Page 33 of Four More The Merrier

Jarron's lips curl into a cruel smile. "Must be nice having nowhere better to be on Thanksgiving. Even your own family doesn't want to hear you sing at their dinner table."

The words hit like a physical blow. My throat tightens as tears threaten to spill. The beer in my stomach turns sour.

"Jarron," Beau warns, his deep voice carrying an edge I haven't heard before.

"What?"

I set my cup down with shaking hands. The cheap plastic crumples under my grip.

"You don't know the first thing about my family." My voice cracks. "Or me."

"I know enough." Jarron stands, towering over the beer pong table. "You're just another wannabe who thinks she can make it in Nashville. Difference is, most of them know when to quit."

The tears finally spill over. I swipe at them angrily, hating that he's seeing me cry. Hating that he's right about one thing - I am alone on Thanksgiving.

"That's enough," Lyle snaps, but I'm already backing away.

"Thanks for dinner," I manage to choke out. "I should go."

"Quinn," Beau reaches for my arm but I dodge past him.

The room spins slightly as I stumble toward the door. My boot catches on the step, and I tumble out into the cold night air, barely catching myself on the pavement. The gravel bites into my palms.

"Quinn, wait." Heavy footsteps follow me. Beau's massive frame blocks out the fairy lights as he reaches down to help me up.

"Don't." I push myself to my feet, wobbling slightly. "I don't need anyone's help or pity."

"That's not what this is." His voice is soft, steady.

The parking lot gravel crunches under my boots as I try to steady myself. My palms sting from the fall, and the cold air isn't helping the tears streaming down my face.

"They're all bitter and angry, Quinn." Beau's deep voice carries over the distant sound of traffic. "Jarron... he acts tough, but holidays are rough on him. His mom was all he had, and after she passed a few years back, he started pushing everyone away."

I wrap my arms around myself, turning to face him. The fairy lights from the bus cast shadows across his concerned expression.

"That doesn't give him the right to-"

"No, it doesn't," Beau cuts in. "But he's hurting. Same with Austen. Last Thanksgiving, he was planning to propose to Katie. Then those damn tabloids started running stories about him getting some groupie pregnant."

"But he's with a different groupie every night it seems?"

"He wasn't when he was with Katie. She left him before he could even explain." Beau adjusts his baseball cap, sighing. "Now he jokes about it because it hurts less than admitting how much he misses her."

My anger deflates a bit, replaced by an unwanted twinge of sympathy. "So they're both just..."

"Broken people being assholes to other broken people?" Beau's lips quirk up in a sad smile. "Welcome to Nashville, darlin'."

I wipe at my eyes, smudging what's left of my makeup. "I thought I was the only one feeling alone tonight."

"Nah. We're all just better at hiding it." He gestures back toward the bus. "Some of us hide it behind whiskey and women,others behind bad jokes and worse attitudes. But we're all just trying to figure it out."

The hotel room key fumbles in my shaking hands. Beau steadies them with his own, helping me unlock the door. His flannel still drapes over my shoulders, carrying the scent of cedar and something uniquely him.

"You should go," I mumble, but make no move to return his shirt. "They're probably expecting you."

"They'll live. You're upset." He follows me inside, ducking under the doorframe. "And drunk. Let me at least make sure you're okay."

"I'm fine." The tears betraying my words streak down my cheeks. "Just peachy. Living the dream, right?"

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