by L. C. Chase
“I was such a fool,” he said and looked down at his desk, watching his finger slide a piece of paper back and forth on its surface. The feeling of failure refused to let him make eye contact with Kate. “I was so certain I was going to be a match.”
A full week had passed since he’d had the blood test, yet even now the weight of that letdown crushed him, as if he were still in the technician’s office hearing the results on an endless loop. When the nurse had told him he was type A, as common as they come, she may as well have reached inside his chest and ripped out his heart with her bare hands. He couldn’t remember driving home that day or how many hours he’d sat in his living room chair staring out at the Front Range and seeing nothing. He’d failed Trevor, and now the man he never knew he’d needed in his life was gone forever.
“But O negative isn’t common at all,” Kate reminded him, pulling him from his thoughts with her soft, understanding voice. “The odds were hugely stacked against you.”
“I know, but I still thought . . .”
What? That his life would be like some sort of romance novel and he’d magically be “the one”? Of course he did.
Fool.
“You thought you’d be his knight in shining armor and ride in on your big white horse to save him?”
Exactly.
Marc swallowed. “Something like that.”
“You don’t need to be a knight, Marc.”
“That’s good, because clearly I’d make a shitty one,” he mumbled. He couldn’t remember having ever felt so completely helpless. Even when he’d had to leave home and fend for himself, he’d had a driving determination to prove his worth. But now . . . no amount of determination in the world was going to change the fact his blood wasn’t a match. All the success, prestige, and wealth in the world didn’t mean a thing if he couldn’t use it to save Trevor’s life.
“There’s not a damn thing I can do,” he bit out, “and I hate that.”
Kate frowned, but he could see the wheels turning behind her eyes. No doubt she was looking at every possible angle for something he had missed, but this was one case for which she’d never find the damning piece of evidence in the thirteenth hour.
Seemingly coming to a decision of some sort, she stood. “Come on.” She walked over to the coat rack and gathered his jacket and gloves. “I’m buying you a drink.”
“There are no answers in alcohol, either,” he said, but he got up from his desk and met her at his office door. He didn’t want to go home to an empty house, remembering Trevor’s presence in every room, and he sure as hell couldn’t concentrate on work.
“No.” She handed him his coat. “But that’s where we’re going to join forces and come up with a plan.”
Ten minutes later, Kate led him through the casual surrounds of a neighborhood pub a few blocks from their office. He’d never been inside the building before, having turned down every offer for after-work drinks with his coworkers his entire career. Now he couldn’t understand why. How did he think an hour or two sharing a drink and conversation with people would have hindered his chance at partner?
The bar interior was welcoming with its warm lighting, comfortable-looking lounge chairs, and reclaimed-wood walls. The low crooning of Jack Johnson drifted from the speakers as small groups filled the scattered tables and booths—shirtsleeves rolled up, ties loosened, hair let down. The majority of the crowd was comprised of the corporate sect of the area. He recognized a few people from the gym in his office building, but as he followed Kate toward the back of the bar, he noticed one similarity between every person at every table: each was visibly relaxing as he or she talked and laughed and vented. He could see now how an environment like this could help settle the dust of a stressful workday. Maybe he’d say yes when Kate asked from now on. Maybe he’d even make a point of being the one to suggest it first.
She led him to a set of lounge chairs in a semicircle around a country-modern-style table where a few of his fellow coworkers were already sitting, laughing over drinks. All of them had invited him out more than once over the years, and surprise covered their faces when they saw him there. Honestly, if the tables were turned, he’d be pretty shocked to see himself there, too.
“Hold on,” Brian, a paralegal, said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a pair of glasses. He put them on and made a play of jerking back in surprise, his eyes alight with mirth. “Is it really you?”
Gillian, a lawyer, smiled. “Who’s got a calendar handy?” she asked. “We need to write this day down.”
The other lawyer at the table, Patrick, didn’t say anything, just stood up, gave Kate a high five, and made a display of pulling a chair from another table so Marc could join them.
Everyone laughed, and heat spread over Marc’s cheeks. But the welcome warmed him in a way he hadn’t expected. A part of him wanted to wallow in all things lost, but he wouldn’t let it get the better of him. He would never have more of Trevor than the memory of the beautiful Christmas they’d shared by random circumstance, and that would have to be enough. Trevor had told him to live, to make the time for what truly mattered. Maybe this, right here, was his new start.
These people he’d spent years working beside were more than just coworkers. They always had been—friends, confidants, people who’d wanted his company because they liked him just as he was—but he’d had his blinders on too tight to see it. He didn’t have to be the most successful; he didn’t have to be the youngest partner. He only had to be himself.
So many years he’d wasted.
A wave of sorrow washed over him—cold, oppressive, and threatening to pull him under.
“What are you having, Marc?” Patrick asked, bringing Marc back to the present.
He reached for his wallet as he sat down. “Uh . . . brandy.”
“Oh no! I’ve got this.” Patrick held his hands up, his smile reaching blue eyes that reminded Marc of Trevor. Another pang of longing, of mourning struck him hard enough to have knocked him off his feet had he still been standing.
