12. Beau
12
BEAU
I lean against the wall backstage, unable to take my eyes off Quinn as she transitions from "O Holy Night" into "Blue Christmas." Her voice carries a raw honesty that makes even these overdone Christmas standards feel fresh and real. The crowd's energy pulses through the arena - they're completely under her spell.
"Well, shit," Austen mutters beside me, running his hands through his hair. "She's actually good."
"Actually good?" I shake my head. "She's incredible. Y'all were ready to write her off before she even started."
Jarron crosses his arms, his jaw tight. "One good performance doesn't make her tour-ready."
"Keep telling yourself that," I say, watching as Quinn works the stage like she was born for it. "Meanwhile, that crowd out there is eating up every note."
My mind drifts back to that first night, when I spotted her in the audience. The way she sang along to every song, her eyes closed, completely lost in the music. Something about her had caught my attention then, and now here she is, proving herself on our stage.
"What are you smiling about?" Lyle nudges my arm.
"Remember when I said I saw this girl in the crowd the other night? The one I couldn't find after the show?" I gesture toward Quinn. "That was her."
"No way." Lyle's eyes widen. "That's some Hallmark movie shit right there."
"Don't encourage him," Jarron grumbles. "Last thing we need is Beau getting moony-eyed over her."
But I barely hear him. Quinn's hitting the final notes of "Blue Christmas," and the roar of the crowd drowns out everything else. She's got them in the palm of her hand, and she doesn't even know it yet.
The stage lights hit my face as I lean into the bass line of "Midnight in Memphis." One of our newest single has the crowd jumping, phones lighting up the arena like fireflies. Behind me, Lyle's drums thunder through my bones, keeping us all in perfect rhythm.
"Thank you Montana!" Jarron works the crowd, his voice carrying over the screams. A pink bra sails through the air, landing at his feet. He picks it up, twirls it on his finger, and the screams get louder.
I catch Austen smirking as he steps up to his mic. "Y'all are making me jealous over here." Another bra flies his way, this one black and lacy. "That's more like it."
Moving to the edge of the stage, I spot a little girl perched on her daddy's shoulders. She's wearing our band t-shirt, singing every word. I crouch down, still playing, and give her a high five. Her whole face lights up.
"Look at Beau, stealing all our fans," Jarron teases into the mic.
"Just the ones with good taste," I fire back, earning a laugh from the crowd.
We roll through our set list, the energy never dropping. Quinn's killer opening act got them warmed up good, and we're riding that wave. I catch glimpses of her watching from the wings, studying our performance. There's something different about the way she watches - not like the usual starry-eyed newcomers, but with real focus.
"One more time!" Jarron calls out as we hit our finale. "Let me hear you sing it!"
The crowd roars back the chorus, and I feel that familiar rush. No matter how many shows we play, this moment never gets old. Even Austen, who tries so hard to play it cool, is grinning like a fool.
As the last note fades, I wipe the sweat from my forehead with my sleeve. Another solid show in the books. But somehow, tonight feels different. Maybe it's because of our new opener, or maybe it's just the magic of live music. Either way, I can't wipe the smile off my face.
The backstage area buzzes with the usual post-show chaos. I adjust my hat, trying to find a quiet corner away from Jarron and Austen's typical groupie parade. Through the crowd, I spot Quinn pressed against the wall, her fingers fidgeting with the sequins on her dress.
She looks as out of place as I feel at these things. The brown sparkles catch the light when she moves, making her look like she's glowing. Or maybe that's just leftover stage adrenaline.
"Hey," I say, keeping my distance so I don't tower over her. "That was some performance out there."
She startles, looking up at me with wide eyes. "Oh, thanks. I'm just... trying to stay out of everyone's way."
"Join the club." I lean against the wall next to her, watching the chaos unfold. "Five years in and I still haven't figured out how to handle these meet-and-greets. Give me my bass and a quiet corner any day."
That gets a laugh out of her. Some of the tension leaves her shoulders.
"I saw you reading earlier," she says. "What do you like to read?"
"I'm reading Steinbeck right now. East of Eden." I pull the worn paperback from my back pocket. "Something about his writing just hits different on the road."
Quinn's eyes light up. "That's my favorite! The way he writes about the Salinas Valley makes you feel like you're standing right there in the dust."
"Exactly. Though reading about California while we're freezing our asses off in Montana feels like cruel and unusual punishment."
She shivers, wrapping her arms around herself. "God, tell me about it. And I thought my shitty apartment with the broken radiator back in Nashville was cold."
"I know exactly what you mean," I say, adjusting my hat. "My first place in West Virginia had this ancient space heater that sounded like a dying locomotive. Used to wrap myself in every blanket I owned just to practice bass."
Quinn's eyebrows lift. "You're from West Virginia?"
"Little town called Bluefield. Had this basement apartment that flooded every time it rained." I chuckle, remembering those early days. "The landlord's solution was to give me a shop vac and tell me to 'stay on top of it.'"
"No way." She shakes her head, laughing. "What did you do?"
"Put all my gear up on milk crates. Learned real quick to keep an eye on the weather forecast." I tap my book against my leg. "Actually wrote some of our first songs down there, sitting on my bed with my feet up on a chair to keep them dry."
"That's both horrible and kind of perfect."
"Yo, Beau!" Austen's voice cuts through our conversation. "After party at The Lodge. Let's roll!"
I glance at Quinn, who's already shrinking back against the wall. "You want to come? They've got great buffalo wings."
Jarron appears behind Austen, already changed into fresh clothes that smell like expensive cologne. "She wasn't invited." He crosses his arms, biceps flexing under his tight shirt. "Band and special guests only."
Quinn waves it off, but I catch the slight tremor in her hand. "No worries. I've got some writing to do anyway. That crowd tonight gave me some inspiration."
"You sure?" My stomach twists. "We could grab food somewhere else-"
"Go." She pulls her phone from her dress pocket. "Really. I need to call my friend Abby anyway, let her know I survived my first show."
"If you're done playing social worker," Jarron calls out, "the car's waiting."
Quinn gives me a small smile. "Thanks for being nice to me. Most people wouldn't bother."
I adjust my hat, feeling like the world's biggest asshole for leaving her alone. "You killed it tonight. Don't let anyone tell you different."
She heads toward the exit, her sequined dress catching the light one last time before she disappears around the corner. I watch her go, that knot in my stomach getting tighter.
"Earth to Beau!" Austen snaps his fingers in front of my face. "You coming or what?"
I follow them out to the waiting SUV, but my mind stays back in that hallway with the girl who deserves better than this cold shoulder treatment. The same girl who just proved every one of our assumptions wrong.