Page 86 of Four More The Merrier

"I'm done. With the tour, with the label, all of it." I pace the hotel room, one hand pressed against my churning stomach.

"Listen Quinn, you have four shows left… If this is about the guys?—"

"It's not." The lie tastes bitter. "I just... I need to go home."

"What home Quinn? You're rattle trap apartment in Nashville? You walk away now, you're breaching contract. No payment, no royalties, nothing."

I sink onto the bed. "I understand."

"You're throwing away everything you've worked for." His voice softens. "Sleep on it, okay? We can talk?—"

"No." I cut him off. "I've made up my mind."

"Fine, your call, kid. But don't come crying to me when you realize what a mistake this is."

The line goes dead. I stare at my phone until the screen dims, then goes black. My savings account has exactly $127.43 in it. Enough to get half way in an uber, considering I have no car, and then I'll have to get Abby to pick me up. I grab my duffel bag and shove the pregnancy test inside, wrapped in toilet paper. Evidence of what might be my biggest mistake, hidden away like the dirty secret it is, that it shouldn't be. My hands pause on the sequined dress from my first performance. The fabric sparkles under the hotel lights, mocking me with memories of better days. I take it out, and leave it on the hotel floor.

I survey the room, secretly hoping to find some answers. The club sandwich sits untouched on the room service tray, a final reminder of how everything changed in just a few hours.

Fresh tears streak down my cheeks as my fingers trace over the worn leather of my guitar case, remembering how Beau's eyes lit up the first time he heard me play. How Lyle's infectious laugh filled the tour bus during late-night jam sessions. The way Austen would harmonize perfectly with me, even on songs we'd never practiced. And Jarron...

"God, even when you're being an ass, I still..." I choke back a sob.

My phone lights up again - another missed call from Austen. His contact photo shows him mid-laugh and mid head shake, eyes crinkled at the corners. The sight makes my chest ache.

"I'm doing this for you," I whisper to the screen. "For all of you."

I pick up my guitar case, the weight familiar and grounding. Inside are the songs we wrote together, late at night when theworld felt soft and anything seemed possible. Songs about love and loss and finding your place. Now they'll stay unfinished, just like all of us.

"You'd try to fix this," I murmur, thinking of Lyle's steady wisdom. "You'd all say we could figure it out together. But this isn't something that can be fixed with a group hug and a bottle of whiskey."

The pregnancy test burns a hole in my bag, a ticking time bomb that could destroy everything they've built. Their careers, their friendships, their brotherhood - I won't be the one to tear it all apart.

My hand drifts to my stomach again. "I'm sorry, little one. But sometimes loving someone means walking away."

I shoulder my bags and take one last look around the room. Memories flood back - shared laughter, stolen kisses, quiet moments of connection. My heart feels like it's being squeezed in a vice.

"Goodbye," I whisper to the empty room, to the four men who changed my life, to the dreams I'm leaving behind. Then I turn and walk out the door before I can change my mind.

39

LYLE

Ipace the length of the tour bus, my footsteps echoing against the metal floor. The silence is deafening without Quinn's laughter or the usual chaos of band life. My knuckles rap against Jarron's door for the hundredth time today.

"Come on, man. We need to talk about this."

"Fuck off," comes the muffled response.

"Real mature." I lean against the wall. "You know what? No. I'm done with this bullshit. You could at least have the balls to come out and discuss it with us considering you're the one who drove her away.."

The door cracks open, revealing Jarron's bloodshot eyes and disheveled hair. "Fuck you Lyle, are you happy now? Is this what you needed to see? Me reaping the repercussions of being a fuck up yet again. Costing us the one thing we care about more than music?"

Beau steps forward, his massive frame blocking the doorway. "Easy there, J. We all fucked up here. Can't put this all on your shoulders."

I watch Jarron's face contort, his fingers white-knuckled around the door frame. "Don't patronize me. I'm the one whocalled her out. I'm the one who—" His voice cracks and he swipes angrily at his face.

"Who what? Said what we were all thinking?" I interject, crossing my arms. "Come on, man. We were all scared shitless of what was happening. You just happened to be the drunk one who vocalized it."

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