Page 72 of Four More The Merrier

"Technical difficulties?" Monica's perfectly shaped eyebrow arches. "The New Year's Eve show is in two days. This performance needs to be perfect."

Jarron throws his microphone down. "Maybe if people started using the head on their shoulders instead of the head between-"

"Don't you dare," Beau cuts in, stepping between us.

"Or what?" Jarron's jaw clenches. "You gonna do something about it?"

"Boys," Monica snaps. "Whatever drama you've got going on, check it at the door. Quinn, you're supposed to be harmonizing with Austen on the bridge. Let's take it from there."

I nod, not daring to look at any of them. The weight of their stares burns into me as I adjust my capo.

"From the top," Monica commands, tapping her pen against the clipboard. "And this time, try to remember you're supposed to be professionals."

Any semblance of professionalism lasts just long enough for Monica to leave the room. The verbal lashing she gave us hasn't even began to thaw before all hell breaks loose again.

"For fuck's sake, can we get through one verse without someone screwing up?" Jarron throws his mic stand down.

"Maybe if you weren't rushing the tempo," Austen snaps, running his hands through his hair.

I shift uncomfortably behind my guitar, trying to fade into the background as Lyle slams his drumsticks onto the snare.

"All of you need to get your heads out of your asses." Beau interjects.

"Speaking of heads up asses," Jarron turns to him, "what the hell was that bass line? Are you playing in a different key?"

Beau's normally gentle demeanor cracks. "Maybe I could focus better if you weren't eye-fucking the opener every five seconds."

My cheeks burn as all eyes dart to me.

"That's rich coming from you," Austen laughs bitterly. "Mr. 'Let's invite her to live on the bus.'"

Lyle stands up from his drum kit. "Guys, this isn't the time-"

"Oh, like you're innocent in all this?" Jarron rounds on him. "We're not fucking blind, Lyle.."

"Hello, can we please just focus on the music?" I try to interject, but my voice sounds small.

"Shut up!" They all yell in unison, then immediately look guilty.

"Fine." I set my guitar down carefully. "You guys clearly have some issues to work out. I'll be on the bus when you're done measuring dicks."

I walk out, leaving them in stunned silence. Through the door, I hear Jarron mutter, "Nice going, assholes."

"Look who's talking," Austen retorts, followed by the sound of something being knocked over.

What have I gotten myself into?

The stage lightsblind me as I step out for my opening set. My silver sequined dress, that looks eerily familiar to the ball that will drop later tonight, catches the light, sending sparkles across the packed arena. Ten thousand people are counting down to midnight, but right now they're here to see us perform.

"Happy New Year's Eve, everyone!" My voice carries across the crowd, steadier than I feel inside.

The response is enthusiastic, but I can sense the underlying tension from the band behind me. We haven't properly rehearsed since the blow-up, and it shows.

During "Midnight Kiss," Jarron comes in late on the chorus. Austen compensates by jumping ahead, making us sound like we're racing each other to the finish line. Beau's usually steady bass line wavers, missing the groove entirely.

I catch Lyle's eye and he gives me a slight head shake. We both know this isn't our best work.

"Something's off tonight," a girl in the front row whispers to her friend.

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