Page 88 of Four More The Merrier

"What about Derek?" I suggest. "They seemed close."

"That coffee shop guy?" Jarron scoffs, but there's desperation in his voice. "Does anyone have his number?"

We stand there in the hotel lobby, four grown men looking lost as hell. The realization hits me - we might have just lost the best thing that ever happened to our band. To us.

"She can't have gone far," Beau mutters. "She has no car."

"Her car." I snap my fingers. "It's still broken down at that garage across town."

Jarron's already heading for the door. "Then what are we waiting for?"

We pile into Beau's truck, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife. Our carefully planned speech about sharing and boundaries seems pointless now. We just need to find her.

"Anyone else feel like we really fucked this up?" Austen asks quietly from the backseat.

No one answers. We don't have to.

I pull out my phone and dial our manager while the guys hover around me in Beau's truck. The line rings twice before she picks up.

"Cancel the rest of the tour," I say without preamble.

"Excuse me?" Her voice rises an octave. "Have you lost your mind?"

"We're not performing without Quinn." I put the phone on speaker so everyone can hear.

"Do you have any idea how much money-" she starts.

Beau cuts her off. "We don't care about the money. Quinn's more important."

"This is about the band," Austen adds. "About who we are together."

"Jesus Christ," she mutters. "You're all in love with her, aren't you?"

The silence in the truck speaks volumes.

"Fine." Keys click in the background. "I'll postpone the next three shows. That gives you seventy-two hours to find her and fix whatever mess you've created. After that, you're back on stage - with or without her."

"We'll take it," I say.

"And boys?" Her voice softens. "Don't screw this up again."

I hang up and turn to the others. "Alright, where would she go?"

"Her apartment," Beau says. "All I know is it's by the train tracks, and it get's cold as fuck at night."

"The repair shop might know," Austen suggests. "Surely she had to put her information down.

Jarron's already dialing.

Hang on songbird, we're coming to make things right.

40

QUINN

The toilet bowl becomes my best friend as another wave of morning sickness hits. Abby holds my hair back, rubbing gentle circles on my spine as I heave.

"Quinn honey, you need to tell them," she says, handing me a damp washcloth.

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