34. Quinn
34
QUINN
T he tension the next morning in the rehearsal space is so thick I could cut it with a knife. Jarron keeps missing his cues, Austen's harmony is flat, and Beau's bass line sounds like he's playing a completely different song. Lyle just sits with his sticks up in the air waiting to hear something familiar.
My stomach churns as the notes clash around me. I grip my acoustic guitar tighter, trying to find my place in this musical mess. Jarron's voice cracks on the high note - again - and Austen winces, missing his harmony entrance entirely.
The door slams open and Monica, our tour manager, storms in. Her heels click against the hardwood floor as she approaches, clipboard clutched to her chest. "What the hell is going on in here? You sound like a high school garage band."
"Technical difficulties," Lyle says, running his hands over his head.
"Technical difficulties?" Monica's perfectly shaped eyebrow arches. "The New Year's Eve show is in two days. This performance needs to be perfect."
Jarron throws his microphone down. "Maybe if people started using the head on their shoulders instead of the head between-"
"Don't you dare," Beau cuts in, stepping between us.
"Or what?" Jarron's jaw clenches. "You gonna do something about it?"
"Boys," Monica snaps. "Whatever drama you've got going on, check it at the door. Quinn, you're supposed to be harmonizing with Austen on the bridge. Let's take it from there."
I nod, not daring to look at any of them. The weight of their stares burns into me as I adjust my capo.
"From the top," Monica commands, tapping her pen against the clipboard. "And this time, try to remember you're supposed to be professionals."
Any semblance of professionalism lasts just long enough for Monica to leave the room. The verbal lashing she gave us hasn't even began to thaw before all hell breaks loose again.
"For fuck's sake, can we get through one verse without someone screwing up?" Jarron throws his mic stand down.
"Maybe if you weren't rushing the tempo," Austen snaps, running his hands through his hair.
I shift uncomfortably behind my guitar, trying to fade into the background as Lyle slams his drumsticks onto the snare.
"All of you need to get your heads out of your asses." Beau interjects.
"Speaking of heads up asses," Jarron turns to him, "what the hell was that bass line? Are you playing in a different key?"
Beau's normally gentle demeanor cracks. "Maybe I could focus better if you weren't eye-fucking the opener every five seconds."
My cheeks burn as all eyes dart to me.
"That's rich coming from you," Austen laughs bitterly. "Mr. 'Let's invite her to live on the bus.'"
Lyle stands up from his drum kit. "Guys, this isn't the time-"
"Oh, like you're innocent in all this?" Jarron rounds on him. "We're not fucking blind, Lyle.."
"Hello, can we please just focus on the music?" I try to interject, but my voice sounds small.
"Shut up!" They all yell in unison, then immediately look guilty.
"Fine." I set my guitar down carefully. "You guys clearly have some issues to work out. I'll be on the bus when you're done measuring dicks."
I walk out, leaving them in stunned silence. Through the door, I hear Jarron mutter, "Nice going, assholes."
"Look who's talking," Austen retorts, followed by the sound of something being knocked over.
What have I gotten myself into?
The stage lights blind me as I step out for my opening set. My silver sequined dress, that looks eerily familiar to the ball that will drop later tonight, catches the light, sending sparkles across the packed arena. Ten thousand people are counting down to midnight, but right now they're here to see us perform.
"Happy New Year's Eve, everyone!" My voice carries across the crowd, steadier than I feel inside.
The response is enthusiastic, but I can sense the underlying tension from the band behind me. We haven't properly rehearsed since the blow-up, and it shows.
During "Midnight Kiss," Jarron comes in late on the chorus. Austen compensates by jumping ahead, making us sound like we're racing each other to the finish line. Beau's usually steady bass line wavers, missing the groove entirely.
I catch Lyle's eye and he gives me a slight head shake. We both know this isn't our best work.
"Something's off tonight," a girl in the front row whispers to her friend.
The crowd's energy dips as Jarron fumbles another verse. He recovers quickly, flashing his signature smile, but I see the frustration in his eyes.
"Let's slow it down," I announce, trying to salvage the set. "This one's for all the lovers out there."
As I start the ballad, Austen's harmony comes in sharp. He winces, adjusts, but the damage is done. The magic just isn't there tonight.
We push through the rest of the set, professional enough to keep playing but nowhere near our usual standards. The chemistry that made us special has evaporated, replaced by awkward glances and missed cues.
When we finish the final song, the applause feels more polite than passionate. Jarron storms off stage without his usual bow, leaving Austen to handle the closing remarks.
"Thank you, Colorado! Cheers to a new year!"
Behind my smile, my heart sinks. What a way to end the current one.
Despite having a performance I would deem celebratory, we head to the club. It's New Years Eve after all. The VIP section of the club pulses with bass and champagne flows freely. I smooth down my red cocktail dress, had to get out of the sequins for the night, and I try to look confident despite feeling like I'm walking on eggshells.
Beau appears at my elbow with a fresh drink. "Well you look beautiful tonight, as always."
"Thanks." I accept the glass, our fingers brushing. His touch lingers longer than necessary. "Listen, about…"
Before I can finish, Lyle swoops in. "Care to dance, songbird?" He doesn't wait for an answer, leading me to the dance floor.
A faintly hear Beau muttering obscenities under his breath as he leads me to the dancefloor.
