Page 55 of Four More The Merrier

Istumble back onto the tour bus after a late-night smoke, expecting everyone to be asleep. Instead, I find Quinn curled up in the small dinette, scribbling in a worn notebook under the dim overhead light. Her hair's pulled up in a messy bun, and she's wearing one of Beau's oversized flannels.

"Can't sleep?" I ask, sliding into the booth across from her.

She startles, quickly moving to close the notebook. "Jesus christ, you scared me."

"Sorry." I run my hands through my hair, noticing how her pen's left smudges on the side of her hand. "Writing something new?"

"Maybe." She taps her pen against the page, eyeing me with hesitation. "Just... working through some stuff."

"Can I see?" The words slip out before I can stop them. "I mean, if you want to share."

Quinn studies me for a moment, probably trying to figure out if I'm setting her up for another dig. Fair enough - I haven't exactly been welcoming.

"Promise not to be an ass about it?"

"Scout's honor." I hold up three fingers, which makes her snort.

"You were never a Boy Scout."

"True. But I promise anyway."

She slides the notebook across the table. The pages are filled with her neat handwriting, crossed out lines and arrows redirecting verses. I start reading, and damn - the lyrics hit hard. It's about leaving everything behind, chasing dreams that might never come true, but doing it anyway.

"This is..." I clear my throat. "This is really good, Quinn."

"You don't have to-"

"No, I mean it." I tap the second verse. "This part especially - about watching the sunset in your rearview mirror while your hometown disappears? That's fucking poetry."

I shift in my seat, fingers drumming against her notebook. "Actually... I've been working on something too." My throat tightens as soon as the words leave my mouth.

Quinn's eyes light up. "Really? Can I hear it?"

"It's probably shit." I run my hands through my hair, a nervous habit I've never managed to kick. "Just some random thoughts I've been piecing together."

"Let me be the judge of that." She closes her notebook and leans forward. "The sound room's empty right now. We could go try it out."

"At this hour?"

"Why not? Unless you're chicken." Her lips curve into a challenging smile. "Come on, Austen. I showed you mine."

"Fine." I stand up, grabbing my guitar case from the storage compartment. "But if you laugh-"

"I won't laugh." She's already heading for the bus door, grabbing her jacket. "Unless it's about trucks or beer."

"It's not about trucks or beer." I follow her into the cold night air. "Give me some credit."

We cross the parking lot to the venue's side entrance. Quinn produces a key card from her pocket.

"How'd you get that?"

"Made friends with the sound guy." She shrugs. "Being nice to people occasionally pays off."

The empty hallways echo with our footsteps as we make our way to the sound room. It's weird being here without the usual bustle of techs and managers.

Quinn flips on the lights and drops into one of the rolling chairs. "Alright, Haynes. Show me what you've got."

I pull out my guitar, trying to ignore how my hands are shaking slightly. Never thought I'd be nervous playing for one person when I perform for thousands regularly.

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