Page 14 of Four More The Merrier

"So I'm just supposed to..." I gesture helplessly at nothing.

"Enjoy the show." She hands me a lanyard with an ALL ACCESS pass. "Don't be late tomorrow."

She clicks away on her heels, leaving me standing there with my guitar case and the bitter taste of failure in my mouth. The pass dangles from my fingers, mocking me with its laminated shine.

A stagehand brushes past, already forgetting I exist. The distant sound of the crowd filters through the walls, their excitement a stark contrast to the hollow feeling in my chest.

7

BEAU

Iadjust the strap of my bass, trying to tune out Jarron's complaints while a brunette in cut-offs perches on the arm of his chair.

"Can't even make it to soundcheck. What kind of amateur hour bullshit is this?" Jarron strums his guitar aggressively. "Like we need this kind of drama right now."

"Maybe she got lost on her way from the trailer park," Austen snickers, sprawled across the leather couch with his boots up.

I focus on my strings, keeping my mouth shut. Poor girl probably burned through her savings just getting here. It wasn't long ago that I was in her shoes. Montana ain't exactly next door to Nashville.

"At least if she bombs, TMZ might forget about your Waffle House incident," Lyle chimes in, pointing his drumstick at Jarron.

"Man, shut up about that." Jarron shifts uncomfortably. "Those chairs were already broken when I got there."

The brunette giggles, twirling her hair. "I thought it was kind of hot."

"Everything I do is hot, sweetheart." Jarron winks at her.

I roll my eyes, plucking out our opening riff. The venue's already packed – can hear the crowd through the walls, that low rumble of anticipation.

"Ten bucks says she shows up in cowboy boots from Target," Austen says.

"Twenty says she cries when Monica tells her she ain't performing tonight," Jarron adds.

"Y'all are some assholes," I mutter, immediately regretting speaking up when three pairs of eyes lock onto me.

"Always the soft touch, Beau." Jarron shakes his head. "This ain't some charity concert. We've got a reputation to maintain."

"Yeah, and what a sterling reputation that is," I say under my breath, but nobody hears me over the stage manager calling for five minutes.

The groupies scatter as we warm up. I can't help but wonder about this mystery opener, hoping she's okay wherever she ends up tonight.

I adjusted my hat one last time, watching Lyle do his pre-show ritual of spinning his drumsticks three times between each finger. The roar of the crowd seeps through the walls, making my chest vibrate.

"Alright boys, let's give 'em hell." Jarron downs a shot of whiskey, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Extended set tonight since our little amateur couldn't make it."

"Could've at least sent a picture," Austen says, running his hands through his hair for the millionth time. "What if she's hot?"

"What if she's actually talented?" I mutter.

Jarron snorts. "Yeah, and maybe I'll win a Grammy for Best Gospel Album."

"Places, gentlemen!" The stage manager waves us toward the entrance.

We line up in our usual order - Jarron first, then Austen, me, and Lyle bringing up the rear. The familiar pre-show electricity buzzes through my veins, but something feels off tonight.

"Hey." Lyle nudges my arm. "You good, big guy?"

"Just thinking about that poor girl driving all this way for nothing."

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