Page 38 of Four More The Merrier

"Jarron's hugging the toilet. Says it was the gas station sushi."

"Who eats gas station sushi?" I lean against the doorframe, crossing my arms.

"Jarron, apparently. Look, we go on in two hours and he can't even stand up straight. Can you fill in?"

My stomach drops. "Fill in? As in, sing his parts?"

"You know all our songs."

Heat creeps up my neck. "That's different than performing all of them with the band in front of thousands of people."

"Please." Lyle grabs my hands. "You're our only shot at not canceling tonight. The venue's sold out."

"But the harmonies, the arrangements-"

"We'll follow your lead. Beau and I have your back."

"What about Austen?"

"He doesn't have a choice." Lyle squeezes my hands. "Come on, Quinn. Show these people what you can really do."

I take a deep breath, my heart hammering against my ribs. "Give me five minutes to change."

"You're a lifesaver." He pulls me into a crushing hug. "Meet us backstage in fifteen. We'll run through the setlist."

As he rushes off, I close the door and slide down against it. My hands are shaking. This is what I've dreamed of - a real shot at the big time. But am I ready?

Only one way to find out.

My hands grip the edge of the stage curtain as I watch Lyle stride out to center stage. The roar of the crowd sends tremors through my bones, and I catch Beau's reassuring smile from where he stands ready with his bass.

"How y'all doing tonight?" Lyle's voice booms through the speakers. "So, our boy Jarron is down with the sickness..." He breaks into an exaggerated impression of that Disturbed song, complete with guttural noises. "Ooohh ahh ahh ahh ahh!"

The crowd erupts in laughter, and I can't help but crack a smile despite my racing heart.

"But don't you worry." Lyle grins, spinning a drumstick between his fingers. "We've got something special for you tonight. Our own Quinn Dupree is gonna help us add some female flare to Just South of Mason."

More cheers, but mixed with confused murmurs. My stomach knots.

"You got this," Beau whispers, squeezing my shoulder as he passes.

Austen adjusts his guitar strap next to me, running a hand through his hair. "Don't fuck this up, I mean, you got this dollface."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, diet douche." I wipe my sweaty palms on my blue jeans.

"Just follow my lead on the harmonies," he says, softer this time. "We'll make it work."

The intro music starts to build, and I close my eyes, taking deep breaths. This is what I came to Nashville for. This is my shot.

Lyle counts us in with his sticks, and I step into the spotlight.

The music flows through me, and everything else fades away. My voice blends with Austen's harmonies like we've been singing together for years. The crowd's energy pulses through the arena, feeding into every note, every movement.

When we hit the bridge of "Southern Comfort," Beau slides up next to me, his bass thumping along as I belt out Jarron's signature high note. The audience erupts. Through the stage lights, I catch glimpses of phones recording, people dancing, singing along.

"Damn girl," Austen whispers between verses, actually grinning at me for once. "Where have you been hiding those pipes?"

I wink back, riding the wave of confidence as we launch into the final chorus. Lyle's drums thunder behind us, driving the song home. When the last note rings out, the roar of the crowd hits me like a physical force. My hands shake as I grip the microphone, sweat trickling down my spine.

---