Page 87 of Four More The Merrier

"That's the fucking problem, isn't it?" Jarron slams his palm against the wall. "I'm always the drunk one. Always the one who can't keep his shit together. The tabloids are right – I'm a goddamn liability."

Beau's gentle voice cuts through the tension. "You're being too hard on yourself, brother."

"Am I?" Jarron laughs, but it's hollow. "How many times have y'all had to cover for me? How many shows have I barely made it through? And now—" He slides down the wall, head in his hands. "Now I've run off the best thing that's happened to this band in years because I couldn't handle my fucking feelings like an adult."

"We all could've done better by her," Beau says, sitting down next to him. "Could've made her feel more welcome, more secure. Instead we let our egos and hormones turn everything into a competition."

"Yeah, well," Jarron's voice is muffled. "At least y'all can blame hormones. I just keep falling back on the bottle. One of these days, it won't be Quinn I chase away – it'll be our whole career."

The raw honesty in his voice makes my chest tight. This isn't just about Quinn anymore. This is years of self-doubt and fear finally breaking through the surface.

"Look," I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees. "We all feel something real for Quinn. That's not going to go away just because she's not here right now."

"And she clearly has feelings for all of us too," Beau adds softly, twisting his hat in his hands. "Or she wouldn't have shared something so vulnerable, or so precious with all of us the other night."

Austen paces the length of the bus, his boots clicking against the floor. "So what are you suggesting? We just... share?"

"Why not?" I say. "I mean, think about it. None of us want to lose her. And forcing her to choose would be selfish, and she could say to hell with all of us."

"That's..." Jarron stops pacing. "Actually not the worst idea you've had."

I scratch my head. "But we'd need rules. Boundaries. No jealousy bullshit."

"And Quinn would have to be completely on board," Beau adds. "This only works if she wants it too."

"So we're really considering this?" Jarron drops onto the couch. "All of us... with Quinn?"

"Better than losing her completely," I point out. "Or destroying the band fighting over her."

Austen runs his hands through his hair. "But she's not here…"

"Then we find her, and tell her," Beau stands up. "Before we lose our nerve."

"Or before she leaves town," I add, grabbing my jacket.

We pile out of the bus, this strange mix of nervousness and hope buzzing between us. It's unconventional as hell, but then again, when has anything about our band ever been normal?

The front deskgirl practically melts as Jarron leans on the counter, flashing that million-dollar smile. "Come on honey, just tell me? I can get you back stage passes to tonights show."

She twirls her hair, giggling. "I would love them! I would definitely give you the room number but... she checked out yesterday afternoon."

My stomach drops. The words hit our group like a physical blow.

"What do you mean checked out?" Beau's voice cracks.

"Like, gone-gone?" Austen runs his hands through his hair, a nervous habit I've seen a thousand times.

The girl nods, looking between us. "She seemed upset. Said something about heading back to home?"

"Fuck!" Jarron slams his hand against the counter, making the girl jump. "This is my fault. I drove her away."

I grab his shoulder. "We all did, man."

"Did she leave a forwarding address?" Beau asks, his usual gentle demeanor cracking. "A phone number? Anything?"

The girl shakes her head. "Sorry. She just... left."

Austen's already got his phone out. "I'm calling her manager."

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