by Nicole James
“No, but I’m tired all the time and that’s the fifth time this week I’ve felt nauseous.”
“But that could just be stomach flu—”
“And I’m a week late.”
“Oh.”
They stared at each other.
“Still, I’m sure it’s fine.” Carmen tried to put on a cheerful face. “Sasha is on her way over here. I’ll have her stop and get a pregnancy test. Then we’ll know for sure.” She pulled her cell out, her thumb moving over the screen.
Twenty minutes later, the three girls stood staring down at the pee stick.
“Yup. You’re pregnant all right,” Sasha said, and Rayne burst into tears.
“Is it that guy, Rory’s?” Carmen asked.
Rayne nodded. “He’s the only one I’ve been with. I haven’t had sex since before Daniel got sick.”
Sasha slumped her shoulders. “Shit. I feel responsible. I practically served you to him on a platter. I’m sorry. I just wanted you to have some fun. After all the stress you’d been under with caring for Daniel…”
“I know, Sasha. I don’t blame you. It was my choice. No one forced me to do anything that night.”
“Well, it takes two to have a baby. He has to bear some responsibility,” Carmen advised.
“What do you want to do?” Sasha asked.
Rayne cried even harder. “I don’t know.”
“Well, you have to tell him,” Carmen stated.
“She doesn’t have to do anything.” Sasha glared at Carmen.
“I just mean he has a right to know.”
Rayne wiped her eyes. “Did you hear his song? It’s on the radio now.”
Sasha frowned. “What? You’re kidding?”
“I heard it on the way over. The DJ said it’s climbing the charts.” She drew in a shaky breath and wiped her face with the wet washcloth. “I can’t believe this is happening.”
“Rayne, everything is going to be all right. If you want to have this baby, I think you’ll make a wonderful mother,” Carmen said.
“She just got her freedom again after caring for Daniel. Maybe she doesn’t want to be tied down with a kid,” Sasha argued.
Rayne sobbed again, covering her mouth with the cloth.
“You’re upsetting her,” Carmen told Sasha and wrapped her arms around her again.
“Me? How about you?”
“Both of you stop. I have to figure this out. Oh, my God. Everyone will know… all the guys at the shop…”
“We won’t tell them,” Sasha promised.
“Eventually they’re gonna know… I’m going to start to show.”
Sasha’s cell went off and she looked down at it. “It’s Jenna.” She answered. “Yeah?”
Carmen put her arm around Rayne and led her out of the bathroom and down the hall to the living room. “Let’s sit, and we’ll figure this out. Everything’s going to be fine.”
A moment later Sasha came into the room. “Where’s the remote?”
Carmen pointed to the coffee table. “Right there. Why?”
Sasha snatched it up and pointed it at the television and clicked to a channel that had an entertainment show airing.
“What are you doing?” Carmen asked.
“Jenna said Rory is being interviewed.”
They watched a pretty blonde talking with Rory.
“Well, Rory, the single is definitely taking off, and when the album drops, I’m sure it’ll be huge.”
“Thank you, Robin.”
“And if anyone watching wants to catch him live, he’s the new opening act for the balance of Charlotte Justice’s Revolution Tour. This is Robin Andrews live at the Las Vegas stop of the tour with Rory O’Rourke. Peter, back to you.”
They cut away to a host in studio.
Sasha muted the TV and turned to look at Rayne. “Well, we know where he is, and it’s not at that tattoo shop in Grand Junction. He’s never tried to contact you?”
She shook her head, looking at her lap and twisting her hands. “No.”
“The jerk,” Sasha muttered.
“But that’s what doesn’t make sense. He didn’t seem like a jerk. He seemed like a nice guy.”
“You need to tell him about the pregnancy,” Carmen insisted again.
“Carmen!” Sasha huffed.
“No, I mean it. She’ll regret it if she doesn’t.”
Sasha lifted her arm toward the TV. “And how’s she supposed to do that? Go to his next concert and hold up a sign from the audience? She’ll never even get close to him.”
Carmen looked at Rayne. “She could go to Brothers Ink.”
Rayne shook her head. “I’m not going there. Are you kidding? He makes it big, and I suddenly show up claiming to be having his baby? They’d laugh in my face.”
“You don’t know that. They seemed like nice guys.”
“It would be humiliating.”
“You could call, try to get his number.”
“He’s a rising star; you really think they’re going to give out his cell phone number?”
“Well, there has to be a way!”
Rayne rubbed her thigh, thinking. She supposed what Carmen said was true; he had a right to know. “Maybe I could write a letter and send it to him there.”
Carmen nodded. “If that’s what you’re comfortable with.”
Rayne glared at her. “But if he still doesn’t get in touch with me, I’m not going to beg him to be a part of this. Understand?”
“Of course.”
“Sounds like you’ve made up your mind. You’re going to have the baby, aren’t you?” Sasha asked.
She was, she realized. After losing Daniel, she wanted this baby. Maybe it was a shock and not the best timing. Okay the worst timing, but she would love this baby so much.
“You need to see a doctor, get on prenatal vitamins and all that,” Sasha said.
“We’ll go with you. We’ll be here for you every step,” Carmen promised.
