Page 34 of Four More The Merrier

"Quinn..."

"No, really. This is exactly how I pictured it." I pace the small room, gesturing wildly. "Sleeping in cheap hotels, a shitty car, being the charity case for some big shot band who thinks I'm nothing but a?—"

"Stop." Beau catches my arms mid-gesture. "You're not a charity case."

"Then what am I?" My voice cracks. "Because from where I'm standing, I'm just some stupid girl who thought she could make it in Nashville."

"You will make it." His thumbs brush away my tears. "You're brave. Hell, I wouldn't have had the guts to leave everything behind like you did."

"A lot of good it's done me."

"Come here." He guides me to sit on the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight beside me. "Tell me about your songs. The ones you write."

"They're nothing special."

"Try me."

I pull out my worn songbook from my bag, hesitating before opening it. "This one... I wrote it the night I left home."

The pages crinkle as I smooth them out. Beau's shoulder presses against mine as he leans in to look, solid and warm. I start humming the melody, soft and low, letting the words flow naturally despite my alcohol-loosened tongue.

"That's beautiful," he whispers when I finish.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." He shifts, pulling me closer as fresh tears fall. "And anyone who says different is an idiot."

We sit in comfortable silence, his steady presence anchoring me as the night deepens around us.

17

JARRON

My head pounds like a bass drum as sunlight stabs through the tour bus windows. Empty beer cans litter the floor, and there's a warm body pressed against mine. I squint, trying to piece together last night through the hangover haze. Some blonde - Britney? Bethany? - snores softly beside me.

"Where's Beau?" I call out, my voice rough. "Tell him to make that hangover smoothie he always does."

Lyle appears in the doorway of the back lounge, already dressed and looking annoyingly chipper. "Good morning, sunshine. Nice of you to join the land of the living."

"Cut the crap. Where is he?"

"Well, after you decided to be a complete jackass to Quinn last night, he went to make sure she was okay. Stayed in her room."

The memories flood back - the beer pong, Quinn actually holding her own, me saying... something I probably shouldn't have. "He what?"

"Stayed. With. Quinn." Lyle enunciates each word like he's talking to a child. "You know, the talented singer you've been treating like garbage?"

"Since when does Beau play white knight?" I sit up, shoving aside what's-her-name's arm. My stomach lurches in protest.

"Since you decided to be a royal dick at Thanksgiving dinner. Real classy, by the way."

"Whatever." I swing my legs over the side of the bunk, fighting down a wave of nausea. "She needs to toughen up if she's gonna make it in this business."

"Or maybe you need to stop being such a pompous ass." Lyle tosses me a bottle of water.

"Your Mama would be really disappointed in how you're treating her. Remember what she always said about kindness being free?"

Lyle's words hit harder than the hangover. The mention of Mama makes my chest tight. She'd raised me better than this, taught me to look out for folks who were struggling. Just like she'd struggled after Dad left.

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