting in._

She raised a foot and lowered herself onto the black leather seat. She placed her hands on the leather steering wheel as the driver's seat seemed to hug her. The wheel felt molded to her grip, yet supple.

She tugged the door closed and for a moment allowed herself to listen to the insulated silence of the car's interior. Even the sound of her breath seemed to be muted. And that was a comfort because her breath was steady.

Rainey realized she felt no fear.

What she felt — aside from an awareness that was so acute she thought she could feel each cell in her body hum with life — was fear's absence. As though the place it used to be was hollowed out. Like a lost tooth.

And it was just as fascinating. She wanted to probe the empty space like a six-year-old with the tip of her tongue, but even in the absence of fear, on the periphery of her awareness was something shadowy and immaterial. That, she knew instinctively, was the fear of the fear. The feeling that although it slept now, the fear could return if she wasn't careful. But if she was careful, she could sneak past it.

With this thought, Rainey pressed the ignition button.

After three days in the Impala, the purr of the Cooper was so gentle, Rainey pressed the gas to make sure it was really running. The engine revved obediently, the sound, she found, surprisingly satisfying.

She laid her right hand over the gearshift and saw that her fingers trembled. Again, she had the wherewithal to understand that it wasn't fear but adrenaline that made them shake. Moving it down one notch, the car shifted into reverse.

_All you have to do is let up on the brake, and you'll be driving._

Her heart, now an excited flutter in her chest, made itself known like an untrained puppy wishing for attention. Ignoring it, she eased her foot off the brake, and the Cooper rolled back slowly.

It was then that the pores over her temples opened. On instinct, she checked the rearview and saw that her path was clear. A quick glance over each shoulder told her that the road was free of oncoming traffic. With shaking hands, she coaxed the steering wheel 120 degrees and reversed neatly onto Oakview.

And then she froze.

Rainey listened to the inhale and exhale of three steady breaths. Desperately, she wanted to shift the car into drive and take off. Instead, she wiped her thumb across her upper lip, which was now dotted with perspiration, and she swallowed a noisy gulp.

Then her phone rang.

The sound startled her so that her foot slipped off the brake, and she jolted backward for a jarring half second before she stomped down on it again.

"Holy crap!"

Her phone rested next to her purse on the seat beside her, and, blessedly, the name across the screen read _Jacques._ She swiped at the screen and stabbed the speakerphone icon.

"J-Jacques?" she called, her voice shaking.

"Hey, baby, you there? It's hard to hear you."

She grabbed the phone and held it, shaking, in front of her. "I-I'm here. Are you in L.A.?"

"Yeah, we made it," he said. Then there was a short pause. "You okay? You sound funny."

She hesitated. "Um..." The sound of his voice eased something inside her, but she had no idea how she would explain what she was doing. She wasn't even a hundred percent sure what she was doing.

Was she planning to drive all the way to the jewelers? Granted, the whole distance round-trip was less than three miles. And when she thought about — pictured maneuvering the car up Oakview, making a left turn onto Johnston Street, crossing the two intersections between her neighborhood and the South College Shopping Center, and pulling into the parking lot — Rainey knew deep in her soul that she would make the trip safely.

And, yet, the act of drawing down the gearshift into drive and pressing the gas pedal seemed as hard as base-jumping with a sketchy parachute.

"Rainey?" Jacques asked, breaking through the silence. "Where are you?"

Rainey gripped the steering wheel in her left hand and cradled the phone in her right. "I-I'm in Holi's car."

He paused, and the silence that followed seemed almost prescient. "Rainey, are you _driving?"_

A nervous laugh left her. How could he tell? Was it just the tremor in her voice? The logic that Holi wouldn't be driving? Or was it something else entirely?

"Um... I don't know if you could call it driving... I'm behind the wheel," she offered. "I started the car and reversed out of the driveway, and now I'm just idling in the middle of the road in front of my house."

"Wh-what?!" His startled chuckle sounded almost giddy. "Are you serious?"

"Yes," she said, the corners of her mouth turning up just a little at his laugh.

"Who's with you? Are you driving Holi? Is she okay?"

"U-uh," she stammered. "Um... Holi's in the house. It's just me."

"Rainey..." Awe replaced humor, and his voice came out hushed. "Oh, my God."

Her chest quaked, her breath coming out choppy. She was torn between the sound of his admiration and her own sense of paralysis. Rainey knew if she gave up now, Jacques would look at the step she'd taken as nothing less than triumph.

But she would be disappointed.

"I want to do this." Her voice came out raw and uneven. "I just don't know if I can."

"You can, baby. You can do anything." The warmth and conviction in his voice wrapped around her like an embrace.

But its comfort couldn't lift her limbs into action. Rainey let go a shaky sigh.

"Talk to me," he urged.

She bit her lip. "It's like I'm frozen... or... I don't know. Maybe I'm afraid I'll be frozen," she said, the words coming out in a rush.

"Like you'll pull into traffic and just stop?" he asked gently.

Rainey nodded and then spoke aloud. "Yes, like that."

"And you want to do this? Right now?"

She gritted her teeth against the swell of emotion. "Yes. My God, yes!" Tears blurred her vision. She dashed them away with a flick of her wrist, and she swallowed the unwelcome thickness in her throat. "I'm so tired of being stuck in one place. I'm so tired of being this... this... _victim_ of my own life."

"Rainey—"

She interrupted his consoling tone. "No, I'm twenty-three years old, and I don't even know what I want to do with my life. I have no goals. No plans. The only thing I've allowed myself to excel at is avoiding pain. Avoiding life. I need to do this _right now."_

"So do it." Jacques's voice carried a gentle insistence. "You're ready."

Rainey blinked. She hadn't expected him to urge her on — though Rainey should have known he would.

"Wh-what if I freeze up and stall in the middle of traffic?"

"Cars stall on the roads all the time. It's no big deal," he soothed. "Besides, I'll stay on the line with you. If you stall, I'll talk you through it. Do you have me on speakerphone?"

Love — all-encompassing, all eclipsing — poured from the center of her soul.

"Yes... Jacques—" she breathed, emotion swallowing her voice. Rainey placed the phone in her lap and gripped the steering wheel.

"Is the car in drive?"

At his question, she swallowed, and with hands still shaking, she shifted into gear. At this achievement, she gave a great, shuddering sigh of relief.

"It is now," she said, laughing and feeling slightly hysterical.

"Okay... What's your destination? How far do you need to go?"

"I-I'm going to Buttross Jewelers on Johnston."

"Oh, that's not far at all," he encouraged. "You got this."

Rainey rolled her eyes. "I _feel_ like an idiot."

"You're a survivor. A warrior," Jacques countered with feeling. "You blow my mind every day. Now, step on the gas."

Without a thought, Rainey stepped on the gas — perhaps with just a little more force than necessary because the Cooper lunged forward, and Rainey slammed on the brakes with squeak.

"What happened?"

Rainey pressed her lips together and breathed in her nose for three seconds. "I just got excited," she said on the exhale.

"Well, that's understandable," Jacques said with a smile in his rumbly voice. "This is exciting."

She snorted a laugh at his ridiculous statement, but she lifted her foot off the brake. "Trying again," she muttered, and then she pressed lightly onto the gas, and the car rolled forward at what could only be described as a geriatric pace.

"You driving?" Jacques asked.

"I'm moving," she responded. "At about six miles per hour."

This time Jacques laughed. "You're driving, Rainey. You're doing it!"

Rainey sat up straight. He was right. After six years, she was, in fact, doing it. She released a shaky laugh and pressed the gas a little harder, bringing the needle of the speedometer up to fifteen miles per hour.

"How's it feel?" he asked, and all she could picture was his adorable lopsided grin.

"Terrifying... a-and exhilarating. Though I think a granny with a walker just passed me up."

The sound of Jacques's laughter burst from her phone.

"And, since Holi doesn't know what I'm doing, technically this is grand theft auto."

His continued laughter made her shoulders loosen. She scanned the length of the street and saw the traffic zipping by on Johnston. In a moment of clarity, she realized it would be easier to make a left onto the busy street one block over at the light on Twin Oaks. At the break in the median, Rainey made a slow U-turn and gave thanks none of her neighbors were coming or going today. They certainly wouldn't get anywhere in a hurry.

"Where are you now?" Jacques asked after his laughter eased.

"I'm heading to the light on Twin Oaks where there's a left arrow."

"Smart woman," Jacques murmured.

She rounded the bend at the bottom of the hairpin turn that separated Oakview from Twin Oaks. "How was the trip?"

"Not bad. I slept most of the way. When Kate would shut up, that is," he said dryly.

