Page 83 of Four More The Merrier

"Hi," she says quietly, looking at each of us in turn.

Four mumbled "heys" answer her. The awkwardness is thick enough to cut with a knife.

She reaches for the coffee pot, her movements careful and deliberate. "So... should we talk about this?"

I glance at my phone, the numbers glowing 8:47 AM. My stomach knots as I realize we're cutting it close for our 10 AM rehearsal.

"Look," I say, setting my coffee mug down with a soft clink. "We've got that mid-day show at the convention center in, less than four hours. Maybe we should..." I trail off, searching for the right words.

Quinn tugs at the hem of my flannel, shifting her weight from one bare foot to the other. "Go about our day like normal?"

"Yeah," I nod, grateful she picked up my thread. "Then tonight, back on the bus, we can figure this whole thing out."

Jarron downs his coffee like it's whiskey. "Sounds good to me. I need a shower anyway."

"Separate showers," Lyle adds quickly, earning himself a half-hearted glare from Austen.

"Right," Quinn says, wrapping her arms around herself. "I'll just... go get ready then."

She disappears into the bathroom, leaving the four of us in uncomfortable silence.

"This isn't weird at all," Austen mutters, reaching for his jacket.

"Could be weirder," I offer, though I'm not sure how.

"We're professionals," Lyle says, straightening his shoulders. "We can handle one rehearsal."

Jarron snorts. "Sure. Professional train wrecks."

"Just..." I run a hand through my beard, "let's get through rehearsal. Deal with the rest later."

They all mumble their agreement, and one by one, we filter out of the hotel room to get ready for the day ahead. As I close the door behind me, I catch one last glimpse of Quinn's coffee cup on the counter, lipstick staining the rim, and my chest tightens with the weight of what's to come.

I hitanother wrong note on my bass, wincing as the sound reverberates through the stadium. Quinn's voice wavers slightly, trying to compensate for our collective mess. The crowd's energy feels different tonight - less electric, more confused.

Jarron misses his cue completely, leaving Quinn hanging on the chorus. Our eyes meet across the stage and I can see the strain in her face as she covers for him.

"What verse are we on?" Austen mutters into his mic, clearly lost.

Lyle tries to salvage it with a drum fill, but we're so out of sync it just makes things worse. The song limps to an awkwardfinish and the applause is polite at best. Thank God this was just a little convention center show, and not a sold out arena.

We trudge backstage afterwards, the silence heavy between us. Monica, is waiting with her arms crossed and jaw set.

"My office. Now."

We file into the small room like scolded children. Quinn perches on the arm of a chair while the rest of us lean against various surfaces, carefully avoiding eye contact.

"What is going on?" Monica's voice cuts through the tension. "You sounded like a school talent show, not a group who sells out stadiums across the united states."

"We're just having an off night," Lyle offers weakly.

"An off night?" She barks out a laugh. "This whole week has been 'off.' You're trending on Twitter, and not in a good way. 'Just South of Mediocre' is currently the top comment."

Jarron kicks at the floor. "We'll do better tomorrow."

"You better," Carol says, her voice deadly serious. "Because right now, you're destroying everything you've built. You've dropped three spots on the billboard charts, and record labels don't keep bands that can't perform. Fans don't buy tickets to watch train wrecks."

Quinn starts to stand. "Maybe I should-"

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