35. Austen
35
AUSTEN
T he tension from last night hangs thick in the air as we take the stage. I catch Quinn's eye backstage - she looks worried, and I can't blame her. My fingers feel stiff on the guitar strings as we launch into our opening number.
"Let's give it up for Just South of Mason!" The announcer's voice booms through the arena.
Jarron steps up to his mic, but his voice cracks on the first verse. I see Beau roll his eyes, and something in me snaps.
"Maybe if you weren't so busy chasing tail, you'd remember how to sing," I mutter, just loud enough for the mics to pick up.
Jarron whips around heading in my direction. "Fuck this, and fuck you Austen"
"Guys, mics " Lyle warns.
The next thing I know, Jarron lunges at me. My guitar clatters to the stage as we grapple, throwing wild punches. Lyle tries to separate us but gets caught in the crossfire. Security rushes forward but they're too slow.
Through the chaos, I hear Quinn's voice, clear and strong, picking up the song where we left off. She strides onto stage, guitar in hand, commanding the crowd's attention away from our embarrassing display as security finally pulls us apart.
"Get them out of here," Monica hisses from the side stage.
I catch one last glimpse of Quinn, standing in the spotlight, saving our show as we're dragged away like schoolboys after a playground fight. The crowd's cheering for her grows fainter as we're marched through the back corridors, and shame burns hot in my chest.
Monica storms into the green room, her heels clicking against the floor like gunshots. My jaw still throbs where Jarron caught me with a right hook.
"What in the actual hell was that?" She slams the door behind her. "You're trending on Twitter, and not in a good way. '#JSOMMeltdown' is going viral."
"He started-" Jarron begins.
"I don't give a damn who started it!" Monica's face flushes red. "You know who's out there right now, saving your asses? Quinn. The same girl you all were so worried would embarrass the band."
Beau shifts uncomfortably in his chair. Lyle holds an ice pack to his eye where he caught a stray elbow.
"Get your shit together and get back to the tour bus." Monica's voice drops dangerously low. "Figure this out tonight, or you can start looking for a new label tomorrow. I mean it."
"What about the rest of the show?" I ask, running my hands through my hair.
"Quinn's handling it. She's more professional than all of you combined right now." Monica heads for the door, then turns back. "Oh, and boys? This little love triangle - or square, or whatever geometric disaster this is? Sort it out. Because right now, the only one looking like a real musician up there is her."
The door slams behind her. Silence fills the room like smoke.
"Well," Lyle finally says, "she's not wrong."
"Shut up," Jarron and I say in unison.
"Tour bus. Now." Beau stands up, towering over us. "Before we lose everything we've worked for over this mess."
We file out like scolded children, the weight of our stupidity settling heavy on our shoulders. The distant sound of Quinn's voice, strong and clear, echoes through the corridors - a reminder of exactly how badly we've fucked up.
Back on the tour bus, I run my hands through my hair for the hundredth time, pacing the narrow aisle while security hovers outside. Quinn's still finishing the show we ruined.
"Real professional, guys. Real fucking professional." Lyle slams cabinet doors in the kitchenette, probably looking for his hidden whiskey stash.
"Like you're any better." Jarron sprawls across the couch, holding an ice pack to his jaw where I clocked him. "You've been making puppy eyes at her since day one."
"At least I didn't claim to hate her, and then end up sleeping with her," Beau mutters.
My head snaps up. Followed by Jarron's. A mix of "How did you-" and "Mind your fucking business" comes out of both of us. Which only confirms what I already knew. She's been with Jarron too.
"That's rich coming from Mr. 'Let's-Move-Her-Into-The-Bus,'" Jarron sneers.
"You slept with her too?" I ask Beau. The silence is answer enough.
Lyle emerges with his bottle. "Jesus Christ, we all did. And now we've gone and made complete asses of ourselves in front of five thousand people."
"She played us," Jarron says, but there's no conviction in it.
"Did she?" Beau's voice is quiet. "Or did we all just fall for the same girl and handle it like idiots?"
The bus door opens and our manager storms in. "You four are the biggest bunch of hormone-driven morons I've ever had the misfortune to manage. Do you have any idea what kind of PR nightmare-"
"How's Quinn doing out there?" I interrupt.
"Better than you clowns deserve. She's finishing your set solo." She glares at each of us in turn. "You better figure this out before tomorrow's show, or this tour is done."
The door slams behind her, leaving us in silence.
"So what do we do?" Lyle takes a long pull from his bottle.
None of us have an answer for that.
We all sit on the sofa, watching Quinn through the bus window as she approaches after finishing our set like a handful of grownded little boys. The light catches her auburn hair just right, and suddenly everything clicks into place.
"You know what? This doesn't have to be fucked up," I say, standing up. "We're making it complicated when it's simple."
"What are you talking about?" Jarron growls.
"Watch." I stride to the bus door and swing it open just as Quinn reaches for the handle. Her eyes widen in surprise.
"Austen, I-"
I cup her face in my hands and kiss her hard, pouring everything I feel into it.
"What the fuck," Beau shouts, jumping off the couch, the bus swaying with his steps.
When I finally pull back, her lips are parted in shock.
"I care about you," I say. "But so do they." I turn her gently toward Jarron. "And that's okay."
Understanding dawns in her eyes as I guide her to my cousin. Jarron hesitates only a moment before pulling her close, his kiss softer than anyone would expect from him.
When they part, Quinn's cheeks are flushed. Beau and Lyle exchange glances before Beau steps forward, ducking his head to meet her lips. His big hands cradle her like she's precious.
Lyle's kiss is playful, making her laugh against his mouth.
"See?" I say to the room. "We don't have to tear each other apart. We can share this - share her - if she wants us."
Quinn takes a shaky breath, her fingers twisting the hem of her shirt. "I... I need some time to process this."
"Quinn-" Jarron starts, but she holds up her hand.
"Please." Her voice trembles. "This is a lot. I mean, what you're suggesting..." She looks at each of us in turn, her hazel eyes swimming with uncertainty. "I need to think."
I run my hands through my hair, fighting the urge to reach for her. "Where are you going?"
"The hotel across from the venue." She grabs her purse from the counter. "I saw they had vacancies when we pulled in."
"Let me at least drive you," Beau offers, already reaching for his keys.
"No." Quinn's voice is firm now. "I need space. From all of you."
Lyle leans against the kitchenette counter. "We really fucked this up, didn't we?"
"No one fucked anything up." Quinn's shoulders straighten. "I just... I need to figure out what I want. What this means." She gestures between all of us. "I mean, is this even real? Or is it just tour fever or something?"
"It's real," I say, the words coming out rougher than intended. "At least for me."
"For all of us," Jarron adds quietly.
Quinn nods, but her eyes are distant. "I'll see you all at tomorrow's show."
The bus door closes behind her with a soft click. Through the window, I watch her walk away, her auburn hair catching the streetlights. None of us move until she disappears into the hotel lobby.
"Well," Lyle breaks the silence, "that went about as well as could be expected."
"Shut up," Jarron and I say in unison again.