Page 92 of Four More The Merrier

"Have you lost your mind?" Austen leans forward between the seats. "This isn't some fairy tale, Beau."

"No, it's real life. And in real life, sometimes the best things come from the biggest messes." I signal for a turn, gathering my thoughts. "We just told that woman we'd share her. Well, looks like we might be sharing more than we thought."

"He's right," Lyle nods. "We need to man up and handle this together. All of us."

Jarron lets out a string of colorful curses, but I notice he's not arguing anymore.

"I'm just scared man…" he whispers.

"We all are…" Lyle responds.

I cut the engine. Before anyone can react, I hit the power locks.

"What the hell, man?" Jarron yanks on the door handle.

"We're doing this my way." I pocket the keys and adjust my hat. "Y'all are staying put while I talk to her."

Austen's window whirs down. "Since when do you make executive decisions?"

"Since all three of you are about as subtle as a tornado in a trailer park." I step out, boots crunching on the gravel. "We're scaring her, showing up like some country music intervention."

"And you think you're gonna do better?" Jarron sticks his head out his window.

"I know I won't do worse." I tap the truck's hood. "Give me ten minutes. If she sees all of us again, she'll bolt."

Lyle nods slowly. "He's right. We're overwhelming her."

"Tell her..." Austen's voice cracks. "Tell her we want to meet tomorrow. Somewhere neutral. No pressure, just talk."

"That's the plan." I start walking away, then turn back. "And boys? Try not to kill each other while I'm gone."

"No promises," Lyle calls after me, but there's a hint of humor in his voice.

I hear them bickering as I head toward Quinn's door, but at least they're staying put. Sometimes wrangling bandmates isn't so different from herding cattle - you just need to know when to corral them.

I take the stairs two at a time back up to her apartment, my boots heavy against the metal steps. My heart pounds as I reach her door, but I force myself to knock softly.

Abby opens it just a crack, her expression guarded. "Y'all just don't give up, do you?"

"No ma'am, we don't." I remove my hat, twisting it in my hands. "Not when it matters. Listen, could you give Quinn a message for me?"

She crosses her arms but doesn't shut the door. Progress, I suppose.

"Tell her we're staying at the Marriott downtown. Room 512. We'll be there tomorrow morning at ten." I clear my throat. "All of us want to talk - really talk. No drama, no fighting. Just... sorting things out."

"And if she doesn't want to come?"

"Then that's her choice." The words taste bitter, but I mean them. "But tell her we're not running away this time. We're here as long as it takes."

From somewhere inside the apartment, I hear what sounds like retching. My chest tightens.

"Is she-" I start to ask, but Abby's already nodding.

"Morning sickness. Though it's more like all-day sickness right now."

"Could you also tell her..." I hesitate, then pull out my phone and write the room number and address on it, just in case, "Ifshe needs anything - crackers, ginger ale, whatever helps - just call or text. Doesn't matter what time."

Abby takes the paper, her expression softening slightly. "I'll tell her. But I'm not promising anything."

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