Lyle twirls me around the dance floor with surprising grace for a drummer. His hand is warm on my lower back, steadying me as we sway to the beat. The music is loud enough to vibrate through my bones, but Lyle's presence feels grounding. I catch a glimpse of Beau nursing his drink at the bar, his eyes following us.
"Got any plans for your New Year's kiss?" Lyle's voice is casual, but there's an edge to it that makes me glance up.
I laugh, a little too loudly, trying to play it off. "Oh, you know, it's a surprise."
He smiles, but it doesn't reach his eyes. "Right. Surprises are good."
We're barely through the second song when Austen cuts in. "Mind if I steal her?"
"Actually-" Lyle starts, but Austen's already pulled me away.
"You killed it tonight," he whispers in my ear. "Your cover of neon moon…"
Austen pulls me closer, his familiar cologne wrapping around me like a warm blanket. The usual sharp edges of his personality have softened under the influence of good whiskey and better music. His fingers trace gentle patterns on my back as we sway to the rhythm.
"Remember that night in the sound room?" he murmurs against my ear. "When you helped me with that song?"
"How could I forget?" The memory sends a shiver down my spine. "You actually let someone see the real you for once."
"Maybe I'm tired of pretending." His blue eyes lock with mine, surprisingly vulnerable. "You make it easy to just... be."
My chest tightens as I catch sight of Lyle over Austen's shoulder, his expression darkening as he downs another drink. Beau has disappeared entirely. And Jarron... I scan the club but can't spot him anywhere.
"Quinn?" Austen's voice pulls me back. "Where'd you go just now?"
"I'm right here." The lie tastes bitter on my tongue.
He spins me out and pulls me back in, closer than before. "Are you though?"
The genuine concern in his voice makes this harder. Here in his arms, seeing this softer side of him, I could almost forget about everything else. Almost.
Suddenly, Jarron materializes beside us. "Quinn, the label wants photos."
Jarron guides me through the crowd, his hand warm against my lower back. The label's photographer has set up a small area near the VIP section, complete with a black backdrop dotted with the tour logo. My red dress feels too tight, too revealing under the bright camera lights.
"Alright, let's get some promo shots," the photographer adjusts his lens. "Quinn, maybe stand closer to Jarron?"
I take a tentative step closer, hyper-aware of Jarron's presence. The cologne he's wearing tonight is different - woodsier, more intimate somehow.
"Come on, guys." The photographer lowers his camera with a sigh. "You're supposed to be tour mates. Act like you actually like each other."
"Who says I have to act?" Jarron's voice is low, meant only for me.
Before I can process what's happening, he pulls me against him. One arm wraps around my waist while his other hand cups the back of my head. His lips press against my forehead, soft and lingering. The gesture is so tender, so unlike his usual bravado, that my knees go weak.
I melt into him despite myself, despite knowing Beau is probably watching from the bar, despite having danced with Austen moments ago, despite everything with Lyle. The flash goes off, capturing the moment.
"Perfect!" The photographer exclaims. "That's the money shot."
Guilt churns in my stomach as Jarron's lips leave my skin, but his arm stays around my waist. I catch sight of Austen watching us from the dance floor, his expression unreadable in the strobing lights.
"What's wrong?" Jarron whispers against my hair.
I close my eyes, torn between what I want and what I should do. "Jarron, I... I need to use the restroom."
I burst through the bathroom door, nearly colliding with a girl touching up her lipstick. My heels click against the tile as I duck into an empty stall, pressing my forehead against the cool metal door. The bass from the club thrums through the walls, matching my racing heartbeat.
"What are you doing, Quinn?" I whisper to myself, sinking onto the closed toilet lid. My red dress bunches around my thighs as I drop my head into my hands.
Beau's gentle smile flashes through my mind, followed by Lyle's protective nature, Austen's vulnerable moments, and now Jarron's surprising tenderness. My stomach twists into knots.
"Get it together," I mutter, fishing my phone from my clutch. Three missed texts from Abby light up the screen.
"Hey babe, how's the tour going?"
"Quinn?"
"Earth to Quinn? Don't leave me hanging!"
I type back: "I fucked up, Abs. Really fucked up."
Her response is immediate: "Spill."
"I slept with all of them."
"WHAT?! QUINN MARIE DUPREE!"
"I know, I know. It just... happened."
"Things don't just HAPPEN four times with four different guys!"
I rest my head against the stall partition. "They're all so different. Beau's sweet and steady, Lyle makes me laugh, Austen sees the real me, and Jarron... God, Jarron."
"Girl, you're gonna be a hot commodity when midnight rolls around."
"Oh God, I didn't even think of that." I text back.
"Just be careful Quinn."
I make my way out of the bathroom, when I hear the tell tale chanting of counting down to midnight.
I look out and immediately spot all four of them converging on me from different directions. Beau from the bar, Lyle from the dance floor, Austen from the VIP section, and Jarron pushing through the crowd.
"Seven! Six! Five!"
They reach me simultaneously, each wearing an expectant expression.
"Four! Three!"
Their faces shift from hope to confusion as they notice each other.
"Two! One!"
Understanding dawns in their eyes, followed by anger. Jarron's jaw clenches. Austen's hands ball into fists. Beau's usual warmth turns to ice. Lyle just looks hurt.
"HAPPY NEW YEAR!"
The crowd erupts in celebration, but our little bubble remains frozen in tension. Without a word, they turn and walk away in different directions, leaving me alone in a sea of kissing couples.