31. Quinn
31
QUINN
C hristmas has come and gone and I must say it was one of the best I've ever had. Sure, I got a measly phone call from my parents thanking me for their gifts I mailed, and apologizing for not sending me something since they didn't know what city I was in on my "quest for fame."
I sit in my bunk, strumming my new guitar - Jarron's Christmas gift - when Beau pokes his head through the curtain.
"Want to grab breakfast? Just us?"
"I promised Lyle I'd help him shop for his mom's birthday gift," I say, guilt twisting in my stomach.
"Oh." His smile dims. "Maybe dinner then?"
Before I can answer, Austen appears behind him. "Quinn, you're still on for songwriting this afternoon, right?"
The cramped hallway of the tour bus suddenly feels even smaller with both of them there. My cheeks heat as memories of intimate moments with each of them flash through my mind.
"Actually," Jarron calls from the front lounge, "we need to work on that harmony for the new arrangement."
"Since when?" Austen's voice carries an edge.
I slide my guitar into its case, buying time. The tension between them crackles like static electricity.
"Guys, I-" My phone buzzes with a text from Abby. I've never been so grateful for an interruption. "Rain check? I need to take this."
They shuffle away, but not before I catch the looks they exchange. Suspicion. Competition. Something else I can't quite name.
Closing my curtain, I press my face into my pillow. What have I done? The tour bus feels like it's shrinking by the day. Each stolen moment, each shared secret, each kiss - they're all starting to tangle together like Christmas lights stored wrong.
My phone buzzes again. This time it's Beau: "Made your favorite coffee."
I groan into my pillow. This is terrible. Each man has shown me a side of himself that feels real, genuine. But have they told each other? Do they swap stories over beers when I'm not around?
The thought makes my stomach churn. I need to figure this out before someone gets hurt - before I hurt all of them.
I'm adjusting my in-ear monitor when Monica, taps my shoulder. "Someone's here to see you, Quinn."
"Me?" I turn, and there's Derek, looking exactly like he did back at the coffee shop - worn denim jacket, guitar case slung over his shoulder, and that crooked smile.
"Surprise!" He spreads his arms wide.
"Derek!" I launch myself at him, wrapping him in a tight hug. "How did you- When did you-?"
"Your plants are doing great, by the way." He laughs, squeezing me back. "Thought I'd deliver an update in person."
"You didn't tell me you were coming!"
"Would've ruined the surprise, wouldn't it?"
Behind me, someone clears their throat. I turn to find all four guys watching us, their expressions ranging from guarded to downright hostile.
"Oh! Let me introduce you-" I start, but Austen cuts me off.
"Sound check in five." He runs a hand through his hair, not meeting my eyes.
Beau, usually so friendly, just nods curtly and follows Austen. Jarron doesn't even acknowledge us, while Lyle at least manages a tight smile before trailing after them.
"Tough crowd," Derek whispers.
"They're not usually like this." I frown, watching their retreating backs. "They're actually really-"
"Quinn!" Jarron's voice echoes from the stage. "Today would be nice!"
"Sorry," I tell Derek. "I have to-"
"Go, go. I'll be right here." He settles into a chair near the sound booth. "Show me what Nashville's done with my favorite barista."
I try to focus during sound check, but I can feel the tension radiating from the guys. Beau won't look at me, Austen keeps missing his harmony cues, and even Lyle seems off-rhythm. Only Jarron maintains his usual precision, though his jaw is clenched so tight I worry he might crack a tooth.
What the hell is their problem? Derek's just an old friend, nothing more. But watching them now, you'd think I'd invited their arch-nemesis to crash our show. Maybe they're just bred to be jerks to new comers.
After the show, I lead Derek back to the tour bus, my stomach in knots. The moment we step inside, the temperature seems to drop twenty degrees.
"Nice setup," Derek says, looking around the luxurious interior.
"So, Derek," Austen drawls from his spot on the couch. "A busker who plays in front of coffee shops, huh? Must be rough playing for tips."
I shoot him a glare. "Derek's actually really talented-"
"Yeah?" Jarron interrupts, crossing his arms. "What's your biggest venue? Starbucks or Dunkin'?"
Derek shifts uncomfortably. "Look, I'm just here to visit Quinn-"
"Right," Lyle mutters, unusually cold. "Just happened to show up mid-tour."
"Guys," I snap. "What is wrong with you?"
Beau at least has the decency to look embarrassed, but the others continue their interrogation.
"How exactly did you get backstage access?" Austen asks, his voice sharp.
"He's been on the list from the beginning, because he's my friend."
"Friend?" Jarron scoffs. "Is that what they're calling it now?"
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Nothing." Jarron stands abruptly. "Just wondering how many other 'friends' are going to show up on our tour."
"Jar-" I reach for his arm but he jerks away.
"I need some air." He storms out, slamming the bus door behind him.
The silence that follows is deafening. Derek clears his throat. "Maybe I should go."
"Maybe you should," Austen agrees coldly.
I watch helplessly as Derek makes a hasty exit, then round on the remaining band members. "What the hell was that about?"
None of them will meet my eyes.
I chase after Derek into the parking lot, my boots clicking against the asphalt. "Derek, wait! I'm so sorry about that. They're not usually such... jerks."
He turns, that familiar crooked smile playing at his lips. "Quinn, don't apologize. I've been in enough bands to recognize territorial behavior when I see it."
"Territorial? What are you talking about?"
Derek lets out a low whistle. "You really don't see it, do you? The way they look at you? The way they practically bristled when I hugged you?"
"They're just... protective. We've gotten close on tour, that's all." My cheeks flush as memories of shared kisses and intimate moments flash through my mind.
"Close?" Derek raises an eyebrow. "From where I'm standing, you've got three men head over heels for you. The bassist who looks at you like you hung the moon, the drummer who can't take his eyes off you during performances, and don't even get me started on your lead singer's death glares."
"That's not..." I trail off, the pieces suddenly clicking into place. The competing invitations. The tension. The way they've been acting around each other lately.
"Trust me," Derek says, adjusting his guitar case strap. "I know what it looks like when musicians are fighting over a girl. Just... be careful, okay? Hearts break harder on the road."
He gives me a quick hug and heads toward his car, leaving me standing alone in the cold parking lot, my mind reeling with the implications of his words.