"Oh, and by the way—" Rainey leveled, frowning. "—you left without waking me up to say goodbye. Not cool, Gilchrist."

"Hey, now, I explained my rationale," Jacques defended before his voice softened. "You looked too perfect. I couldn't wake you. Like I said, I kissed you goodbye."

"Yeah, but I don't remember it," she grumbled.

He gave a low chuckle. "It was a good kiss," his deep voice purred. "Take my word for it."

Rainey realized with some surprise that she'd approached the intersection and come to a full stop. All without incident. Talking to Jacques was definitely helping.

"What's L.A. like?"

"Well, I can tell you what LAX is like."

"You haven't left the airport?" she asked. The light turned green, and with a flutter of nerves, Rainey pressed the gas and followed the car in front of her. It was, admittedly, very easy.

"We're walking to baggage claim," he said. "But for an airport, there's lots of natural light, it's very crowded, and rather modern."

"Somehow, that doesn't surprise me," she muttered.

"Are you still waiting for the light to change?" he asked.

Rainey found herself smiling. "No, I turned. I'm on Johnston."

"Alright!" he cheered. "Just keep going. You're doing great."

She couldn't help her blush. "Do you have any idea how weird and embarrassing it is to have your boyfriend cheer for you for driving down the road?"

Jacques's response was as dry as paper. "Nope. I've never had a boyfriend."

To her horror, Rainey snorted a laugh, and this made Jacques laugh in return.

"Seriously, babe, don't be embarrassed. This is _huge._ " His voice softened again. "I'm so proud of you."

Rainey braked at the intersection of Johnston and South College. Just one more block and a left turn, and she'd be at the jewelry store. The excitement of the prospect and the feeling behind Jacques's words set her heart beating a little faster.

She inhaled deeply and let out her breath. "Thank you."

The light turned green, and as though she'd driven every day for the last six years, Rainey hit the gas.

Could it really be that simple? Had it always been just that simple?

She crossed the intersection and immediately signaled to make a left. Waiting for a break in traffic should have been the scariest part. She couldn't just rely on a traffic signal to tell her what to do. She'd have to use her own judgment and wait for a safe opportunity to cross.

But when the time came, a gap opened up so wide, she could have crawled across it with time to spare. Rainey turned and found a parking spot in front of the jeweler's.

"I'm here," she said, the truth of what she'd done settling over her. "I did it."

"You did it," Jacques echoed, pride stoking his voice.

Rainey laughed, her eyes tearing as she did. "I-it was easy."

Jacques laughed too. "You sound surprised."

"I am surprised... and maybe..." She struggled for words. "...maybe a little mad at myself. I mean, would it have been this easy six years ago?"

Jacques's tone changed completely. He almost scolded. "Clearly not. It was easy because you were ready." Then his voice gentled. "You weren't ready six years ago."

She could accept that, but surely she'd lost time. Wasted years stuck in this one circumstance of her life.

"But what about two years ago or last year?" she asked, desperate to find the answer.

Jacques cleared his throat. "Well, I don't know. Are you the same person today as you were a year ago?"

Rainey spluttered a laugh, the truth hitting her like a 2 X 4. "No. No, I'm not."

Indeed, she wasn't the same person she'd been six months ago. Looking back now, she saw a series of circumstances that had forced her to outgrow the fear that had ruled her life. Her mother and Kendall had moved to Galveston at the end of November, taking with them half of Rainey's social circle and the better part of her safety net.

And then Holi had fallen ill just weeks later. They hadn't known her diagnosis then, of course, but even little things in the household had to change, though neither sister really noticed at the time. Rainey had to go to the store more — on foot or on bicycle — for things like ibuprofen, the ingredients for chicken soup, prescription antibiotics.

Of course, learning Holi's diagnosis and meeting Jacques, which had happened almost simultaneously, were the two greatest agents of change in Rainey's life. For the first time in six years, she wanted. She wanted to help her sister, and she wanted Jacques.

Both of those desires — no, those needs — had propelled her far outside her comfort zone. First loving Holi and then loving Jacques had led her to where she was now. Literally and figuratively.

"I'm not the same person... or if I am, then I know myself better," she said, speaking her understanding as it came to her.

"And what do you know?" His gentle question took away any self-consciousness.

"That I'm stronger. I'm either stronger than I was before or I'm stronger than I realized."

Jacques's voice was a low rumble. "My money's on the second one."

His response made her smile, but she also knew her progress wasn't just about strength. "And I've learned some things about myself. Some things I didn't like."

Jacques _tsked._ "What's not to like?"

"Before you — before our trip together — I was choosing fear over love. I think that's something I learned from my dad... and I don't want to live like that."

She heard his intake of breath. "May I say how glad I am to hear that?"

Rainey laughed her answer, but then she sobered, needing to tell him the rest. "It's because of you. Being with you made me see myself clearly."

"Rainey, that's—" She heard him clear his voice. "—that's probably the best thing anyone's ever told me. Thank you."

"No, thank you," she said, her throat tightening. "No matter what happens between us, you've given me an incredible gift."

"Rainey," his voice hardened. "I'll be back in two weeks. Don't you dare talk like this is goodbye."

"I'm not," she denied. But Rainey knew that the coming months for him would be a whirlwind like nothing he could imagine. If there was going to be a goodbye, she needed him to know what he'd done for her. And now might be her best chance. "I just needed you to know that. Besides... if one of us is going to say goodbye, it won't be me."

She swallowed hard, the truth of her words burning all the way down.

"Well, it sure as hell won't be me," Jacques growled, his voice tight and angry.

Rainey brushed sudden tears from her eyes with the heel of her hand, his vehement words making her absurdly happy.

"Well," she echoed, forcing the words past the lump in her throat. "May I say how glad I am to hear _that?"_

His chuckle rumbled through the speaker, and Rainey could almost see him shaking his head. "Baby, I need to help the girls with our stuff, but it should only take a few minutes. Can I call you right back?"

Everything about his statement made her smile. She could picture him in the airport, dealing with bags, an instrument or two, and his three band members, one of whom was sure to be grousing. Jacques was at the cusp of the greatest adventure of his life, and he was on the phone with her.

"I'm going to head into the jewelry store and take care of Holi's errand."

A few seconds passed before he responded. "What about your return trip?"

Her smile grew. "I'll see how I feel. If I need help, I'll call you."

A few more seconds of silence stretched between them. "You won't need help," he said, conviction clear in his relaxed tone. "But call if you want company."

"Okay," she said. "Send me pictures of L.A."

"Only if you send me pictures of you."

"Wh-what?!" she stammered.

"You heard me." His voice touched her middle. "Pictures of you. I didn't take enough on the trip, and I want more."

"Okay, well, then let me clarify. I want pictures of _you_ in L.A."

She heard his gentle laugh. "Deal." Then his voice lowered to a soft caress. "I love you, Rainey."

She blinked a slow blink, soaking up the words. "I love you, Jacques."

"I'll call you tonight. But do me a favor?"

"What?" she asked.

"Just shoot me a text when you get home."

He could probably see her grin all way from California. "I will."

"Bye, babe."

"Bye, Jacques."

Rainey hung up and gave herself a minute. She needed to absorb the triumph of the drive and drink in Jacques's soul-stirring words, his commitment to be there for her, even from two thousand miles away.

When she left the Cooper, she was still smiling, and the sight she found in the jewelry store only made her smile grow.

A golden-haired little boy — he couldn't have been more than three years old — sat on one of the display cases. Next to him, with his arm draped over his shoulder was a tall man whom Rainey assumed was the boy's father. Even though their backs were to her, they made an adorable picture.

"What do you think, Oscar?" the man asked, peering down into the glass case. "Which one would Mama like best?"

The boy jabbed a chubby finger against the glass. "Dat one!"

From the distance across the store, Rainey thought the boy pointed to a selection of engagement rings, but she couldn't be sure.

"Which one?" This came from the young store clerk on the other side of the case. She was smiling, obviously charmed by the little boy. The clerk looked up at Rainey as she took the key fob from around her neck. "Someone will be right with you."

At the clerk's greeting, both the boy and the man turned in her direction, and Rainey's breath caught. Gray Blakewood, the famous Louisiana crime writer, was standing across from her in the jewelry store. His sixth novel had come out in March, and Rainey had finished it in two days.

Gray Blakewood gave her a friendly smile before turning back to the clerk who was placing a small velvet display case of — she could now clearly see — engagement rings.

