40. Quinn
40
QUINN
T he toilet bowl becomes my best friend as another wave of morning sickness hits. Abby holds my hair back, rubbing gentle circles on my spine as I heave.
"Quinn honey, you need to tell them," she says, handing me a damp washcloth.
I wipe my mouth, slumping against the bathroom wall. The cold tile seeps through my pajama pants. "And say what exactly? 'Hey guys, I'm pregnant and I have no idea which one of you is the father because I banged you all?' That'll go over well."
"Better than disappearing without a word. Why should you have to shoulder all this alone?"
"I'm not alone, as long as I have you." I say leaning my head against hers.
Abby sits cross-legged beside me, pushing a glass of water into my hands. "Drink. You're getting dehydrated. But for the record, you and little string bean will always have me."
"String bean?" I snort.
"Strings of a guitar, someone flicking the bean got him or her here, it works." she says with a shrug and a smile.
Once I stop laughing, I take small sips, trying to keep the nausea at bay. My apartment feels smaller than ever, the train rattling past right on schedule. "Their careers would be over if this got out. The media would have a field day."
"You don't know that."
"Have you seen the tabloids? They're already under scrutiny for their 'wild behavior.' And they've already had one baby mama scandal..." My voice cracks. "They can't handle another one. I can't do that to them."
Abby reaches for my phone as it buzzes again. "That's the twentieth call from Lyle today. The others have been blowing up your phone too."
"Block them." I curl into myself, pulling my knees to my chest. "It's better this way."
"Is it? Because from where I'm sitting, you look miserable." She wraps an arm around my shoulders. "And you're going through morning sickness alone when you could have four hot country stars taking care of you."
"Stop." The tears come hot and fast. "I ruined everything. Their friendship, the tour, my career..."
"Hey." Abby pulls me closer as I sob into her shoulder. "You didn't ruin anything. Love is messy sometimes. But running away isn't the answer."
Another wave of nausea hits and I lunge for the toilet again.
The doorbell rings, cutting through another round of dry heaving. My heart stops.
"I'll get it!" Abby calls out from the kitchen.
I manage to scrape myself of the linoleum and lean on the doorframe.
"Oh shit." She peeks through the peephole. "There's some Backwoods Backstreet Boys at your door looking mighty determined."
"No way." I scramble to my feet, legs shaking. "No, no, no. Hell no. Tell them I'm not here."
"Quinn?" Lyle's voice carries through the door. "We can hear you in there."
"Go away!" My voice breaks as I press my back against the hallway.
Abby shoots me a look. "I'm telling them to leave."
I hear the door chain rattle as she opens it a crack. "Boys, this isn't a good time-"
"We're not leaving until we talk to her." That's Jarron's voice, firm and unyielding.
"She's not feeling well," Abby says. "She needs rest."
"Is she okay?" Beau's concerned tone makes my chest ache. "Is she sick?"
"I said leave!" I shout, fighting another wave of nausea.
"Not happening, darlin'." Austen's drawl joins the chorus. "We'll camp out here all day if we have to."
"They're not kidding," Abby stage-whispers to me. "Lyle's literally sitting down against your front door frame."
"Getting comfortable," Lyle confirms. "Got nowhere else to be since we postponed the tour to find you."
My stomach lurches, and not from morning sickness this time. "You what?"
"You heard me. Now either let us in or I'm gonna start singing your least favorite Christmas song until you cave."
"He's already clearing his throat," Abby reports. "And Jarron's got his phone out to record it."
"You better not," I warn.
Lyle launches into an off-key rendition of "Last Christmas."
I make my way to the front door as I slide down against my side of it, pressing my forehead to the cool wood.
"Say you're at peace, but I'm not opening up."
Lyle's awful singing cuts off mid-chorus.
"We had a long talk," Beau says softly. "About you, about us."
"About how we've been idiots," Austen adds.
I wrap my arms around my knees. "Look, you didn't have to come all this way to do this."
