Page 48

Hendrix is the last to board the bus. Elle yells, “Let’s roll!” before the doors even close. Again, we hoot and holler like school kids before dispersing to the kitchen, upstairs, and the bathroom. She sits down, or more like plops, in the leather chair. I sit across from her.
“Today was fun,” I tell her. “I think we all needed a little break.”
“I could tell. The last show seemed stagnant. Stale. It’s why I asked you switch up the list. I’m hoping you removed some of the emo shit. I love you and don’t want to tell you what to play, but some of the songs aren’t hitting.”
“I know. I reworked things.”
She nods. “In time, I know you’ll tell me or P what’s going on, but just know, we’ve got your back, Quinny. No matter what, at the end of the day, you’re our brother and we stand next to you.”
Her words cause my throat to tighten. I clear it, hoping to avoid a tearful moment with my very pregnant sister.
Elle smiles. “Whatever it is, it’ll work out.”
“Are you now the optimist in the family?”
She lifts her shoulder. “Call it what you will, but things have a way of working out. We may not see it at first, but in the end, everything is the way it should be.”
I can’t help but wonder if she’s talking about her and Ben. For a while, none of us, even Elle, knew if she’d end up with Ben. They’d been through some shit, most of it because of Elle, but they’ve come out on top.
“Where is Ben? I saw you guys walk off earlier.”
“We met with some marketing people and then he started toward Charleston. He has a meeting that he needs to be at via the computer tomorrow morning and it’s easier for him if he’s in a stable location.”
At the mention of Charleston, my stomach rolls again. I nod, not sure of how my voice will sound if I say something.
“You know you’re in control, right?”
Her words make me think. Am I in control? Or do I need to take my life back from the clutches of Nola. Younger Quinn would’ve never let things go this far. I would’ve shrugged my shoulders and walked away. The Quinn I’ve been the past few years thought he wanted what was normal—a life with a partner.
Maybe I’m not cut out for romance.
Elle takes a call, leaving me to figure my shit out on my own. I close my eyes and replay moments in my life, within the last couple of years.
She’s not there.
Not anymore.
It’s like my subconscious has erased her, and I’m not sure how I feel about that.
When I open them again, I’m on stage. I clear my thoughts and look around. We’re in the middle of a set and the last few hours have been lost to me. Yet, everyone’s playing, dancing, and the crowd is into it so clearly, I’ve been here in some form.
It’s then I realize I’m not thinking about her anymore.
Not in that gut-punch way. Not like before, where every lyric was a wound and every crowd felt like a wall I couldn’t climb over.
Tonight, I’m here.
And it’s weird. And it’s real.
The lights dim for the encore, and the crowd roars in the dark. I step up to the mic, guitar already strapped on, fingers curled loosely over the frets. I’ve somehow missed most of the concert and yet, they cheer for me.
“We weren’t going to play this one,” I say, my voice echoing over the quiet. “It’s not on the album. It’s not even finished.”
The crowd murmurs, expectant.
“But sometimes songs don’t wait until you’re ready. Sometimes they show up when you least want them to and make you deal with the truth you’ve been avoiding.”
I glance at Elle in the wings. Her arms are crossed, resting on her belly.