Page 56 of Four More The Merrier

I take a deep breath, fingers finding their place on the frets. The sound room's silence weighs heavy, making every small movement seem loud.

"It's called 'December Static'," I say, avoiding Quinn's eyes. "Just... don't expect our usual upbeat stuff."

My fingers start picking out the melody, soft and melancholic. The first verse comes out quieter than I intended:

"String lights in empty windows

Echo down these hollow halls

Another year of pretending

That someone might call..."

Quinn leans forward in her chair, and I force myself to keep going. The chorus builds, my voice growing stronger:

"Static on the radio

Playing songs we used to know

Empty chair at the table

Tell myself I'm able

To spend one more Christmas alone..."

The bridge pours out raw and honest, everything I've never admitted to anyone about how much I hate going home to anempty house after shows, about watching Jarron surrounded by fake friends and wondering if that's better than having none at all.

When the last note fades, I keep staring at my guitar, afraid to look up. The silence stretches until Quinn clears her throat.

"Holy shit, Austen."

"That bad, huh?"

"Are you kidding?" She rolls her chair closer. "That was... I didn't know you could write like that."

"Yeah, well." I finally meet her eyes. "Don't tell Jarron. He'd never let me live down writing a sad Christmas song."

Quinn's fingers brush against mine as she takes the guitar, setting it carefully aside. "You know, I get it. The loneliness." Her voice is soft, understanding. "Sometimes I wonder if I'm crazy for choosing this life."

"Yeah?" I lean back in my chair, letting out a long breath. "Ever miss having a real home? Not just hotel rooms and tour buses?"

"God, yes. Even in my little shitbox apartment." She spins slowly in her chair. "Especially now, with all the Christmas decorations everywhere. Makes me think about those Hallmark movies where everyone's got their perfect little lives in their perfect little towns."

"With their perfect little Christmas trees." I close my eyes, picturing it. "And someone to come home to who actually gives a damn about your day, not just how many records you sold."

"Instead of groupies who can't even remember your name the next morning?"

"Ouch." I crack a smile. "Direct hit, Dupree."

"Sorry." She doesn't sound sorry at all. "But seriously, Austen. Why do you do that to yourself?"

"Because it's easier than admitting I'm fucking terrified of being alone." The words tumble out before I can stop them. "At least they pretend to care for a night."

Quinn rolls her chair closer, her knee bumping against mine. "You're not alone right now."

My heart thuds against my ribs as she leans in. Her lips brush against mine, soft and hesitant at first, then with more certainty. I freeze for a moment, caught between wanting to pull her closer and remembering she's with Beau.

But before I can decide what to do, she's already pulling back, her eyes wide with something like panic.

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