Rainey kept her distance. Even though she was more than a little star-struck, she knew what it was like to have a stranger barge in on a personal moment. Years from now, Mr. Blakewood and the little boy would look back on the day they'd chosen an engagement ring together — obviously for someone they both loved very much — and that memory didn't need to include her.

She stood back and waited until an older gentleman stepped into the showroom from the back offices and addressed her.

"May I help you, miss?"

Rainey strode forward to greet him, keeping her voice low so that she wouldn't intrude on the ring-selection process the little boy had overtaken. "Yes, I was hoping you could engrave a wedding band — preferably today," she hedged. "The wedding is Saturday."

The man fished a pair of glasses out of his front pocket. "That shouldn't be a problem," he told her with a grin. "Anything in the name of love, right?"

"Right," she said, grinning back.

# Chapter 30

Ten days of Los Angeles was more than enough.

This thought occurred to Jacques as he and the rest of Heroine were crawling through traffic on their way to Santa Monica to film their third — and last — video of the trip. Yes, the weather in Southern California was perfection. And it had been cool to see Hollywood. They'd gone to the Hollywood Bowl one night after filming and seen Belle and Sebastian and Spoon. JAG had arranged for the four of them to have a box in the Pool Circle just off the stage, which had been pretty amazing.

They'd stayed at The Grafton on Sunset Boulevard in West Hollywood, and Jacques had to admit that the concert-themed wall mural in his room probably did give him the ego stroke the record company had intended.

But the pace of the last week-and-a-half had been brutal. And the director JAG was using was the worst kind of douche.

And Jacques missed Rainey.

He'd felt a twinge of homesickness as they'd merged onto the interstate headed to the Santa Monica Pier, and he'd spotted the marker for I-10. It was strange to think that if he got on the road in the opposite direction and just drove straight, he'd be home in about twenty-four hours.

Jacques was lost in this fantasy when his cell rang. Hoping it was Rainey, he fished the device out of his pocket as he rode with the rest of the band in the back of a hired car. To his disappointment, the caller wasn't Rainey, just a number he didn't know, and he was about to decline the call when he saw the words _Bowling Green, KY_ under the digits.

His body suddenly rigid, Jacques swiped the screen and put the phone to his ear.

"Hello?"

"Hello, sir," said a squeaky voice. "My name is Ray Lopez-Craine, and I'm calling for Rainey Reeves."

_Holy crap_.

If Jacques hadn't been trapped in the back a Chevy Tahoe, he would have shot to his feet.

"H-hi, Ray," Jacques stammered. "My name's Jacques. We met at your mom's salon... I'm really glad to hear from you."

"Hi, Jacques. I remember you. Is Rainey there?"

Jacques let out a measured breath. Was Ray calling with or without his mother's knowledge? Did it matter? He'd reached out. That was the most important thing.

"She's not, Ray. I'm actually in California right now, and she's back home in Louisiana."

"You're in California?" the boy asked, sounding impressed. "Where? Like up in the Redwoods? Or in the southern part of the state? Have you seen the La Brea Tar Pits?"

Jacques stifled a laugh at his avid curiosity. "Actually, I'm in L.A. We drove by the La Brea Museum a few days ago." He let his voice drip with regret. "But we didn't have time to stop for a tour."

At his words, all three female members of Heroine turned curious eyes on him. He sat in the third row of the Tahoe next to Kara, which meant that Kate and Des had to crane around in their middle row to eye him.

"Oh, that's too bad," Ray said, clearly disappointed on his behalf. "One of my favorite Mary Pope Osborne books is _Sunset of the Sabertooth._ That's book number seven in the _Magic Tree House Series._ In that series, Jack and Annie have a magic tree house — obviously — and it allows them to travel through time. In _Sunset of the Sabertooth_ , they go back to the Ice Age and see all kinds of extinct animals."

Ray paused in his speech to heave a heartfelt sigh. "I've wanted to go to see the La Brea Tar Pits Museum since I read that book. Did you know that in addition to the _Smilodon fatalis,_ which is the scientific name for the saber-tooth cat, the museum houses fossils of more than six hundred species?"

This time, Jacques found it harder to smother his laugh. "N-no, Ray, but that's fascinating."

"If you're still in the Los Angeles area, you should seriously consider visiting," the ten-year-old advised.

"Ray, I have to say, you've made a very good case for a visit to La Brea. I'll try to get there before we head home."

And Jacques found that he wasn't just giving the kid lip service. This was Rainey's long-lost brother. Jacques would at least go to the gift shop to buy a souvenir for him.

"You won't regret it," he promised. Jacques heard some muffled words in the background. "Hold on, please, Jacques. My mom is trying to talk to me..."

As Jacques heard the sound of the phone being covered, his heartbeat sped up. This had to mean that Gloria knew about the call. Didn't it? Which meant that she'd given it her blessing?

Which might mean that she was ready to help Rainey and Holi...

"Jacques, she wants to talk to you. Can I hand the phone over?"

He leaned forward, his body tense with excitement. "Y-yes, yes, Ray, of course."

The discordant commotion of a phone being handed off by a ten-year-old filled Jacques's ear.

"His name really is Jacques," __ he heard Ray say.

A long moment passed, and Jacques wondered if Gloria would hang up on him. But she spoke at last. "Hello? Jacques, is it?" she asked, her voice tight and uncertain.

"Yes, yes. I'm Jacques Gilchrist," he offered, wanting with all of his being to keep her talking. "And you're Gloria Lopez-Craine."

Three female sets of eyes widened on Jacques. Kate, Kara, and Des all knew enough of the story of his and Rainey's cross-country trek to be able to piece together the significance of his phone conversation.

"Yes," Gloria said flatly. "Thank you for taking our call." Jacques wasn't so sure how thankful she was, but every muscle in his body was taut with gratitude. And hope.

"I'm very glad to hear from you." He tried to keep his eagerness in check. The last thing he wanted to do was scare her off.

"Mr. Gilchrist, the reason Ray called was to get in touch with Miss Reeves, but _sometimes..."_ She drew out the word. "...Ray gets a bit distracted."

"He seemed excited to hear that I'm in Los Angeles," Jacques offered.

"Yes, the La Brea Tar Pits," she said, an amused but rueful tone claiming her voice. "I know _all_ about them."

Jacques's body relaxed a fraction, and he allowed himself a smile. The woman definitely didn't sound angry the way she had two weeks ago.

"I'm sure you're wondering why I let him call," she said softly.

"Honestly, ma'am, why is not as important to me as the fact that you did."

She might have huffed a laugh. Jacques couldn't be sure. "Since your... uh... _visit,_ he's asked me every day about calling, and up until yesterday, every day I've said no."

"What happened yesterday?" he asked, unable to help himself.

She let go a weary sigh. "Yesterday, for the first time in ten years, I heard from Dylan Reeves." She sighed again. "Not his assistant. Not his attorney. But the man himself."

"You did?" Jacques could not disguise his surprise.

"Mmm-hmm. He was calling, of all things, to apologize for the way he'd done me and Ray ten years ago," she said, sounding like she still didn't believe it had happened. "He told me that the day after you made your visit to Bowling Green his daughter Rainey paid him a visit, asked about me and Ray, and when he finally copped to what had gone on between us, your Rainey told him what she thought of him and where he could go."

"Yep," he muttered. Of course, Jacques knew all of this — except the part about Dylan Reeves calling Gloria. That was news, and from what he knew of the man, wholly uncharacteristic.

"He said he'd been trying to reach out to her since the two of you left Memphis, but she won't take his calls."

This Jacques did not know. It surprised him a little that Rainey had never mentioned her father's efforts to reach her, but the two of them had had limited time to talk over the last ten days, and with the way Rainey had left things in Memphis, Jacques wasn't surprised that her father no longer rated high on her list of discussion topics. Besides, Jacques knew all too well how successful Rainey could be when she wanted to avoid someone. His guess was that she'd blocked his number completely and didn't even know how often he'd tried to reach her.

"He told me, too..." Her tone grew somber. "...about the son he lost and about his other daughter. The one who's sick."

"Holi," Jacques offered, his heartbeat speeding up. "Yeah, she's the reason we reached out—"

"I know the reason," she said, her voice going stiff. "That doesn't mean I appreciated the way you went about it."

"That was my idea," Jacques admitted quickly. "And I apologize. We should have been upfront."

"I can hear you're eager to make amends, Mr. Gilchrist. And you've probably already figured this out for yourself, but I'm not the type to forgive and forget lightly." Her tone was hard as flint. But then it softened. "And then there's Ray."

Jacques held his breath and silently cheered for Ray. Gloria seemed to be waiting this time for a response, so he gave her an honest one.

