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Everyone laughs as we make our way to the ladder. Liam goes down first and then we follow. I hop into Noah’s truck, and without my sisters around, I’m not the odd man out. It’s the three of us friends, following those other three friends, to our favorite watering hole, where we’ll kick back a few and enjoy the day after Christmas.
Tomorrow, we’ll all be back to work.
TWENTY-FIVE
The tour bus pulls into Manhattan just as the city starts to wake up, and I can’t help but feel like everything’s different now. Not just the skyline with its towering buildings or the energy—though New York always has this electric pulse that gets under your skin—but me.
I’m different.
I’ve been back on tour for three days, and I still haven’t told the guys about Justine and me. Not officially. But Dana keeps giving me these knowing looks, and Hendrix asked me yesterday if I was “finally going to make it official with our girl.” Even they can see it.
The conversation with my family at Christmas changed something fundamental in me. Hearing that none of them actually liked Nola, seeing how easily they accepted my breakup, watching my dad’s face when I told him about Justine—it all showed me what I’d been avoiding. I’m tired of living my life for other people’s approval. Tired of second-guessing what I want.
What I want is to walk around New York City with her band, probably drinking coffee and going through every boutique they can find. What I want is a future that doesn’t involve walking on eggshells or pretending to be someone I’m not.
“Nervous?” Keane asks as he slides into the seat across from me in the bus lounge. We’re parked outside Madison Square Garden, and the reality of playing here—selling out MSG—is starting to hit.
“About the show? Nah.” I set down my coffee and look at him. “Actually, there’s something I need to talk to you guys about.”
Dana appears from the back, Hendrix behind her with his guitar slung over his shoulder. They both look at me expectantly, settling into the booth like they’ve been waiting for this conversation.
“What’s up?” Ajay asks, though there’s something in his expression that tells me he already knows.
I take a breath. Here goes nothing. “Justine and I are together. Like, really together. Not just tour hookups or whatever. I’m falling in love with her.”
The silence stretches for about three seconds before Dana breaks into a grin. “Fucking finally!”
“Dude,” Hendrix says, shaking his head. “We’ve been waiting for you to figure that out for months.”
“You’re not surprised?”
“Surprised?” Keane laughs. “Quinn, the sexual tension between you two could power this entire city. We were starting to wonder if you were blind.”
“I mean, we all saw it,” Dana adds. “The way you light up when she walks into a room. The way she looks at you when you’re performing. Hell, the way you two write together—it’s like watching two people have a conversation no one else can hear.”
Relief floods through me. “So, you’re cool with it? I know it might complicate things with Elle managing both bands?—”
“Elle wants you?—”
“Happy,” Elle’s voice breaks through our meeting her face takes over Chandler’s phone. “That’s what your sister wants,”she says with a huff. “Your manager wants her bands on the top of the charts, and right now Sinful Distraction and Plum’s popularity is skyrocketing. I know I should be mad, maybe throw some shit because you didn’t tell me when you were home, but I’m not. At least not as your manager. As your sister, your ass is grass, Quinn. I own you . . . but I’m happy for you. And Justine makes you happy. End of discussion.
“Now if you’ll excuse me. My two biggest bands are about to play to a sellout crowd at MSG on NYE and . . . shit I need more acronyms.”
We all laugh.
“Chandler is in charge today. Do what she says because I have her ear,” Elle says as Chandler waves her clipboard in the air.
“Oh, by the way,” she says before she hangs up. “After the show, you’re heading over to Times Square. You’ll perform one song tonight. You can thank me later. I’ll email you the specs. I’m so pissed I’m not there to watch you guys, but I’ll be up, waiting for that ball to drop!”
We sit there, dazed, and probably slightly confused if the look on Hendrix’s face is anything to go by.
“Did she?—”
“She did?—”
“Holy shit.”
“Yes, she did,” Chandler says, confirming what we all thought we heard.