“Thank you,” he said.
“I’ll have the usual,” Kate added, and with a nod, Patrick was off to order their drinks. Marc looked across the table to find two pairs of curious eyes on him, and panic streaked through his chest. This was a mistake.
Kate placed a hand on his forearm as his heart began to race. He met her soft blue eyes, not quite as brilliant a blue as Trevor’s. He held back a groan. Why did it suddenly seem like everyone he knew had blue eyes, and how long would they automatically make him think of Trevor?
“Are you okay?” she asked, her voice low enough not to carry across the table.
Not yet. “I’m good.” He forced a smile, but from the crease in Kate’s brow, he knew she didn’t buy it.
“I have to know,” Gillian started, and Christ, her eyes were blue, too. “How did Kate manage to get you here when we’ve tried and failed for years?”
He glanced at Kate and shrugged. “Decided it was time for a drink.”
“Oh, come on,” Brian, with his beautifully brown eyes, said. “There’s gotta be more to it than that.”
Fortunately, Patrick returned with their drinks before Marc had to answer. He looked around the table as he placed Marc’s brandy in front of him and what looked like a rum and coke in front of Kate. “What’d I miss?”
“We’re trying to find out what Kate has over Marc to get him here,” Gillian said, anticipation in her voice at the prospect of new office gossip.
Marc glanced at Kate, who looked back at him with a question in her eyes. She raised an eyebrow, and he tipped his head in answer. She graced him with a warm smile before turning to their coworkers.
“Marc met someone the night of the blizzard,” she began, and Marc tuned out, taking a sip of his brandy, eyes fixed on the base of an empty glass in the middle of the table. He didn’t want to see anyone’s expression as Kate revealed his story. He couldn’t repeat it again, and it wasn’t like any of them could do anything about it. Ye
t, part of him was oddly relieved by simply knowing they knew what was going on.
“So we need to figure out what we can do to help,” Kate said, Marc’s ears perking up.
“Unless you can magically change my blood type, there’s nothing we can do,” he said.
The table fell into silent, collective thought, and the chatter of voices hummed steadily just below Ray LaMontagne’s raspy, soulful voice as he sang about “the best thing.” If anyone could figure out another angle, it would be this team of brilliant minds, but Marc had already been over it. Repeatedly.
Brian snapped his fingers. “I’ve got it!” He leaned forward, and everyone followed suit. “We’ll have a donor registration drive. A lot of events my wife and I do have drives and pledges to raise money for various donations. Why not do something similar?”
“That’s a good idea,” Gillian said. Patrick and Kate nodded in agreement.
Marc had to admit it was a good idea too, even as a fresh wave of guilt crashed into him. He’d been so fixated on his inability to do anything directly, the thought of actively seeking out someone who could had completely escaped him.
“Those types of things take a lot of time and legwork, though, and from what I gather there isn’t a lot of time left,” Patrick said, looking to Marc for confirmation.
Marc cleared his throat. “No. Trevor said he’d need a transplant in a matter of months.” Could he let himself hope this would work? God, how he wanted to.
“Which means we need something that could reach a lot of people in a short amount of time. A charity event of some sort,” Patrick concluded.
“Let’s do a free concert!” Kate sat up straight, light dancing her eyes. “Unless I can find a bigger name, my band can headline. I’ll see if we can’t get a few more groups on board. People can come listen to music, dance, have a good time, get their fingers poked, and sign up to be donors.” She turned to Marc, her smile huge and infectious, and Marc felt a shift in his chest, a veil lifting from his mind. “With any luck we’ll find a match for your man.”
For the first time since Christmas Day, Marc’s smile felt genuine. There was a real chance that they could find Trevor a new kidney. They had to.
“Thank you,” Marc said through a tight throat, making eye contact with each of his coworkers individually.
Kate put her hand over his and gave it a squeeze. “We’ll find a donor,” she said, and he found himself believing her wholeheartedly.
But . . .
Marc frowned. “Wait. You’re in a band?”
Kate glared at him. “See what I mean, Marc? If you ever left your office, or talked about anything other than work, you’d know this. You’d also know that Patrick got his degree on a baseball scholarship.”
Marc looked to Patrick and raised his eyebrows. “You were going to go pro?”
“That’s right,” Patrick picked up the conversation. “Lawyer was my backup plan for after the big leagues, but I blew out my shoulder before that took off. Now I coach girls’ softball.”
“And Brian here is a hardcore athlete who competes in Ironman triathlons with his wife,” Kate continued. “And they both win! You’d also know that Gillian is a thespian and directs plays at the Denver Arts Club. She’s won awards.”
“You’re missing out, man,” Brian said, shaking his head but grinning at the same time. “Kate’s a kick-ass singer and her band puts on a killer show. We’ve all been to see them.”
“And you’d know all these things if you weren’t so completely driven with work,” Kate said, her tone and expression pointed.
Marc worried his lip, heat rising to his cheeks. He’d been suitably chastised and couldn’t think of anything to say. What could he say, though? Kate was right. They all were.
“What do you do when you’re not in the office?” Brian asked. “On weekends?”
