Page 10 of The Road to Forever (Beaumont: Next Generation #7)

NINE

T he highway never ends. Just blacktop with moisture rising from the hot pavement and endless yellow lines down the middle of the road, broken—like me—stretching far beyond what I can see.

I sit in the lounge of the bus, headphones over my ears, but no music playing.

It’s just white noise to drown out the chaos inside my head.

Dana and Hendrix are arguing down the hall, but their voices are muffled, distant, like I’m underwater.

I don’t even flinch. I could get up and slam the door but embarrassing them isn’t high on my priority list. They have their issues.

We all have issues.

The note’s in my hand again. Crumpled, worn, and barely legible from the number of times I’ve unfolded it. Every word is burned into my memory. Yet, I reread them until my eyes blur. I refold the note and stick it in my wallet, which goes into my back pocket. Only to pull it out again.

"We need some time apart . . ."

I trace the curve of each letter like I could find a hidden meaning if I looked hard enough.

Maybe it’s not what it sounds like.

Maybe it’s not over.

Maybe—

“Dude, are you listening?” Ajay’s voice breaks through my thoughts.

“What?” I snap, pulling the headphones down and refolding the note as gently as possible.

“We’ve asked you three times if you’re good with switching out ‘Falling Fast’ for ‘Crescent Moon’ on the setlist.”

“Whatever,” I mutter. “Do what you want.”

Dana raises an eyebrow. “You’re the lead, Quinn. It’s kind of your call.”

“Since when?”

Dana shrugs. “I’m pretty sure if you leave, the fans will follow you. Not us.” She looks at Ajay, who nods.

I shake my head and glare at her. I never asked to be the lead a band or to have any sort of fame. “Regardless, we’re a band. Anything I say affects us all.”

The room goes awkwardly silent.

Ajay tries again, gentler this time. “Hey, man, you sure you’re okay? You’ve been . . . off.”

I shove the note into my pocket, stand, and head out of the lounge. “I’m fine.”

I’m not fine.

I haven’t been fine for a while now.

Canson turns down his radio when I sit down in the leather chair near him. Over the past, however many miles we’ve traveled, I’ve gotten to know him a bit. He’s a single dad with a daughter in college. He retired from the corporate world five years ago and drives tour buses for fun.

I’m not sure I’d say zigzagging across the country in a bus is fun, but he seems to enjoy it. I’ve made sure he’s well taken care of, and he’s even caught a couple of shows. Canson’s daughter is a fan, and Elle has VIP tickets for her and her friends at an upcoming show.

The bus hums along the interstate while I stare out the window. It’s shaded to give us privacy, but also the band’s logo is spread across the windows, making it near impossible for us to see outside unless we look out the front or are upstairs, but even then, we can only see the horizon.

There was a time when my sisters, Noah, and I were younger, and this was how we spent time.

We were on the 4225 West tour bus, and one of the windows didn’t have any coverings other than a shade on the inside.

The four of us used to sit by the window and wave at people driving next to us.

They couldn’t see us, really, which I think is why our parents allowed it.

But it still gave us something to laugh about, especially when we’d encounter a trucker and move our arms up and down, the road signal for a trucker to pull the rope for the horn.

All fun times until now.

My mind won’t shut off. I don’t know if it’s the sleepless nights, the bottled-up anger, or the fact that every love song on my playlist feels like a punch to the gut.

When did this happen? When did I start failing at the one thing I was supposed to be good at—loving her?

There’s a clearing of a throat. It’s Ajay. He sits acrossfrom me.

“You gonna keep pretending everything’s okay until you blow up or . . . ?” He trails off.

My jaw clenches. I have never been the type of person to air my dirty laundry.

Call it a hazard of growing up on the road.

I had my dad, my uncles, and my tutor or nanny, and I lived on a tour bus.

It wasn’t like I went to school, had playdates, played any type of sport, or joined the Boy Scouts.

Until Noah, Peyton, and Elle, I never associated with anyone my age.

Once Katelyn came into my life, I started expressing myself more, mostly because I had to. Each night at dinner, we had to talk about school, activities, and how we were feeling. And each month, it was just a me-and-her day, and she taught me how to open up.

That doesn’t mean I like to, especially about this type of shit. My romantic life should be private, despite the band knowing about Dana and Hendrix. Well, it’s mostly Hendrix being hung up on Dana and not the other way around. Still, their problems are the very reason I don’t want to air mine.