"You don't have to know Ray for very long to recognize that he's a special kid," Jacques said. "Rainey fell under his spell in just five minutes."

He heard her reluctant chuckle on the other side of the line. "Yeah, he does have that effect," she mused. "For two months, all I heard about was how much he wanted a lab puppy for his tenth birthday. Then the two of you show up, and then all I hear about is him wanting to meet his sisters. Cliff and I gave in and got him the puppy, hoping he'd let up about the two of them, but that didn't work."

Jacques had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. He was definitely going to the La Brea Museum to get something for that kid.

"Mrs. Lopez-Craine, if I may say so, meeting Rainey is one of the best things to ever happen to me."

Still facing him, Kate rolled her eyes, but Des gave him a warm smile, and Kara placed a hand over her heart. "That's so sweet," she whispered.

Kate glared at her sister and gave her the universal signal to shut up.

Gloria heaved a beleaguered sigh. "Well, if she won't speak to Dylan because of how he treated us, I'm guessing you're probably right. And..." She paused, and Jacques could hear her mouth working over the phone. When she spoke, her voice was barely audible. "...if the other one... doesn't make it, and we did nothing to help, Ray would never forgive me."

This statement knocked the words right out of him. "Does Ray understand her situation?"

"Not the particulars. The last thing I need for him to do is start researching diseases on the internet," she said wryly. "But he does know that running a test on his blood might show a way of helping her, and he's all in."

Jacques could have cheered. Instead, he silently punched the air, making all three of his bandmates jump. Rainey was going to be ecstatic when she heard the news. Could he wait to tell her in person on Thursday so she could throw her arms around him and kiss him senseless?

Would it be selfish to wait in order to surprise her?

What if he could do better than surprising her with the news?

"Mrs. Lopez-Craine, has Ray's summer holiday started yet?" Jacques asked, an idea taking shape.

"Yes, his last day of school was Friday, so you can about imagine the effect free time has had on his pleas," she said sourly.

This time, Jacques couldn't stem his chuckle, and to his surprise, Gloria Lopez-Craine chuckled with him. He looked at his bandmates who were all still watching him with silent, rapt attention. They were on their way to shoot their third music video in ten days. And in eight weeks, they'd be on tour. What he was about to do might be foolish, but in the moment, it felt like the universe was smiling on him. If there was ever a time to try his luck, it was now.

"What are you and your family doing this weekend?"

" _L adies and gentlemen, as we start our descent into Lafayette, please make sure your seat backs and tray tables are in their full upright position. Make sure your seatbelt is securely fastened and all carry-on luggage is stowed underneath the seat in front of you or in the overhead bins. Thank you."_

"Is that a swamp?" Ray asked, pressing his finger against the oval-shaped window. In the last two hours — the first in George Bush International Airport and the second on the flight from Houston to Lafayette, Ray had pelted Jacques with about eight thousand questions. The first thousand of them had been about the model fossil set Jacques had bought for the kid at the La Brea Museum, which, to Ray's credit, had been extremely interesting.

Even Kate had enjoyed it.

It had taken a fair amount of convincing to get Gloria and her husband Cliff to agree to accept Jacques's offer to fly them in. And then it took more than a little finagling to actually coordinate their schedules so that the Lopez-Craine family and the band Heroine could connect in Houston and take the same flight to Lafayette.

Where Rainey would be waiting at the airport.

Jacques leaned over Ray's seat. "Yes, it's a swamp." It had probably been Gloria's idea of retribution to give into Ray's pleas to have Jacques switch seats with his mother on the fifty-five-minute flight.

"Are there alligators in it?"

"Almost certainly."

"You said we're going to take a swamp tour on Saturday in Lake Martin," Ray said, nudging his glasses higher on the bridge of his nose. "I looked it up on the internet, and I saw that it's a bird sanctuary that's home to more than two hundred species of native and migratory fowl."

Jacques grinned. Although he was insatiable for information, no one could say talking with Rainey's little brother was boring. "Yep. That's true. We might not see as many large groups of birds because it's June, but we'll see plenty of alligators."

Behind his glasses, Ray's eyes grew wide. "We will?"

"Guaranteed."

Ray blinked. "Alligators are rare in Kentucky, and I've never seen one."

Jacques quirked a brow at him. "Does that mean you're excited?"

Ray nodded fiercely.

Jacques gave him a look of mock suspicion. "Maybe even more excited to see an alligator than to meet your sisters?"

The ten-year-old scowled. "Of course not!"

His genuine affront had Jacques laughing and shaking his head in apology. "I'm just teasing, buddy. I know you're excited to see them."

The plane dipped a little in its descent, and Ray gave Jacques a sly smile. "We're almost there."

"Yep."

Then the boy narrowed his eyes at Jacques. "You've kept it a secret? You haven't given Rainey even one little hint?" he asked.

Jacques tamped down on his grin. "I just told her that I have a surprise for her." He held up his hand as though taking an oath. "I swear, she thinks it's something from California."

Seemingly satisfied, Ray sat back in his seat and was remarkably quiet as the plane made its approach and finally touched down.

Jacques dug out his phone to text Rainey. As soon as he turned off airplane-mode, a text from her came through.

* * *

_R ainey: I'm here! Can't wait to see you!_

* * *

He grinned. In the days since Jacques had called and found Rainey behind the wheel of her sister's car, she'd driven daily, going farther each time. The three-mile trip to the airport was nothing to her now, but Jacques still marveled at her progress. He texted back.

* * *

_J acques: Just landed. Can't wait to hold you._

* * *

He felt a thrill as he typed the words. Not at their admission, but at their promise. Before boarding, he'd asked Gloria and Cliff to hang back with Ray for a minute or two so he could reach Rainey first. He wanted to be with her when she saw them, he'd explained, but more than that, he wanted a minute to have her to himself. To hold her and kiss her and reconnect with her before he gave her this surprise.

It had been a long two weeks.

The line of passengers stretching to the front of the plane, each jostling to grab carry-ons and laptop bags, seemed interminable. Jacques finally stood, retrieving his own bag and let his eyes meet Ray's.

"Two minutes, dude, remember?"

Ray held up his wristwatch. "One hundred twenty seconds starting... now!" He pressed a button, and his watched beeped.

_Shit._

The kid didn't mess around. Ever. Jacques hurried out of the plane and up and onto the skybridge. People in front of him, dragging roller cases and pushing strollers, moved at a snail's pace. He bit back the urge to push past them or growl in impatience.

But then he was in the terminal, and Rainey beamed at him from not thirty feet away. Of course, a glass partition and a security checkpoint separated them, but she was there, and Jacques's own smile could not be contained.

He wove through the slow-moving crowd and out of the arrivals' terminal, never so glad that Lafayette's airport — or _airporch_ as the locals called it — was so small.

Rainey crashed into him. He dropped his bag at his feet and crushed her against him, burying his nose in her lavender-wild-orange-scented hair, feeling her softness pressed against his chest, abs, thighs, and reveling in the tightness of her arms around him.

He dipped down and pressed his lips to her ear. "Hey, baby," he whispered.

She tilted her chin up. "Hey—"

But he didn't let her get further than that before his lips covered hers. She tasted sweeter than even he remembered. Impossible sweet. And her welcoming mouth was the most heavenly of homecomings. He wanted to kiss her for hours. Kiss her everywhere. Kiss her and love her until they both collapsed from exhaustion.

But that would have to wait.

He pulled back, but unable to make a clean break, he plied her mouth with three or four small kisses before he took a steadying breath and stood tall again.

Rainey's eyes scanned the crowd behind him. "Where are the girls?"

Jacques peered through the security glass. No sign of any Heroines — or any Lopez-Craines. He gave a small sigh of relief.

"They were sitting toward the back of the plane." This was true, but it wasn't the whole truth. Not wanting to be delayed in reaching Rainey, Jacques had asked Kate to grab his Gibson along with Des's bass, so they were likely waiting for the gate-check items to be off-loaded. "Let's wait here for them." He wrapped arms around Rainey and squeezed her to him. She tucked one arm behind his back and pressed the other one to his chest. Rainey looked up at him, her hazel eyes soft with happiness.

"It's so good to see you," she murmured.

He leaned down and tasted her kiss again, his heart clenching at the sound of love in her voice.

"I love you," he whispered against her mouth. And if she doubted how much, she was about to get undeniable proof. Still, Jacques felt like the gesture — though a gift he desperately wanted to give her — still could not capture what he felt for her.

"I love you, too," she said, her smile growing.

Jacques straightened up and looked through the glass in time to see Cliff Craine step into the terminal. Their eyes locked, and Jacques gave him the slightest nod before turning Rainey in his arms so that her back was to the glass.