“Hell, I’ll even be your Lamaze coach or whatever,” Sasha conceded with a wave of her hand.
Rayne opened her arms to her friends, and they moved in for a hug. “I love you guys.”
***
That night, Rayne lay in bed, rubbing her still flat stomach and thinking about the fact that there was a life growing inside her. It was a lot to come to terms with. She wanted the best for her child, and she couldn’t help but wonder if the baby would have a father in his or her life.
At that thought, Rayne bit her lip. She needed to write that letter. She rolled over and grabbed a pad of paper and a pen from the nightstand.
She wrote, scratched out, ripped off the paper and crumpled it up, then wrote again. Finally after several attempts, she decided to just be straightforward and concise.
Rory—
I don’t know if you remember me, but we sang karaoke and spent the night together in Vail. You took my number, but I never heard from you. I understand if you don’t want to pursue a relationship, that’s fine, but there’s something that you need to know.
I’ve found out I’m pregnant. I’ve only been with you, so you’re the lucky winner of the father lottery. If you don’t want anything to do with your child’s life, that is fine with me. I’m only telling you because you have a right to know, and it isn’t something I want to keep from you.
Also, I heard the song you wrote. I can’t believe you took my life story and my pain and put it in a song, and now I have to hear it on the radio. I think you could have asked, or at least told me you were going to do that, rather than just let me hear it unprepared.
You don’t seem to be the man I thought you were that night we spent together. You even lied about what you did for a living. I had no idea you were in a band. You told me Convicted Chrome was an auto body shop. I guess I must seem like a gullible fool to you.
As I write this, I know I need to mail it, but in truth, I’m not sure I want you in my or this child’s life.
Rayne Connor
She
folded it and stuffed it in an envelope so she could mail it tomorrow.
She pulled her phone out and watched a video of them singing Shallow together that Sasha had taken that night in Vail.
Then she put her head down and cried into her pillow.
Chapter Fifteen
Rory played the last rift of the last song of his set and took a bow. The crowd cheered, and the girls up front screamed. The spotlight went out, and he walked off stage, slipping the strap of his guitar over his head and handing the instrument to one of the techs who took care of the equipment. Stagehands were already scurrying to rearrange for the headliner, Charlotte Justice.
He was tossed a towel by another crewmember, and wiped his face as he moved off down the tight hall to the tiny dressing room he’d been given. It was weird not sharing it with three other band mates. The musicians he’d just played with on stage were mostly just paid sessions musicians.
Rory grabbed a bottle of water from the tray of refreshments provided and guzzled it down, then collapsed on the small couch. He’d only been on the road with Charlotte as the opener for three weeks, but it was still a surreal life. Being the lead singer on stage was thrilling, exhilarating, and terrifying all at once. The success was his for the taking, but if the songs fell flat it would all be on him, too. He was finding it was a lot to carry the weight of that responsibility on his shoulders.
The door opened, and Lou walked in, closing it behind him. He leaned one hand on the knob. “Just found out you’re losing your bassist—some emergency with his wife. He’s flying out tonight. I’m trying to find someone to fill in.”
“Is she okay?”
“I don’t know. I don’t care. I have a bassist to replace.”
Rory stared at him a moment. “I may know someone.”
“Yeah, who’s that?”
“Tommy Ryland from Convicted Chrome.”
Lou looked down, laughed and shook his head. “Wouldn’t be much left of that band, would there?”
“I doubt you’re worried about that.”
Lou met his eyes. “You’re right.” He opened the door. “Call him. Let me know if it works out. If not, I’ll need to make other arrangements.”
Rory stared at Lou’s back as he walked out, questioning if the man cared about anyone or anything for that matter, except his bank account.
His gaze shifted to the floor. Would Tommy do it? Would he leave the band to follow him on this crazy ride? Only one way to find out. He headed out to the tour bus to make the call.
As Rory walked outside, the heat hit him in the face. He loved Vegas, but it was hot as a furnace, the heat lingering even into the darkness of night. Rory walked to the bus and climbed aboard. The new bus Lou had gotten for him was in no way as nice as Charlotte’s, but it was a huge step up from the bus they’d provided for Convicted Chrome.
It was a much newer model. Maybe they figured he wouldn’t trash it like a heavy metal band might. Maybe they thought he had more class. Or maybe it was all just chance, the luck of the draw on whatever the leasing company sent out. He liked it, though; it suited him with dark colors and simple lines.
He strolled to the back where he had a big bedroom all to himself. Pulling off his shirt and grabbing a clean one, he moved to the small nightstand where he’d left his cell phone charging.
He picked it up, sat on the bed, and called Tommy.
Rory was almost surprised when his old band mate actually picked up. He wouldn’t blame Tommy if he held a grudge and blew him off.
“Well, look who it is. Mr. Big-Shot-Rock-Star,” Tommy answered him with the snide greeting.
“Funny.”
“Not really. What the fuck are you calling for? To apologize?”
“I’m sorry, man. It all happened so fast.”
“Yeah, sure.”
“How have things been with the band?”
