Page 62 of Four More The Merrier

"Hurry. And Quinn? Don't... don't tell the others."

The line goes dead. I pull on my boots and grab my coat, tiptoeing past Beau's bunk.

I snag his keys from the hook near the driver's seat, my heart hammering against my ribs. The metal bites cold into my palmas I slip out into the parking lot. Snow crunches under my boots, and I pull my coat tighter around me.

Beau's Jeep chirps as I unlock it. The leather seat is ice-cold against my thighs, and I crank the heat full blast. My phone buzzes with Jarron's location pin.

"You better not be dead in a ditch," I mutter, backing out of the spot.

The streets are empty this time of night, Christmas lights twinkling in store windows. My phone guides me through unfamiliar roads until I spot the bar's neon sign flickering in the distance. I turn into the alley behind it, headlights sweeping across dumpsters and scattered beer bottles.

Jarron huddles against the brick wall, one hand pressed to his face. Blood trickles between his fingers.

"Jesus Christ," I kill the engine and jump out. "What happened to 'maybe my jaw'?"

"It's not as bad as it looks." He straightens up, wincing. "Guy had a ring."

"Get in the car before someone recognizes you."

He slides into the passenger seat, leaving bloody fingerprints on the door handle. I dig through the glove compartment and find some napkins.

"Beau's gonna kill me for stealing his Jeep," I say, handing them over.

"Beau's gonna kill me for getting you involved in my mess." Jarron presses the napkins to his split lip. "Why'd you come?"

"Because you called." I start the engine. "And because I know what it's like to need someone to show up."

He looks at me with heavy eyes, but doesn't say a word.

The heater blasts warm air across my face as I navigate through empty streets. Jarron slumps in the passenger seat, the napkins spotted red against his lip.

"You know what's fucked up?" His words slur slightly. "Everyone wants a piece of Jarron Haynes, the superstar. But nobody gives a shit about just... Jarron."

I glance over. His head rests against the window, breath fogging the glass. "I think you'd be surprised how many people care about just Jarron."

"Bullshit." He lets out a bitter laugh. "You've seen the girls. They want the fantasy. The story of how they hooked up with Just South of Mason's lead singer. None of them stick around for breakfast."

"Maybe because you don't let them."

"Because it's easier that way." He shifts, wincing as his lip starts bleeding again. "You know what I really want? Someone to watch stupid movies with. Someone who'll call me on my shit. Someone to grow old with. Someone who..." His voice cracks. "Someone who'd come pick my drunk ass up at 2 AM without posting it on social media."

The vulnerability in his voice makes my chest tight. "Like tonight?"

"Yeah." He wipes his face with the back of his hand. "Like tonight. But I fuck everything up. Push people away before they can leave. It's lonely at the top, or whatever that bullshit saying is."

The streetlights cast shadows across Jarron's face, highlighting the vulnerability in his eyes. My heart thunders in my chest as I lean across the center console. His breath catches as I press my lips against his, tasting copper from his split lip. For a moment, the world narrows to just this – his hand tangling in my hair, the soft sound he makes in the back of his throat.

Reality crashes back like a bucket of ice water. I jerk away, my fingers flying to my tingling lips.

"I shouldn't have?—"

"Quinn—"

"You're drunk," I say, gripping the steering wheel until my knuckles turn white. "And hurt. And I'm..."

Jarron slumps back in his seat, running a hand through his disheveled hair. "Fuck. Why couldn't I be sober for this."

The rest of the drive passes in tense silence. When we reach the tour bus, I help him up the steps, steadying him when he stumbles. The others are still asleep, their soft breathing filling the dark space.

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