Page 29 of Four More The Merrier

Jarron chuckles as he meets my murderous gaze. "Come on, Lyle. We're just having fun."

"No, you're being dicks." I set my glass down harder than necessary. "Quinn's part of the band now."

"Part of the band?" The spray-tan blonde scoffs. "Please. She's just riding your coattails."

Quinn stands, smoothing her jeans. "Thanks for the drinks, but I should go. I've got some packing to do."

"Running away already?" Austen calls after her. "Thought you were tougher than that."

I rise to follow her, but turn back to face them. "You know what? You're right. She's not tough enough. She's too damn good for this shit. While you two were busy collecting groupies,she was building a career from nothing. No daddy's money, no family connections. Just talent and guts."

"Lyle-" Beau starts, but I hold up my hand.

"No. I'm done watching them treat her like she's beneath them. She's earned her spot here, and if you can't see that, maybe you're the ones who don't belong."

That shuts them both up. I swear I love them, but they can be such self entitled pricks sometimes.

I catch up to Quinn outside, where she's already ordered an Uber. Her eyes are bright but dry.

"You didn't have to do that," she says.

"Yeah, I did. That's what family does."

She looks at me sharply. "We're not family."

"Not yet. But we could be, if certain people would get their heads out of their asses."

Her Uber pulls up, and she opens the door. "Thanks, Lyle. For everything."

"Anytime, songbird. See you at rehearsal tomorrow?"

She nods, managing a small smile before sliding into the car.

I pull out my phone and open the Uber app, the neon from The Lotus casting purple shadows across my screen. No way am I sticking around to watch the douche parade continue.

15

BEAU

The smell of turkey and all the fixings wafts through our tour bus as I sprawl across the couch, strumming my bass. Outside, the November wind whips against the windows, creating an oddly comforting white noise.

"Hey, Lyle," I call out, setting my bass aside. "What's Quinn doing for Turkey Day?"

Lyle looks up from his phone, sprawled in the chair across from me. "Said she was heading home. Why?"

My eyes drift to the parking lot through the window. That's when I spot it - that beat-up Honda Civic with the dented rear bumper and what looks like duct tape holding the side mirror together. The same car I've seen her climbing out of at every venue.

"That's weird." I scratch my beard, frowning. "Her car's still in the lot."

"What?" Lyle joins me at the window, pressing his face against the glass. "Shit, you're right."

"She told you she was going home?"

"Yeah, but..." Lyle rubs his shaved head. "She got kind of weird when I asked about her plans. Didn't really look me in the eye."

The wind picks up outside, rattling that loose mirror on her car. I can't help but think about her sitting alone in that hotel room while we're all celebrating.

"Man." I shake my head. "That ain't right."

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