"So, I told you that I have a surprise for you, right?"

Her smile went full-strength, making her eyes squint with the force of it. "Yes," she said, coyly.

He fought his own grin, but he wasn't very successful. Behind her, Gloria and Ray emerged hand in hand, Ray beaming and Gloria wearing a tight, nervous smile, but a smile nonetheless.

Jacques shifted his gaze back to Rainey. "Well, it's really more of a surprise for you _and Holi."_

A pretty crease formed between her brows, but her smile didn't waver. "Oh? Something for the house?"

"Hmm," he hedged, steering her around the security checkpoint so they'd be facing Ray and his parents when they emerged. "...not exactly."

Ray, Gloria, and Cliff stepped into view, but Rainey was looking up at Jacques with a curious gaze.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

Jacques nodded in Ray's direction. "Look, baby."

Rainey faced forward, and she jumped and shrieked at the same moment. "Oh, my God!" Her hands shot to her mouth. She spoke through her now trembling fingers. "Oh, my God, you're here."

Her eyes bounced from Ray to Gloria and Cliff standing behind him. Then looked up at Jacques. "Wha— How? How did you do this?"

Grinning, Jacques nodded to her little brother. "He reached out while I was in L.A."

Rainey looked back at the boy, her eyes already welling. She took a step closer to him and lowered her shaking hands.

"You did?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Clearly uncomfortable with so much attention, Ray ducked his chin and nodded, but a shy smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

Gloria stepped closer and put a hand on her son's shoulder. "And Dylan called me. Both to make amends and to ask for our help," she said. Then a funny, almost humble expression passed over her glamorous features. "Maybe we could start over. Hi, I'm Gloria." She extended her hand, and Rainey clasped it in both of hers.

"Hi, Gloria. It's nice to meet you. I'm Rainey," Rainey gushed, struggling to keep the emotion in her voice in check.

"This is my husband Cliff." Cliff gave a friendly nod, and then Gloria nudged Ray forward. "And this is your brother, Ray."

Rainey released Gloria's hand and stepped up to Ray. She extended her hand and dropped it just as quickly. "Ray, can I give you a hug?"

The ten-year-old gave a one-shoulder shrug. "Sure," he said, making all four adults laugh and dispelling some of the nervous energy they surely all felt.

Rainey caught him in hug, and Jacques sighed in relief when he watched the boy tighten his arms around her.

"Thanks for the PEZ," he said, untangling himself from her arms.

"Y-you're welcome," Rainey stammered, clearly overcome.

"Guess what?" Ray asked.

Rainey quickly brushed tears from her eyes. "What?"

Ray's face betrayed a look of bewilderment at her unchecked emotion, but he gave a visible shake of his head as though chalking it up to the unknowable. "I got a dog — a Lab — for my birthday. I named her Nobel Prize because one day I hope to win a Nobel Prize in science — either in chemistry or physics, I don't know yet," he digressed. "But I call her Belle for short."

Rainey gave a startled laugh at Ray's speech, but at least her eyes had dried. It was then that Jacques noticed Kate, Kara, and Des slipping quietly passed other bystanders and heading for the escalators. Wordlessly, Kate caught his eye and held up his Gibson at the same time holding a finger of her free hand over her mouth before waving him off.

Jacques smiled at her and the rest of his bandmates, understanding perfectly that they weren't about to intrude on this long overdue family reunion.

Later, Jacques would have to tease her mercilessly about being the most big-hearted person he knew.

"I want to hear all about Belle," Rainey said, glowing.

She was actually radiant, and Jacques wanted to touch a part of that glow. So, he stepped closer and slipped his hand around hers.

Rainey glanced up at him with love and questions in her eyes. "Are we going to the house so they can meet Holi? Are they staying with us?" Then she turned back to the Lopez-Craines. "How long can you stay?"

It was Cliff who answered. "We're staying until Sunday, and we've got a room at the Hilton Garden Inn, which..." He gave Jacques a questioning look. "...is not far, correct?"

Jacques shook his head. "It's just over a mile."

Rainey's eyebrows shot up. "Oh, but, you don't have to stay in a hotel. We have plenty of room," she protested.

This time, Gloria shook her head, but she did so with an easy smile. "Your sister's not well. She doesn't need a house full of guests." She put her hand on top of Ray's head. "Especially not one as energetic as this little guy."

Jacques had to give credit to Gloria. Putting Holi's welfare first — even if it was just to avoid staying in a strange house — was the right thing to say to Rainey, who bit her lip and was about to speak when Ray charged in.

"But Mom said that if Holi was okay, maybe there would be _one_ night when I could have a sleepover with you." His eyes behind those glasses were huge and hopeful.

Again, all of the adults fought their giggles. "Absolutely, Ray. We'd love that," Rainey swore.

Ray shrugged. "Maybe even tomorrow night after I go get my blood tested."

Rainey gasped at his words, her hand jumping to her heart. Without speaking, her eyes moved from Ray's to Gloria's to Jacques's, and he realized by the way they shone again that she couldn't speak.

He tucked her against him and pointed everyone toward the escalators. "C'mon. Let's go see if our bags are down yet," he suggested.

"Yes," Cliff agreed. "And I need to check on our rental car."

Fifteen minutes later, Gloria and Cliff were in their rental, and Jacques, Rainey, and Ray were in Holi's Mini Cooper, leading the way with Rainey comfortably in the driver's seat.

When she'd started up the engine and reversed out of the parking spot, Jacques's smile of pride was slightly obnoxious.

She shrugged off his admiration. "It's like believing a lie," she explained as they pulled onto Surrey Street. "Once you know the truth, you can't go back to falling for the lie again."

"I can still be proud of you," he murmured, "for confronting the truth."

He watched the corner of her mouth turn up, but she said nothing. Then she glanced into her rearview mirror.

"I hate that they're spending money on a rental car," she lamented. "That, the hotel, and the plane tickets must be costing a fortune."

"We didn't buy the plane tickets," Ray blurted from the back seat. "Jacques did."

They were stopped at the light at Pinhook and University, and Jacques watched Rainey's jaw drop. Mouth open and eyes wide, she craned her head to take in him and Ray in turn.

Jacques looked over his shoulder. "Way to spill the beans, Ray."

"Oh..." he said, his innocent focus bouncing between them. "...sorry."

Jacques looked back at Rainey, and this time her eyes weren't just brimming with tears. The drops spilled over, one after another.

"Oh my God, Jacques," she sobbed.

His hand captured her cheek. "Rainey..." He tried to swipe the tears away, but they just kept falling.

"This is _real,"_ she said, sounding astonished, her eyes widening on his.

He frowned. "What's real?"

"You... us... You _love_ me."

Jacques felt something in his chest slam home. His heart squeezed even as he laughed. "Of course, I love you. I've been telling you that for weeks," he said, the words rushing like a tidal wave. "I love you more than anything."

She gripped a handful of his shirt over his heart. "I love _you_ more than anything." She hiccupped a sob and shook her head. "And I don't think you're going to forget about me when you start touring and millions of girls throw themselves at you."

He tipped back his head and laughed again, joy getting the better of him. "No, Rainey, I'm not. I promise." It would be the easiest promise he'd ever keep. "Two weeks without you was hard because I wanted you with me. I'll always want you with me. You. Not anyone else."

The light turned green, and Jacques brushed away her tears again. "Can you drive, baby?"

She swallowed and nodded. "Yeah, I can drive." And she eased off the brake and crossed the intersection.

"Rainey?" Ray asked hesitantly from the back seat.

"Yeah?" she rasped.

"Do sisters always cry this much?"

To Jacques's relief, Rainey bubbled over with laughter. "Only when their rock-star boyfriends have been gone for two weeks and surprise them with long lost brothers," she said, her voice wavering only a little.

Jacques glanced back to see a look of relief passing over Ray's face. "Oh, okay." Jacques guessed he was about to find out that even sisters without rock-star boyfriends cried a ton when they met long lost brothers, but he kept that theory to himself.

Ray turned to him. "Are you really a rock star?"

Rainey jumped in before he could answer. "He will be in a month or two," she said, grinning widely now. "You should get your autographs while you can."

Ray flipped his backpack onto his lap and unzipped it. "I already have his autograph," he said, producing the card Jacques had included with his gift from the museum.

Rainey eyed him in the mirror. "When did he give you that?"

Ray pushed his glasses up on his nose. "It came with the model fossil set he got me from the La Brea Tar Pits Museum," Ray chirped.

The look of confusion this revelation warranted overtook Rainey's face. "I think I have some catching up to do."

