Page 68 of Four More The Merrier

"Sure we can." Austen tunes his guitar, though his usual confidence seems forced. "You know all his parts."

"That's not the point." I run my fingers through my hair, messing up the careful styling. "We're supposed to be working on the harmony arrangements today. The show's in two days."

Beau sets down his bass. "I'll try calling him again."

"Don't bother." The words come out sharper than intended. "He's probably nursing a hangover somewhere, feeling sorry for himself."

"Quinn-" Lyle starts.

"No, I mean it." I stand up, frustration bubbling over. "He can't just disappear because he's in a mood. This is our job."

"Our job that you're new to," Austen reminds me, his tone gentle but firm. "Look, Jarron's been doing this since he was sixteen. He'll show up."

"When? Five minutes before showtime?" I grab my guitar. "Fine. Let's at least run through what we can without him."

We start the first verse of "Auld Lang Syne," our voices blending in three-part harmony instead of four. It sounds hollow, incomplete. Like trying to build a house with missing walls.

"This is useless." I stop playing mid-chorus. "The whole point was to showcase the band's range with layered harmonies. Without Jarron's tenor, it falls flat."

"Maybe we should just stick to the original setlist," Beau suggests.

"No way." Austen shakes his head. "We promised the label something special for New Year's Eve. Something to start the year with a bang."

"Well, it's going to be more of a whimper if our lead singer doesn't get his shit together." I check my phone again. Still nothing.

After thirty more minutes of less than fruitful practice, we give up and trudge back to the tour bus, instruments and spirits dragging behind us. Austen throws open the door, and I nearly collide with his back when he stops short.

"Well, look who decided to grace us with his presence," Austen calls out.

Beau peers around us. "His boots are by the door."

"Jarron?" I step onto the bus. "We need to talk about the New Year's arrangement-"

A muffled voice comes from behind his closed door. "Not feeling well. Practice without me."

"That's what we've been doing all morning," Lyle says, dropping onto the couch. "Man, just come out here."

"I said I'm sick."

Austen kicks Jarron's door. "Bullshit. You're throwing a tantrum because Quinn's friend showed up."

"Go away."

"Real mature," Beau mutters, heading for the kitchen. "Want me to make some soup for his highness?"

I watch the three of them settle in - Lyle scrolling through his phone, Austen grabbing a beer, Beau rattling pans - and something clicks. They're used to this, to Jarron's moods and disappearing acts. But something in his voice sounds different.

"I got this," I say, waving off their protests. "Y'all take five. Run to the gift shop in the hotel and get him some tampons, and chocolate. "

Austen doubles over laughing, grabbing his crotch, almost like he's pissed himself from laughing so hard.

Lyle catches his breath from laughing, "Good luck songbird," he says as they start to exit the bus. "Feminine products headed your way!"

When they all leave, I knock softly on Jarron's door. "It's Quinn. Just Quinn."

"Not now just Quinn."

"Yes now." I press my palm against the door. "Either you let me in, or I start singing 'All I Want for Christmas' at the top of my lungs. And you know I can hit those high notes."

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