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Inside, the house is quiet.
“Nola?”
No answer.
I set my keys down and notice a note from her sitting on the kitchen counter. A smile spreads across my lips, and I think of how cute it is that she wrote me a note.
That is, until I open it, and her engagement ring slips out.
Quinn,
Things aren’t working here for me right now. I’ve gone to my parents. We need some time apart or I do. I don’t know where my feelings are.
Call me when you’re in town.
Eleanora
SEVEN
We gather in a commercial parking lot outside of the city. This isn’t one of those moments you see on TV, where wives come and drop their husbands off, and everyone is in tears. Despite this, I look around and wait for Nola to show up, even though I know she won’t.
There are two buses for three bands. The one Sinful Distraction will live in for the next six months or so is sleek and imposing, and it's also a double-decker. Our logo is stretched across the blacked-out windows on both sides, letting passing motorists know we’re traveling. I don’t necessarily agree with this method, but my sister swears this will increase ticket sales and hype for the tour because people will take a photo and post it on social media. I know there was a time when 4225 West used to have their logo on their bus, but I think that stopped when we were older, and we wanted a bit more privacy.
Groupies know, though. They’ll follow buses out of the venue in hopes we’re stopping at a hotel for the night, a bar, or a rest stop. They want that coveted photo or video for their TikTok or Instagram. It’s no longer about the autograph. It’s all about the pictures. That’s the real proof you met someone these days. Unless, of course, it’s a video of someone famous signing a bodypart. Elle had warned us multiple times to never, ever sign body parts.
I listen.
Hendrix does not. I’ve lost track of how many times I’ve heard, “Oh my god, I’m going to go get this tattooed immediately,” after a meet-and-greet session.
Whether I like Elle’s form of advertising or not, I’m not one to argue. She’s why we’re such a sensation and heading out on tour. I trust her implicitly. If she says I’m going to perform in a banana costume, then I’ll do it.
The other bus is black with silver accents, and I contemplate boarding that one, thinking I can hide. Thinking this one could be my safe space, away from everyone who may or may not ask questions about where Nola is.
“What are you doing?” my sister asks as she comes near me with her clipboard.
“Contemplating my life choices.”
She looks at me oddly. I haven’t told her, Peyton, or anyone else that Nola left my sorry ass three days ago. I don’t want to hear how I’m better off or have them take my side simply because we’re family. Clearly, I don’t know the first thing about keeping a relationship.
Mostly because I’m going to do everything I can to make this break temporary.
“The only life choice I need you to make right now is getting your ass on the bus so we can leave on time.”
“Why this one?” I point to the one with the band’s logo on it. “Versus that one?”
Elle sighs heavily, obviously exasperated by me already. “Let’s see,” she says as she holds up her hand, which is holding a pen that she’s pointing at me, like she’s going to stab me. If given the chance, she just might.
“You happen to be the lead singer of said band, whose logo is blasted all over the place. You happen to be writing and working on a song with Justine, who is the lead singer of another one of my bands, and I thought, hell, I don’t know, you could work with her while this thing is moving down the road. Furthermore, one of the guys from Talking Til Dawn brought his baby on tour, and I didn’t think you’d want to listen to the crying.”
Many valid points. This is why she’s the manager and I’m the talent.
“Where’s Nola? Is she really not coming on tour?”
I could make some excuse, like she’d been doing for so long now about school, but I don’t. “Nah.”
Elle doesn’t push, and I appreciate it.
“Where’s Ben?” I look around for my brother-in-law, wondering if he’s coming on tour.