I like Ajay, but this isn’t something I want to talk to him about, especially on a bus full of people.

“Not your business,” I mutter, trying not to draw Canson’s attention.

I know he won’t say anything because of the non-disclosure agreement he signed, but people can be bought, or he could casually mention what he heard on the bus to his daughter.

“Actually, it is. We’re living together on this bus. I get a front-row seat to the Quinn Show whether I like it or not.”

I want to tell him to get out, to leave me the hell alone, but I don’t. Instead, I sit there, breathing heavily, willing the anger away. It doesn’t work.

“She left,” I finally say.

It takes me a minute to look at Ajay, to make sure he’s heard me.

He nods, like he already knew but needed me to admit it.

I suppose in some sense, by doing so, there’s some finality in the situation.

Nola left me. She took off her ring, one I put there as a promise of my love and dedication to her.

“I’m sorry,” he says with a soft sigh as he shakes his head. “Sometimes people just need time apart.”

I wish that’s all this was—time apart—but deep down, I feel like it’s more. “I think I should’ve seen it coming.”

“Really?”

I scrub my hands down my face, frustration pouring out of me. “Yeah. I don’t know, man. Part of me feels like the writing was on the wall, but then I start to wonder if I looked too deeply into shit because I want what my sisters have.”

“I don’t blame you. I know this is probably the last think you want to hear right now, but reconnecting with Jamie has been the best thing to ever happen to me.”

I don’t know what to say. I don’t even know if I have anything to say.

Ajay went from living the single life to being tossed in jail when we got within fifty miles of his hometown because his father-in-law had it out for him, to being a stepdad to an amazing little girl whom my parents adore, and now he’s a father to his own kid.

“Talking helps,” he says, breaking the silence. “We’ve been there. So has Keane, and Dana. Hell, Hendrix might even have some sage advice.”

I want to laugh but don’t. Hendrix and advice normally don’t go hand in hand, but what the hell do Iknow?

“Regardless, we’re your bandmates, not your punching bags. We make decisions together as a band. We work together, live together, perform together. And when I see my lead struggling, I’m going to say something.”

I shut my eyes and exhale. He’s right, but that doesn’t mean I’m ready to stop thinking about my relationship, or lack thereof.

“Just give me some time,” I say, my voice breaking slightly.

Ajay gives me a nod and then leaves without another word.

I sit back and rest my head against the cushion. My eyes close, and my legs move the chair back and forth. I now know why Ollie likes to be rocked to sleep. This shit is soothing.

Still, the note burns a hole in my wallet, and her ring weighs heavily against my chest. They’re all I have of her because she took all of her things when she left, including my heart.

I’m a shell of who I am. Who I should be.

I’m here, but I’m not.

I’m with her, in South Carolina, waiting on the cusp of nothingness until she tells me everything will be okay.

The pit stop is a gas station somewhere between the middle of nowhere and who-the-hell-cares-ville. Everyone piles out for the snacks not stocked on the bus, to stretch, and for a chance to breathe air that doesn’t smell like stale coffee and ass.

I stay back.

I should get off the bus. Walk around. Pretend I’m happy. Instead, I lay in my bunk, fingers digging into my scalp as I stare at the ceiling. My leg bounces uncontrollably, nerves itching under my skin.

When did the tour bus start feeling like a prison?

When did I think of it as a prison?

I grew up on a bus, and as a kid, this was the life. I had everything I wanted, but mostly I had my dad until he had to go to work, and then I could stay on the bus and watch TV, go to the green room and chill, or watch the show. I’ve lost count of how many 4225 West concerts I’ve seen.

At the time, I didn’t know how famous my dad was. I think I was about six when it first hit me who my dad was. We were at a mall, trying to shop for clothes, and the women were rabid. Chasing us, touching me, grabbing at him. Mall security came and ushered us into a back room.

It was miserable.

I was miserable and just wanted to get some new clothes. My grandma ended up taking me the next day. She was the alternative.

A year later, I met Noah. We weren’t friends right away, though. He was jealous of my relationship with his dad, Liam. I was jealous that Noah had a mom. He had a set of parents who loved him. I only had my dad.

All I wanted was a mom.

My dad gave me one when he fell in love with Katelyn. It was their relationship that showed me what true love looks like.

I thought I had that with Nola.