Jacques and Ray caught her up as much as they could in the remaining five minutes of the trip. Inside, Rainey invited the Lopez-Craines to wait in the living room.

"Let me just check on Holi," she said, excusing herself. But before she set off for the stairs, she grabbed Jacques by the wrist. "Come with me," she said under her breath.

Jacques followed her upstairs where she stopped in the hallway. Rainey looked up at him and held his gaze for a long moment.

"You are amazing," she said, her smile casting a spell of warmth around his heart.

Jacques shook his head. "I just want to make you happy."

Her hazel eyes sparkled. "I think it's safe to say you've succeeded." She reached up and stroked his cheek, and Jacques could see she was holding something back.

"What is it?" he asked, pulling her to him.

She bit her lip. "I want to make _you_ happy."

He grinned, bending down and capturing her lips with his. "My God, Rainey, you do."

She pulled back, shaking her head. "Not like this. This is... this is _huge."_

Jacques gently stilled her chin with his hand. "What I want—" He halted and shook his head. "—no, what I _need_ from you, you gave me today."

He watched her frown her pretty frown. "When?"

Holding her close, Jacques dragged his lips slowly over hers. "When you said we were real. When you said you knew I'd come home to you no matter what." He pressed a long, ardent kiss to her lips before finishing. "Your faith in me as a musician is like fuel. It keeps me going, and believe me, I needed that in a place like L.A. It's... well, nothing there is real. But Rainey..." He pulled back enough so he could look into her eyes and make sure she understood. "...it's your faith in me as a man — as your man — that's my air. As long as I have that, no matter where I am, I'm good."

Raw emotion washed over her face. "Jacques—"

"I know trusting me — because of your dad and what you watched your mom go through — I know it's not easy." He brushed his thumb over the fruit of her bottom lip. "So, giving _that_ to me is huge."

Her eyes lit with a happiness he'd never seen. "You're it for me. You know that?"

"I do now," Jacques said, grinning against her lips. He kissed her twice and then forced himself to set her back. "C'mon. Let's go introduce your sister to your brother."

He started to step back, but she grabbed him by the shirt. "You realize what you've done might mean I get to keep them both?" she asked wide-eyed. "You've basically given me my family."

Jacques felt the power of her words and the love, gratitude, and undisguised awe behind them. His smile grew as the thought — the most blissful, promising thought — occurred to him.

"Well," he said, leaning in and capturing her bottom lip between his teeth before letting it go and looking into her eyes. "I hope in a few years you'll return the favor."

# Chapter 31

Dr. Leland Hawthorne couldn't keep his eyes open.

He'd failed to get used to the twenty-four-hour shift, even in the fourth year of his residency. The fact that he worked two a week didn't make life any easier.

Lee still had hours ahead of him before he could go home for the night, but if Mrs. Clark didn't transition too quickly, he could crash in the bunkroom until his shift ended.

It was 4:03 p.m., and he'd come back to University Medical Center at six o'clock the night before. After eight deliveries — two of them preemies — Lee figured he'd need another twenty-four hours just to catch up on his charts.

But first, he had to sleep before he fell over. He waved to Elaine, the charge nurse, and pointed to the bunkroom. She smiled and gave him the _fingers crossed_ sign. Lee opened the door slowly, just in case Mercer had found a few minutes to slip away, but the resident anesthesiologist was nowhere to be found.

He claimed the bottom bunk farthest from the door and collapsed.

_Six o'clock. When six o'clock comes, I'll head home and sleep for twelve blessed hours..._

With his face in the pillow, Lee frowned.

_Are we going somewhere tonight...? What day is..._

"Dr. Hawthorne? Dr. Hawthorne? _Lee!"_ Elaine's voice pulled him up from the dead.

He had to be dead. If he wasn't dead, why was it so hard to move?

"Yeah?" He forced the word past his zombie tongue. His awful breath was further proof that he'd expired.

"Mrs. Clark says she's ready to push. Should I tell Bev to have her wait?"

Lee bolted up. He hadn't become an OB so he could have mothers and babies wait on him. It was supposed to be the other way around.

"No... no. I'm on my way."

Lee blinked to unglue the contacts from his corneas. He stumbled out of the bunkroom and dragged a hand through his hair, sure that his cowlick stuck straight up like a rooster comb. At least Marcelle wasn't around to see it. Glancing at his watch, he saw it was only 4:19.

_How's that possible?_

"Well, hello, Sleeping Beauty," said Bev Champagne, the labor and delivery nurse with as much sass as she had height. At 5'11", she could look Lee straight in the eye when she laughed in his face — which happened more times than he cared to admit — but she was the best LD nurses at UMC.

"Is someone ready to be born?" Lee asked, ignoring her jab.

"Mrs. Clark is one-hundred percent effaced, ten centimeters, and ready to push, doc."

Lee crossed to his patient. She stared at him with alarmed brown eyes, so he smiled.

"How you doing, Mrs. Clark?"

"I still hate needles, but think I'd like to change my mind about that epidural," she said, still wide-eyed.

Lee tried not to let his smile grow. "Mrs. Clark, it's a little late for that now, but this isn't your first rodeo," he said, shaking his head. "You did great the last time."

The laboring mother didn't look convinced. "Yeah, but this one's coming a bit faster than Desiree. I mean—" She stopped mid-sentence and grabbed Lee's hand. The fetal monitor echoed proof of her contraction, and Lee checked the baby's heartrate. "Lord, I gotta push!"

"You go right ahead, Mrs. Clar—" His words choked off when she squeezed his hand in a death grip.

"Dr. Hawthorne, you aren't even gloved and gowned yet," Bev scolded. "Out of the way, and get ready!"

Bev pushed him aside and took his place. "He's nice to look at, honey, but he's just like every other man," Bev told Mrs. Clark. "You have to tell him what to do every damn day."

Mrs. Clark's second child, a healthy son she was naming Antoine, was born at 5:04 p.m., which gave Lee just enough time to finish his charts before his shift ended. As always, natural births invigorated him, and he found himself looking forward to eating dinner and talking to Marcelle for a few minutes before he showered and crawled into bed.

As he turned onto St. Mary on his drive home, Lee gave thanks for about the millionth time that he'd won out on the Great House Battle of 2014. Marcelle and his stepmother had rallied hard for the cottage in River Ranch, but Lee liked the area around the Saint Streets.

It wasn't only that it was closer to UMC. The neighborhood just felt real. Live oaks shaded the houses. Vegetable gardens grew in front yards. People of every age and color walked and rode bikes on its streets in the evenings.

And it was a hell of a lot more affordable than River Ranch.

The house he'd bought on Dunreath had been built in 1938. The walls were center-match, the roof was slate, and the Spanish arches on both sides of his living room — cracks in the plaster on each — reminded him of New Orleans. The best part was the screened front porch with the cypress swing.

_One day, I'll even get to enjoy it,_ Lee thought as he pulled his white Cherokee into the drive behind the house, parking next to Marcelle's black Miata. She had her own townhouse in Greenbriar, but on nights when he was home, she slept over. If she didn't, they'd never see each other.

He crossed the back yard along the path of paving stones and ducked under the covered deck, throwing a longing glance to the two kayaks that hung from the ceiling.

_Soon._

Lee trudged up the back steps, hoping to find some brisket still in the fridge from his dad's Sunday barbecue two days before. He'd missed the event, but his stepmother, Barbara, had sent home leftovers with Marcelle.

From the kitchen he heard the hair dryer across the house. Marcelle wouldn't hear him, so he didn't bother shouting. Instead, he pulled open the refrigerator door, found the plastic container of shredded brisket, and grabbed a fork.

Even cold, the barbecued brisket set him moaning. He knew it would be better on bread — bread, with a little mayonnaise and sliced tomato. Maybe he'd even make two sandwiches, but he needed to work his way up to that.

Then again, if he emptied the container straight into his mouth, that was okay, too.

Footsteps clicked down the hall, but Lee couldn't bring himself to pull his face away from the dish.

"Leland, what are you doing? We have the health clinic auction tonight." Marcelle stood over him wearing a frantic look and a black cocktail dress. "We need to leave in thirty minutes!"

# Epilogue

_O ne year later_

* * *

_R ainey: I've officially become a bag lady._

* * *

Rainey texted this confession to Jacques when she realized she'd filled up the second spare room closet in her house with plastic grocery bags.