"Do what?" Jarron's voice comes from lower now, like he's sitting too. "Try to fix what we broke? What I broke? Because we do. I do."
"None of us want to lose you," Lyle says. "And we realized something - if faced with a choice of sharing you, or not having you at all, we're fully prepared to grow the fuck up and do just that."
My heart thunders against my ribs. "What are you saying?"
"We're saying..." Beau clears his throat. "If you'll have us, we want to try. All of us. Together."
"It's unconventional," Austen admits. "But when has anything about us been normal?"
"You don't have to choose," Jarron says. "We don't want you to choose. We just want you back. And If you don't want me in the scenario, because of what I said to you…" he pauses as his voice breaks, "then I will step back. But I just want you to know that doing that would be the hardest thing I've had to do other than bury my mama.
Tears slip down my cheeks. "Jarron, I forgive you. Don't hold on to that, it will get really heavy."
"I'm sorry Quinn.. I'm so fucking sorry…" He says, and it takes everything in me not to toss open that door and hold him.
"It would never work. The media-"
"Fuck the media," all four of them say in unison.
"We'll figure it out," Lyle promises. "Whatever comes, we'll handle it together."
"Please," Beau's voice breaks. "Just open the door, Quinn."
I press my palm flat against the wood, imagining I can feel their warmth through it. "I can't."
"Why not?" Jarron asks.
Abby gives me a supportive nod as she wipes a tear from her eye.
My hands shake as I unlatch the chain. The door creaks open and four pairs of eyes lock onto me. My oversized sweater doesn't hide the way I'm trembling.
"I can't." The words scrape past my throat. "I can't go back."
"Quinn-" Beau reaches for me but I step back.
"No." Tears blur my vision. "You don't understand. "I'm pregnant."
The silence that follows my announcement is deafening. Four pairs of eyes widen in perfect synchronization, like some twisted boy band choreography. Jarron's mouth opens and closes without sound. Austen runs his hands through his hair so many times I worry he'll go bald. Beau's shoulders slump as he leans against the doorframe. Only Lyle seems capable of speech.
"Pregnant?" His voice cracks on the word. "Like... with a baby?"
"No, with a guitar," I snap, wrapping my arms around my middle. "Yes, with a baby."
"And you don't know..." Austen trails off, gesturing between the four of them.
"Which one of you is responsible? No." My laugh comes out hollow. "Hence why I left. I couldn't exactly waltz up and say 'hey guys, remember how I was with all of you?" I glance at Abby, who's watching this trainwreck with fascination. "Well, now there's a little souvenir."
"Jesus Christ." Jarron slides down the wall until he's sitting on my welcome mat. "This is..."
"Yeah." I blink back tears. "So now you see why-"
"We're keeping it, right?" Beau's quiet question cuts through my explanation. His eyes are locked on my stomach, something soft and wandering in his expression.
"We?" I echo.
"All of us," Lyle says firmly. "Like we just said - together. That includes a little guitar junior in there."
"The media will crucify you," I whisper.
"Let them try." Austen's jaw sets stubbornly. "We protect our own. Not to mention we pay PR a hell of a lot of money…"
"Quinn, we don't care about-" Jarron starts.
"Well, I do!" My voice cracks. "I've already messed everything up. The tour, the band dynamics... I won't let this destroy everything you've built."
Lyle tries to step forward. "That's not your decision to-"
"Yes, it is." I wrap my arms around myself. "I got myself into this mess, and I'll figure it out alone."
"Quinn, please." Austen's blue eyes shine with unshed tears. "Can we just talk about this-"
"I'm sorry." The words come out as a whisper. "I'm so sorry."
Before any of them can respond, I slam the door shut and slide the chain back in place. Their protests blend together on the other side as I sink to the floor, my back against the door, and let the sobs take over.
Abby kneels beside me, wrapping her arms around my shoulders as I cry.