“I, uh . . .” Running the emotional gamut, Marc made a stop at uncomfortable and shifted on his seat. “Go to the gym.”
His answer was greeted by four pairs of raised eyebrows.
“And then?” Brian pressed.
Marc cleared his throat. “Work on my cases.”
Kate leaned back in her chair, a classic I-rest-my-case pose. “Uh-huh.”
“Okay, okay. I get it,” Marc said, raising a hand in surrender. “I’ve been letting life pass me by.”
“So what are you going to do about it?” Kate asked.
He glanced around the table at these people, his coworkers, friends he’d been too busy to realize would have been there for him all along, each wearing the same expectant expression. “Organize a concert, I guess,” Marc said.
“Can you believe this turnout?” Patrick shouted over the loud music, clapping Marc on the shoulder.
Marc scanned the capacity crowd in Denver’s City Park Pavilion, where Kate’s band was performing on the small stage. “I had my doubts about actually pulling this off.”
The last two weeks had been a whirlwind. The day after the five of them had brainstormed the organ donation drive idea, they had begun putting their plan into motion. Fortunately, with it being the dead of winter and many events being canceled due to the repeated snowstorms, the pavilion wasn’t in high demand, and the first available date was much sooner than they’d anticipated. It only took Kate a few days to line up five bands in addition to hers. Getting representatives from a major organ donation center and technicians on site for blood testing had been easy too. They needed all they could get. Marc had sent press releases to the local news and radio stations, and the five of them papered the area with flyers and cold-called every person on their combined contacts list. After that, they could only hope people would show up. And more importantly, that one of them would be the hero who’d save Trevor’s life.
“Nah, that’s what determination does,” Patrick said, grinning.
Marc chuckled. “Would you like a gold star?” he joked, raising his voice to be heard over a driving drumbeat and wailing guitar.
Patrick shook his head, laughing, and he gave Marc a playful elbow in the side. “You can take my offer and join me coaching softball instead.”
“I’m still thinking!” Marc couldn’t help but smile again, at least a little. Patrick had invited him to assist with coaching his girls’ softball team in the spring, even though Marc didn’t have a clue how to play the game. Patrick had promised he’d learn in no time. “But I probably will take you up on it.”
After the organ drive today, after they hopefully found a match for Trevor.
“Good!” Patrick turned his attention back to the stage.
Marc took a deep, steady breath. Loss and failure hummed steadily through his veins, but a renewed sense of purpose, relief in discovering new friendships, had kept him from slipping into depression. He glanced at Patrick. He really had been missing out on much more than just romantic relationships.
In the past couple of weeks, he’d also become better friends with Gillian and Brian. Both Brian and his wife, Grace, were trying to convince him to give Ironman a go. Marc couldn’t wrap his brain around a race that took anywhere from eight to seventeen hours to finish, but maybe he’d try out a short-distance sprint triathlon this summer. Gillian, on the other hand, was subtly trying to get him to audition for an upcoming play, but that was scarier than an Ironman triathlon.
All these people had rallied around him when he needed support most—without question or hesitation, without agenda or condition. They’d invited him into their lives and wanted nothing more in return than his friendship. This was what life was about, and he finally got it. The only thing missing now was Trevor.
Brian materialized out of the crowd, strategically carrying three steaming cups of hot chocolate. He stopped in front of them, holding the cups out. Patrick carefully extracted one, passing it to Marc before retrieving the other for himself.
“Thank you,” Marc said, lifting his cup in a short salute and taking a sip.
Brian nodded and then joined Marc and Patrick in w
atching the show.
“Rocks hard, doesn’t she?” Brian said, bopping his head along to the music.
“She does,” Marc agreed. He hadn’t known what to expect, but Kate and her band had blown him away from the first song in their set. Watching her on stage now, he couldn’t believe she was the same person. At work she was a conservative, buttoned-up professional, but there on the stage—clad in a black leather jacket, tank top, short black skirt, and triple-tread biker boots with silver buckles up the side, dark hair loose and wild—she was a flurry of energy commanding the audience with ease. He made a mental note to make sure he never missed a show from this point on. He wondered if Trevor would like her music, too—a thought that led to his internal movie theater playing a preview of the two of them. Trevor standing with his back to Marc’s chest, Marc’s arms wrapped around Trevor’s waist, his chin resting on Trevor’s shoulder as the two of them swayed to the beat.
“Marc! Marc!” The sound of his name being shouted drew him from his thoughts, and he turned to see Grace pushing her way through the crowd toward him.
“Come quick!” she said when she reached him, her voice vibrating with excitement. She grabbed his arm and tugged him after her. He shot a confused look at Brian and Patrick, who both shrugged and then followed.
Grace led him outside, across the parking lot, and into one of the two mobile blood labs they’d secured for testing and typing. The four of them piled inside, where a woman sat across from the technician, her back to the door.
“Meet Trevor’s blood match!” Grace announced.
Marc’s eyes widened. “A m-match?” For a second he couldn’t think, the words in his head bouncing around like popcorn in a wind tunnel, his mouth hanging open. The woman turned and looked up at him with warm dark eyes. Familiar eyes.