* * *

_J acques: For someone who attended the Grammys with me just a few months ago, that's rather alarming._

* * *

His response and the memory of that magical night made Rainey smile. She and Pal had flown to L.A. to join Heroine, who had been nominated for two awards: Best New Artist and Best Pop Duo/Group Performance for "Rain in Her Name," while Jacques and Kate had been nominated for Best Song as composers of "Rain in Her Name." They'd walked away with Best Pop Duo/Group Performance, and Rainey had never been more grateful for waterproof mascara.

* * *

_R ainey: I really miss you._

* * *

Rainey tucked her phone in her back pocket and felt the buzz of his reply. She told herself to wait at least until she filled up her wicker basket with plastic bags — from Wal-Mart, Albertsons, Rouse's, and virtually every takeout place in town — and carried them downstairs to the kitchen counter. There, she would cut two bags at a time into strips, open the strips into loops, and knot the loops together to make plarn.

Also known as plastic yarn.

And after Rainey did this with about five hundred plastic grocery bags, which usually took no less than three hours, she had enough plarn to crochet one six-by-three-foot sleeping mat. That sleeping mat would go to one of Lafayette's four homeless shelters, and if a cot wasn't available for someone, at least he or she would be given a mat that kept moisture from the ground from seeping into blankets and clothes.

When the first two bags had become plarn, she allowed herself to read Jacques's text.

* * *

_J acques: I miss you, too. Soon, baby._

* * *

Rainey _tsked. _After the Grammys, Jacques had been home for most of March, but then Heroine had set off on their fifty-show, four-month North America tour on April first. Since the page on Rainey's calendar had just flipped to June, the end of August seemed eons away.

* * *

_R ainey: Two months is not soon._

* * *

She set her phone face down so she wouldn't be tempted to read Jacques's text until she plarned another two bags.

She'd learned how to make the sleeping mats from Dawn Phillips, a pastor's wife from Conroe, Texas, as the two of them sat in the waiting room on the eighth floor in M.D. Anderson's Stem Cell Transplantation and Cellular Therapy Center. Holi had been a patient at the center for eight weeks. And even though Holi was a married woman now, Ash was starting the last year in his MBA program, and she refused to let him defer for a semester to sit by her side while she had chemo and radiation to wipe out her immune system before her body would take Ray's stem cells to rebuild it. So, Rainey had volunteered for the job.

And given the fact that while Holi was undergoing treatment, Rainey was either worried about her, missing Jacques, or bored out of her mind, she was grateful for the project.

The one boon of being in Houston for weeks on end was that she had been able to catch Heroine's show when they'd opened for The Chainsmokers at The Woodlands Pavilion in late July. At the time, Heroine's self-titled debut album had been number 64, and their summer release _Lightning in a Bottle_ had debuted on iTunes, between Twenty One Pilots _Blurryface_ and Halsley's _Badlands._ It eventually made it to number 6, and the pride Rainey felt was nearly enough to cause a stroke. At the show, Rainey had screamed herself hoarse as Heroine played to an electrified crowd. Then she'd watched The Chainsmokers from the comfort of Jacques's embrace, and she'd spent the night in his hotel room, their first time alone in nearly a month.

That one night, by far, was the highlight of her time in Houston.

The easiest phase of a stem cell transplant, Rainey had learned earlier, was for the donor. And even that part was pretty harrowing. Ray, the hero that he was, hadn't balked at all at the sight of the infusion chair where he had to sit for three hours while an IV in one arm took blood from his body and sent it to a machine that separated out his stem cells and then sent the blood back to his body through an IV in his other arm.

Rainey knew this because she, Jacques, and Gloria had gone with him. Rainey went for moral support, but Jacques went by invitation. In the short time the Lopez-Craines had been in town, Ray had developed just a small case of hero worship for her boyfriend — which only got bigger after he heard Jacques play his guitar. But Rainey noticed, too, that the admiration was far from one-sided. Jacques genuinely laughed at all of Ray's clever observations, and when her little brother launched into any topic — from wormholes to driver ants — Jacques gave him his full attention.

She loved him all the more for that.

Once it was determined that Ray was a perfect match for Holi, he and Gloria had stayed in town another two weeks while Cliff had to return home to work. Ray needed five days of drug treatment to stimulate the production of stem cells, and then he had to have a couple of days to recover from the ordeal. Thankfully, when Cliff went back home, Gloria finally accepted their invitation to stay at the house.

For Rainey and Holi, having Ray in the house — horsing around, complaining when his mother told him to take a bath, and coming down in the mornings sleepy-eyed and in stocking feet — brought John Lee to mind in so many ways. And when Ray stirred those memories, Rainey and Holi made a point to share them. John Lee was Ray's brother, too, after all.

The day Ray and Gloria flew back to Bowling Green, Rainey, Holi, and even Gloria had all cried. Rainey was pretty sure her little brother would have shed a tear too if he hadn't needed so desperately to appear strong and stoic in front of Jacques.

But they'd made plans to visit soon. This time, Holi, Ash, Rainey, and Jacques were to go to Bowling Green for Thanksgiving. Jacques had even reserved rooms at Copper House, but when the time came, Holi had been suffering with acute graft-versus-host-disease. Jaundiced and covered in skin rashes — even inside her mouth and on her tongue — Holi was miserable and had lost an alarming amount of weight. Even with all that, Dr. Lambert described her GVHD symptoms as mild.

Rainey had shuddered to imagine a severe case. As it was, Holi had only turned the corner in May, and she was finally starting to look and feel human again. Shaking off the unpleasant memory of her sister's long illness, Rainey flipped over her phone.

* * *

_J acques: It won't seem like two months. Are you working on your mats now?_

* * *

She quickly typed her reply.

* * *

_R ainey: Yep. Making plarn. I have class tomorrow._

* * *

Since July, when Rainey wasn't driving Holi to and from Houston or to and from doctors' appointments in town, she was crocheting sleeping mats and delivering them to shelters. In February, when Paulette Parker, one of the ladies from St. Joseph's Shelter, asked her if she would teach a sleeping-mat-crochet lesson to her church's youth group, Rainey accepted. And, to her surprise, she'd enjoyed it. Even more surprising, the kids had enjoyed it, too.

So, she started teaching a class on Wednesday afternoons at The Boys & Girls Club of Acadiana, and although mostly girls showed up, some boys joined in occasionally. Everyone had to make a sleeping mat first, but then Rainey would introduce them to simple patterns for scarves, reusable grocery sacks, and beanies. The girls who came every week progressed quickly and were able to move onto more challenging projects. And Rainey soon grew addicted to the look of empowerment in their eyes as they realized what they could create with their own hands. And seeing those kids every Wednesday was certainly the high point of the week while Heroine was touring again.

Another weekly routine Rainey had come to appreciate was the phone call from her father. After Ray's surprise visit, Rainey had felt a little guilty —but just a little — for blocking her father's number. And now when he called, which he did every Sunday, she answered. Dylan Reeves was still Dylan Reeves. Their conversations didn't really delve beyond the surface of things, but he was the one making the effort, and his devoted weekly call made it clear to her that he wanted the relationship. If nothing else, Rainey told herself, it was progress.

And it was one more hour when she wasn't actively missing Jacques. She was only passively missing him.

* * *

_R ainey: And you're wrong. Two months away from you feels like ten!_

* * *

As she had before, Rainey flipped over her phone and worked her way through two more bags even though she heard her phone buzz twice.

* * *

_J acques: I agree. Let's do something about it. Pack a bag._

* * *

Rainey smirked at his joke. Mentally scrolling through the band's tour schedule, she knew they'd played a show in Portland, Maine, the night before and were heading to Boston and then to New York City for back-to-back shows at Madison Square Garden. Both New York shows had sold out weeks ago.

But whatever fantasy Jacques wanted to tease her with, she'd play along.

* * *

_R ainey: Sure. I'll hop on a plane and meet you in Boston tomorrow._

* * *

His reply came through before she could turn her phone over again.

* * *

_J acques: Not soon enough. I have to see you today._

* * *

Her heart did a little flutter-dance. Even from two thousand miles away, he could still touch her. And even though she hadn't seen him in the flesh in two months, she still burned for him. Rainey heaved a long sigh.

And her breath caught in her throat when she read his next text.

* * *

_J acques: Open the door._

* * *

She stared at the screen for a disbelieving three seconds.

* * *

_J acques: I said open the door._

* * *

A knock shattered the silence in her house. Archie startled from his nap and ran barking to the front door. Rainey's hand flew to her mouth, and then she flew across the room. She yanked the door open.

And there he was.

"Jacques! Oh, my God! Oh, my God!"

It was on the second "Oh, my God!" that he swept her into his arms, laughing, she knew, at her stunned expression and the tears that already swam in her eyes.