“What band? We don’t have any gigs lined up, we’re barely playing, we get together and practice, but it usually disintegrates into Hamish getting drunk and running his mouth about how every fucking thing in his life that sucks is all your fault.”
“He’s a fucking pussy. But I’m sorry about the band.”
“Um hmm.”
“So, the other reason I called—”
“Oh, there’s more?”
“I need a bassist. You interested?”
Tommy chuckled. “Are you shitting me? Hell, yeah.”
“Great. I’ll tell Lou.”
“Oh, Lou, is it? You’re on a first named basis with an industry legend now, huh?”
Rory smiled. “Kinda. Except he only refers to me as ‘kid.’ So, not sure he remembers my name half the time.”
“If you’re putting coin in his pocket, he knows your name.”
Rory huffed out a laugh. “Yeah, I guess.”
“So, am I supposed to hitchhike to wherever the fuck you are, or what?”
“Vegas. I think he might spring for a plane ticket.”
“First class?”
“No, dipshit. Coach. Or he might make you take a Greyhound.”
“I hope you’re kidding.”
“I hope I am, too. I’ll call you back with the details.”
“So, I guess I’ll see you soon?”
“Pack your shit. I need you here by tomorrow night.”
“Groovy.”
“Goofball.”
After Rory hung up, he lay back on the bed and stared at the ceiling.
This wasn’t exactly how he’d dreamed of hitting it big. He’d never meant to screw over the band. He’d had some great years with them, but now was his shot and he had to take it. At least it seemed Tommy was willing to forgive him.
Chapter Sixteen
November—
Rory moved to the fridge and pulled out a beer, then sat and stared out the bus window across the hot sunlit parking lot to the back of some nameless auditorium in a city he couldn’t remember. Then he glanced up at a billboard in the distance—one that advertised Miami’s hot new radio show. Right. They were in Miami.
He took a hit off his beer.
The days and nights were all starting to run together, and he was finding touring wasn’t as fulfilling as he’d thought it would be. The only thing he enjoyed about it was the short amount of time he was on stage in front of the audience actually playing his music. Well, that and riding across the country. He found something appealing about rolling down the highway. Of course, he’d rather be on his bike, but he enjoyed sitting up by the driver in the comfortable armchair and watch the road and the landscape roll past.
It was the business side of the industry he couldn’t stand. All the hustling and tight time schedules they had to keep to, all the media interviews and public relations, all the crappy food and not being able to ride his motorcycle…
He knew he sounded like a spoiled ungrateful brat, but those forty minutes on stage every night somehow made up for it all. That and the fans he actually got close enough to meet. Not the groupies—those he wasn’t interested in. For some reason since he’d met Rayne, he’d lost all attraction for the easy lays he was bombarded with on a nightly basis. In fact, it had gotten so uncomfortable trying to cut them off after just a few kisses or blow them off before it went too far because he just didn’t feel it, that he’d begun to avoid them all together.
He didn’t want to ruin his rock-star reputation, especially when he’d in the past with Convicted Chrome, been all too happy for the attention of the ladies. But now something had changed. They just did nothing for him, except depress him. He compared all of them to Rayne, and they always came up short. He could search from one end of the country to the other, but he’d never find a soul mate among any of those women, because he’d already found her, and her eyes were brown and her hair was lavender.
So, he took to drinking, heavier than he should, because it was an easy way to avoid the women Tommy always brought on the bus. Last thing he wanted was for the media to start to question his sexual preferences or
piss those girls off enough to start rumors, so in an effort to avoid the problem, he got drunk—totally wasted. Then he could go crash in his room, lock the door, and just pass out.
This was no way to live, but he didn’t know how to get around it. This was supposed to be his dream—the fame, the money… He’d wanted it as long as he could remember. Why wasn’t it making him happy?
Rory dug his phone out of his pocket and the folded sheet of numbers he’d scribbled with names and numbers of every bike shop in Denver he could find. He called the next on the list.
“Connor Motor Works.”
“Hi. Do you happen to have someone who works there—a girl—by the name of Rayne?”
“Layne?”
“No, Rayne, with an R.”
“Like Rain and snow?”
“Yes.” Was he talking to an idiot? He thought he heard snickering in the background.
“Nope. No one here by that name.”
“Thanks.”
“Anytime.” More laughter.
Rory disconnected, disappointment flooding through him once again. The hopelessness of this search weighed heavily on him.
He tossed his phone on the table and took a long pull of his beer. He let his mind drift, his thoughts filling—like they often did when he had a moment’s peace—with visions of Rayne, her smile, her hair, the way she’d looked up at him with those huge beautiful eyes the first time he’d slid inside her.
He smiled at the good memories of the night they’d spent together.
His phone vibrated on the table with an incoming call. He picked it up, looking at the screen. Lou.
Rory grimaced and took the call. “Hey, Lou.”
“Where the hell are you? You’ve got an interview backstage with Show Biz Tonight in five minutes. They’re waiting!”
“Shit. Sorry. I forgot. I’ll be right in.”
“Never mind. They’re coming to you. Her and her crew.”
“What? She who?”
“Brandy Brock. She’s decided she wants to do the interview on your tour bus.”
“Shit, Lou. It’s not even clean.”
