Page 84 of Four More The Merrier

"Sit down," Monica snaps. "You're part of this too now. Figure it out, all of you. Because if you don't, you won't have careers left to worry about."

She storms out, leaving us in a silence that feels like a physical weight. I watch a tear slide down Quinn's cheek and my chest aches, knowing we've all contributed to this mess.

Back at the tour bus, Jarron's already halfway through a bottle of Jack. The tension from Monica's office has followed us here like a storm cloud. I watch him take another long pull, knowing this won't end well.

"You know what?" Jarron slams the bottle down on the counter. "This is all bullshit. Complete fucking bullshit."

"Maybe ease up on that," I suggest, reaching for the bottle.

He yanks it away. "No, I'm gonna say what needs saying. Everything was fine before she showed up."

"Jarron…" Austen all but growls.

Quinn freezes in the middle of making tea, her back going rigid. I step closer to her, but Jarron's not done.

"We were killing it, selling out shows, having the time of our lives. Then she comes along with her sad beautiful eyes and her perfect voice and-" He takes another drink. "And now look at us. Can't even get through a fucking show."

"That's enough," Lyle warns.

"No, let him finish," Quinn says quietly, turning around. Her hands are shaking.

"You want me to finish? Fine. You walked in here and made us all fall for you. Got us fighting like teenagers. Ruined everything we built." Jarron's words slur together. "Should've never let you on this tour."

Quinn's breath catches. She sets down her mug with careful precision, grabs her jacket from the hook.

"Quinn, wait-" I reach for her arm but she's already moving.

"Don't," she whispers, and then she's gone, the door slamming behind her.

I turn to follow but Austen catches my sleeve. "Give her a minute. That was a low fucking blow from him."

Lyle gets up and jerks the bottle away from Jarron, "Go now, no one wants to be around you right now."

"I just said what you were all thinking," he says with a hiccup. "Fuck you all." He goes into his room and slams the door.

"Fuck," I mutter, watching through the window as she disappears into the dark parking lot.

38

QUINN

Itap in the code, the new hotel room door quietly opens. Room 518. Fifth floor, far from my usual second-floor haunt. I might have mentioned to the front desk girl that if she told anyone my room number I may have mentioned I'm not above leaving a bad review onYelp, but whatever works.

I drop my overnight bag on the generic floral bedspread and sink into the stiff armchair by the window. The view outside shows nothing but gray sky and an empty parking lot. Perfect match for my mood.

My phone buzzes for the hundredth time. I silence it without looking. Could be any of them - or all of them. Right now, I don't want to know.

"This is what you get for being stupid," I mutter to myself, kicking off my boots. "Thinking you could actually make it in this industry. That you belonged here. That they may all actually care about you."

My stomach growls, reminding me I haven't eaten since breakfast. I grab the room service menu from the desk and flip through it half-heartedly. The club sandwich seems safe enough.

When it arrives, the server wheels in a covered tray with forced cheerfulness. "Enjoy your meal, miss!"

I lift the silver dome and the smell of warm turkey and bacon hits me like a wall. My stomach lurches.

"Oh god." I barely make it to the bathroom in time.

Splashing cold water on my face, I stare at my reflection. "Get it together, Quinn." But the mere thought of going back to that sandwich makes me queasy again.

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