"Hey, baby," he murmured, clutching her close and surrounding her with his scent and heat. "God, you feel good."

She held on tight, afraid to let go. "What are you doing here?!"

Before Jacques answered, he planted her lips with a closed-mouth kiss that quickly became an open-mouth kiss. And his affection poured through her like honey, leaving her slow-moving and tinged with sweetness.

Jacques drew back just enough to smile down at her. "I came to get you," he said softly.

Rainey blinked. "Wh-what? Get me? You're supposed to be in Maine."

His arms tightened around her middle. "Like I said, I missed you."

The executive functioning of her brain must have taken a lunch break. Rainey shook her head. "But you have a show tomorrow night in Boston."

"Yep." He nodded, grinning that self-satisfied, lopsided grin. "And I have to be at TD Garden tomorrow by 1:30 eastern time, so pack a bag, baby. We have a plane to catch."

"You're joking," she blurted. A boxing glove to the head would have stunned her less.

Jacques chuckled, looking even more self-satisfied. "Surprising you is so much fun." Then he leveled her with his gaze. "We leave here in one hour. Let's head upstairs. I'll help—"

"Wait. Wait. I can't just leave," she said, pressing against his upper arms to get some much-needed distance.

His frown was playful. "Why not?"

"I-I-I... Holi might need me."

Jacques's smile gentled. "Holi and Ash expect you to be gone by the time they get back from work." His deep, rumbly voice was somehow as soft as a caress. "Holi's better now, and I think she and Ash are looking forward to finally living like newlyweds."

He had a point. Holi had returned to work two weeks ago, and she had overheard her sister and Ash talking about booking their long-awaited honeymoon. Then a thought made her stomach clench.

"But I have class tomorrow." There were a handful of girls who came every week. These girls didn't have a whole lot of bright and hope in their lives. Rainey knew they needed not only the peacefulness crochet offered, but the camaraderie, the community of sitting together, talking, and sharing the pride in making something new and beautiful with their bare hands.

Jacques pressed his lips together and nodded solemnly. "You do have class, but it's not here," he said, a hint of mischief dancing in his dark eyes. "Here, you have a sub for the rest of the summer—"

Her eyes bugged. "The rest of the summer—"

"But you are teaching a crochet class tomorrow at the Charlestown Street Boys & Girls Club in Boston—"

"What?" she shrieked, not believing what he was saying. What it meant.

Grinning, he just kept going. "It's exactly one mile from the arena. You can Uber from the hotel, teach your class, and have plenty of time to grab a bite to eat before the show."

Her mouth fell open at the realization of just what he'd had to orchestrate to be able to do this. "Jacques..." His name was just a whisper of awe.

"You're also teaching Thursday, Friday, and Saturday at the Boys & Girls Club on..." Jacques frowned, dropped his hand to his back pocket, fished out his phone, and searched it. "Ah, yes, West 35th Street in New York City. That's just a six-minute walk from Madison Square Garden and a few blocks from the Stewart Hotel where we'll be staying."

"Jacques," she said, finding it hard to breathe. "I-I don't know what to say..."

He reached for her face and let his fingers run into her hair. She felt his grasp close, and he tugged her locks gently. His eyes, suddenly so ardent, full of a need that pierced her heart.

"Say you'll come with me. I would have taken you last summer. I would have taken you in April, but I knew you wouldn't leave Holi until you were sure she was out of the woods." Rainey watched him frown. "And I know how much your volunteer work means to you, so I don't want you to stop. But I figure, if you can keep doing what you're doing — teaching kids how to crochet and building communities — then it doesn't really matter where you do it, right?"

Her throat was suddenly tight, but even so, a giggle of delight managed to escape her.

Jacques's eyes narrowed with concern and intensity. "I get that this kind of life isn't for everyone, and I know you spent a lot of unhappy years travelling with your dad, but I know, _I know,_ Rainey, that it'll be different for us." He shook his head and gave her a rueful smile, looking suddenly shy and oh, so beautiful. "And I can't be without you another day. Not another minute. Say you'll come with me."

Rainey could not keep her happiness contained. It rose from her in laughter she couldn't control, and she clasped her arms around his neck. "Of course, I'll go with you! I'll go anywhere with you!"

Jacques squeezed her tight, his lips at her ear. "Oh, thank Christ," she heard him whisper.

And then his lips were on hers. Devouring. Savoring. Claiming. They kissed and kissed until Rainey felt her legs turn to silly string. But before they gave out altogether, she pushed back for air and much-needed space.

"Pack. I have to pack," she panted.

Jacques wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, nodding. "Yeah, we probably should do that."

Rainey turned to rush up the stairs and stopped dead when she saw Archie curled up on the couch. Her hand flew to her mouth.

"Jacques," she gasped. "What about Archie? I can't leave him for two months."

Jacques frowned. "Oh, hell, no. Archie's coming with us. I booked three first-class seats for the return trip. He's gonna travel in style."

Still a little breathless, but now for a new host of reasons, Rainey reached for Jacques, ran her hands along his shoulders and down over his chest, letting them settle against his heart. "You, Jacques Gilchrist, are the best man — the sweetest, most honorable, most loving man — to ever walk the earth," she vowed, holding his gaze, counting all the ways he had shown her his heart from the first day they'd met. All the ways he'd offered it to her. "I thank God you're real, and I thank God you're mine."

His hands slid down to her waist, and he tugged her closer. "Rainey, you're my rock. My muse. My love. My future."

Rainey nodded, savoring the words. "My love. My future," she echoed, smiling. "I like the sound of that."

He brought his thumb to her lips and traced them with a tortuous tenderness. "Maybe I'll write a song about it," he murmured, gazing at her mouth. Then he brought his eyes to hers like a man shaking off a dream. "But, first, we have a plane to catch."

# A note from Stephanie

Writing acknowledgments always makes me nervous because I'm afraid I'll forget someone. Much of the credit for this story goes to my husband John and my daughter Hannah. Last fall, John and I were just talking, and John casually mused, "I wonder how far you could Uber..." And just like that, my story emerged.

And like Jacques and Rainey, we are a family that likes to play games — games that we make up. Unlock the Lyric is actually a game we started playing a couple of years ago, and Rush's "Tom Sawyer" has been one of our challenges.

In many ways, Archie is inspired by Mabel, my schnauzer mix, though Mabel is not always so well mannered. She certainly barks more than Archie. Still, thank you, Mabel, for inspiring fictional dogs.

Thanks to my late grandparents Paul and Ruby Fournet who knew how to speak Cajun French and who had plenty of friends and neighbors who sounded just like Pal and Floyd.

Thank you Manzel, the Uber driver in Fort Worth, Texas who drove me to the Spiral Diner & Bakery — possibly the best vegan restaurant in the Lone Star State —while answering all my questions about what it's like to be an Uber driver.

To my friend and colleague Caitlin Neal-Jones, thanks for teaching me the expression "Cajun Famous." You will always be Cajun Famous to me! Also, thank you to Brittany Roberts for teaching me about plarn and crocheted sleeping mats for the homeless. Thanks to my late Mamaw Niecie who taught me how to crochet as a kid and Melissa Castrillo who taught me how to crochet as an adult. One day, I'll have enough time to do it on a regular basis.

And, finally, thank you, dear reader! Thank you so much for letting Jacques and Rainey come alive for you. If you've read _You First,_ then you probably recognized a glimpse of Gray Blakewood and Oscar in Chapter 29 while they picked out an engagement ring for Meredith. I've also given you a tiny hint of what's next. The jewelry store clerk (her name is Elise) will have her own love story in my next novel, so stay tuned! And please, please, please post a review on Amazon, iBooks, Goodreads, your local newspaper, whatever. Reviews are crucial to all writers — even the ones who are far more famous and prolific than me. Thanks and happy reading!

Turn the page for more great reads from Stephanie Fournet, including the Amazon bestseller "Leave A Mark."

# Books by Stephanie Fournet

Leave a Mark

You First

Butterfly Ginger

Fall Semester

Legacy

* * *

Anthology:

Block and Tackle

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Author Biography

Stephanie Fournet, author of six novels including _Leave a Mark,_ _You First,_ and _Drive,_ lives in Lafayette, Louisiana—not far from the Saint Streets where her novels are set. She shares her home with her husband John and their needy dogs Gladys and Mabel, and sometimes their daughter Hannah even comes home from college to visit them. When she isn't writing romance novels, Stephanie is usually helping students get into college or running. She loves hearing from fans, so look for her on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, Goodreads, and stephaniefournet.com.

* * *

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Amazon Author Page: http://amzn.to/1ouu4E7

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Thanks for reading!
