17. Jarron
17
JARRON
M y head pounds like a bass drum as sunlight stabs through the tour bus windows. Empty beer cans litter the floor, and there's a warm body pressed against mine. I squint, trying to piece together last night through the hangover haze. Some blonde - Britney? Bethany? - snores softly beside me.
"Where's Beau?" I call out, my voice rough. "Tell him to make that hangover smoothie he always does."
Lyle appears in the doorway of the back lounge, already dressed and looking annoyingly chipper. "Good morning, sunshine. Nice of you to join the land of the living."
"Cut the crap. Where is he?"
"Well, after you decided to be a complete jackass to Quinn last night, he went to make sure she was okay. Stayed in her room."
The memories flood back - the beer pong, Quinn actually holding her own, me saying... something I probably shouldn't have. "He what?"
"Stayed. With. Quinn." Lyle enunciates each word like he's talking to a child. "You know, the talented singer you've been treating like garbage?"
"Since when does Beau play white knight?" I sit up, shoving aside what's-her-name's arm. My stomach lurches in protest.
"Since you decided to be a royal dick at Thanksgiving dinner. Real classy, by the way."
"Whatever." I swing my legs over the side of the bunk, fighting down a wave of nausea. "She needs to toughen up if she's gonna make it in this business."
"Or maybe you need to stop being such a pompous ass." Lyle tosses me a bottle of water.
"Your Mama would be really disappointed in how you're treating her. Remember what she always said about kindness being free?"
Lyle's words hit harder than the hangover. The mention of Mama makes my chest tight. She'd raised me better than this, taught me to look out for folks who were struggling. Just like she'd struggled after Dad left.
"Shit." I rub my face, the stubble rough against my palms. "What room's she in?"
"412. Try not to be an ass this time."
I stand up, my head swimming. The blonde - Brandy, that was it - stirs beside me.
"Where are you going, baby?" Her voice grates against my hangover. "Come back to bed."
"Got business to handle." I pull on my jeans, searching for my shirt among the mess of clothes on the floor.
"What kind of business is more important than this?" She stretches, trying to show off what little assets she has.
"The kind that involves making nice with our opener." I find my shirt wadded under the bed. "You can see yourself out."
"Excuse me?" She sits up, clutching the sheet to her chest like she's suddenly developed modesty. "You're seriously ditching me for that wannabe?"
"Look, sugar." I run a hand through my hair, catching my reflection in the mirror. Mama's eyes stare back at me. "This ain't a romance novel. We both knew what this was."
"You're an asshole, Jarron Haynes."
"So I've been told." I grab my phone and wallet. "Lock up when you leave."
Her string of curse words follows me out the door. Another notch on the bedpost, another girl I'll forget by next week. Mama would've tanned my hide for treating women this way, famous or not. 'Every person deserves respect,' she'd say, 'even if they don't respect themselves.'
The hangover and guilt twist my stomach into knots as I head for the hotel elevator.
The ride up gives me time to realize just how much I reek of bourbon and bad decisions. The hallway stretches forever, my boots too loud on the thin carpet. At 412, I raise my hand to knock, then hesitate.
"Quinn?" My voice comes out rougher than intended. "It's Jarron."
The door swings open and Beau fills the frame, his normally friendly face twisted into something dark. His pearl snap shirt is wrinkled like he slept in it.
"The hell do you want?"
"Just need to talk to Quinn for a minute."
"She cried half the damn night because of you." Beau's fingers curl into fists. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't knock your teeth down your throat right now."
My head throbs. "Look, I just want to apologize."
"You've done enough."
"Come on, man. Five minutes."
Steam billows from the bathroom as the shower cuts off. Beau glances over his shoulder, then back at me with a warning in his eyes. "She's in the shower. You can wait, but I'm staying right here."
I lean against the wall, the silence stretching uncomfortable between us. The bathroom door opens and Quinn emerges in hotel sweats, her wet hair dripping onto her shoulders. She freezes when she sees me.
"What's he doing here?"
"Apparently apologizing," Beau says, not taking his eyes off me.
I clear my throat. "Listen, about last night... I was drunk and being an ass. You didn't deserve that."
"That's your apology?" Quinn crosses her arms. "You've been a jerk since day one."
"Yeah, well..." I run a hand through my hair. "I'll try to do better. You're... you're actually pretty good. The fans seem to like you."
"Wow, high praise." Her voice drips sarcasm. "Is that all?"
"I'll work on being nicer, okay? That's all I got right now."
Quinn's eyes narrow, a mix of exhaustion and skepticism crossing her face. "I'll believe it when I see it, Haynes. Your track record isn't exactly stellar."
"Fair enough." I push off from the wall, my boots scuffing against the carpet. "Actions speak louder than words anyway."
"That's rich coming from you." She wraps her arms tighter around herself. "Considering all the words you've thrown my way."
"Look, I know I've been-"
"A complete jackass?" Beau cuts in.
"Yeah, that." My jaw clenches. "But I'm trying here."
Quinn shakes her head, water droplets flying from her damp hair. "Try harder."
I turn to leave, then pause at the door. "I'm sorry Quinn."
"Wow, has hell froze over?" She almost smiles. Almost.
"Baby steps, darlin'." I tip an imaginary hat, channeling every bit of Southern charm Mama drilled into me. "Baby steps."
I stride down the hallway, pulling out my phone to call my mechanic back home. Quinn might not believe me yet, but I'm gonna prove I'm not the total tool she thinks I am. Even if it kills me.
And knowing my luck lately, it just might.