39. Lyle
39
LYLE
I pace the length of the tour bus, my footsteps echoing against the metal floor. The silence is deafening without Quinn's laughter or the usual chaos of band life. My knuckles rap against Jarron's door for the hundredth time today.
"Come on, man. We need to talk about this."
"Fuck off," comes the muffled response.
"Real mature." I lean against the wall. "You know what? No. I'm done with this bullshit. You could at least have the balls to come out and discuss it with us considering you're the one who drove her away.."
The door cracks open, revealing Jarron's bloodshot eyes and disheveled hair. "Fuck you Lyle, are you happy now? Is this what you needed to see? Me reaping the repercussions of being a fuck up yet again. Costing us the one thing we care about more than music?"
Beau steps forward, his massive frame blocking the doorway. "Easy there, J. We all fucked up here. Can't put this all on your shoulders."
I watch Jarron's face contort, his fingers white-knuckled around the door frame. "Don't patronize me. I'm the one who called her out. I'm the one who—" His voice cracks and he swipes angrily at his face.
"Who what? Said what we were all thinking?" I interject, crossing my arms. "Come on, man. We were all scared shitless of what was happening. You just happened to be the drunk one who vocalized it."
"That's the fucking problem, isn't it?" Jarron slams his palm against the wall. "I'm always the drunk one. Always the one who can't keep his shit together. The tabloids are right – I'm a goddamn liability."
Beau's gentle voice cuts through the tension. "You're being too hard on yourself, brother."
"Am I?" Jarron laughs, but it's hollow. "How many times have y'all had to cover for me? How many shows have I barely made it through? And now—" He slides down the wall, head in his hands. "Now I've run off the best thing that's happened to this band in years because I couldn't handle my fucking feelings like an adult."
"We all could've done better by her," Beau says, sitting down next to him. "Could've made her feel more welcome, more secure. Instead we let our egos and hormones turn everything into a competition."
"Yeah, well," Jarron's voice is muffled. "At least y'all can blame hormones. I just keep falling back on the bottle. One of these days, it won't be Quinn I chase away – it'll be our whole career."
The raw honesty in his voice makes my chest tight. This isn't just about Quinn anymore. This is years of self-doubt and fear finally breaking through the surface.
"Look," I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees. "We all feel something real for Quinn. That's not going to go away just because she's not here right now."
"And she clearly has feelings for all of us too," Beau adds softly, twisting his hat in his hands. "Or she wouldn't have shared something so vulnerable, or so precious with all of us the other night."
Austen paces the length of the bus, his boots clicking against the floor. "So what are you suggesting? We just... share?"
"Why not?" I say. "I mean, think about it. None of us want to lose her. And forcing her to choose would be selfish, and she could say to hell with all of us."
"That's..." Jarron stops pacing. "Actually not the worst idea you've had."
I scratch my head. "But we'd need rules. Boundaries. No jealousy bullshit."
"And Quinn would have to be completely on board," Beau adds. "This only works if she wants it too."
"So we're really considering this?" Jarron drops onto the couch. "All of us... with Quinn?"
"Better than losing her completely," I point out. "Or destroying the band fighting over her."
Austen runs his hands through his hair. "But she's not here…"
"Then we find her, and tell her," Beau stands up. "Before we lose our nerve."
"Or before she leaves town," I add, grabbing my jacket.
We pile out of the bus, this strange mix of nervousness and hope buzzing between us. It's unconventional as hell, but then again, when has anything about our band ever been normal?
The front desk girl practically melts as Jarron leans on the counter, flashing that million-dollar smile. "Come on honey, just tell me? I can get you back stage passes to tonights show."
She twirls her hair, giggling. "I would love them! I would definitely give you the room number but... she checked out yesterday afternoon."
My stomach drops. The words hit our group like a physical blow.
"What do you mean checked out?" Beau's voice cracks.
"Like, gone-gone?" Austen runs his hands through his hair, a nervous habit I've seen a thousand times.
The girl nods, looking between us. "She seemed upset. Said something about heading back to home?"
"Fuck!" Jarron slams his hand against the counter, making the girl jump. "This is my fault. I drove her away."
I grab his shoulder. "We all did, man."
"Did she leave a forwarding address?" Beau asks, his usual gentle demeanor cracking. "A phone number? Anything?"
The girl shakes her head. "Sorry. She just... left."
Austen's already got his phone out. "I'm calling her manager."
"What about Derek?" I suggest. "They seemed close."
"That coffee shop guy?" Jarron scoffs, but there's desperation in his voice. "Does anyone have his number?"
We stand there in the hotel lobby, four grown men looking lost as hell. The realization hits me - we might have just lost the best thing that ever happened to our band. To us.
"She can't have gone far," Beau mutters. "She has no car."
"Her car." I snap my fingers. "It's still broken down at that garage across town."
Jarron's already heading for the door. "Then what are we waiting for?"
We pile into Beau's truck, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife. Our carefully planned speech about sharing and boundaries seems pointless now. We just need to find her.
"Anyone else feel like we really fucked this up?" Austen asks quietly from the backseat.
No one answers. We don't have to.
I pull out my phone and dial our manager while the guys hover around me in Beau's truck. The line rings twice before she picks up.
"Cancel the rest of the tour," I say without preamble.
"Excuse me?" Her voice rises an octave. "Have you lost your mind?"
"We're not performing without Quinn." I put the phone on speaker so everyone can hear.
"Do you have any idea how much money-" she starts.
Beau cuts her off. "We don't care about the money. Quinn's more important."
"This is about the band," Austen adds. "About who we are together."
"Jesus Christ," she mutters. "You're all in love with her, aren't you?"
The silence in the truck speaks volumes.
"Fine." Keys click in the background. "I'll postpone the next three shows. That gives you seventy-two hours to find her and fix whatever mess you've created. After that, you're back on stage - with or without her."
"We'll take it," I say.
"And boys?" Her voice softens. "Don't screw this up again."
I hang up and turn to the others. "Alright, where would she go?"
"Her apartment," Beau says. "All I know is it's by the train tracks, and it get's cold as fuck at night."
"The repair shop might know," Austen suggests. "Surely she had to put her information down.
Jarron's already dialing.
Hang on songbird, we're coming to make things right.