Page 12 of The Road to Forever (Beaumont: Next Generation #7)

TEN

I f you want to know what a man’s really feeling, don’t read his words. Read his setlist. It’s what I’ve learned over the past three days, staring at this sheet of paper like it’s a Ouija board that might spell her name.

Only, my life doesn’t work that way.

Unless you’re Dana and believe in the paranormal shit. She actually spends all her free time doing ghost tours in the cities we visit, dragging Keane and Chandler along with her.

We’re in Nashville for two shows. Imagine that, selling out two shows in a predominantly country music town.

I think Elle is proud of us for doing so, but also, it’s the only way to hear our yet-to-be-released single that Justine and I perform during the encore.

Someday, we’ll put it online and send it to the radios.

This is not someday.

Elle and Ben are here for two days of promo.

During the day, Ben has us booked with multiple radio stations, a three-song performance on a morning show, and we’re “hosting” a fashion show at the mall.

Elle wants us to be more community-oriented in the places we visit, especially when we have more than one show there.

My phone dings with a text from Elle. I know better than to ignore it, but I’m busy writing out a new setlist for the last half of our tour. Another tactic from my sister. She never wants things to become stale or predictable.

Elle

Come downstairs to the restaurant.

I groan.

I’m busy.

Elle

Be busy later.

Later.

Elle

Quinny, please come downstairs.

I roll my eyes. I hate that she can bring me to my knees with her nickname for me. Not even Peyton calls me Quinny.

Just Elle.

It’s our thing.

Ugh, I really need to finish this.

Elle

It’s not going anywhere. Come downstairs.

The truth is, being with her and Ben hurts.

I really don’t want to be around people who still have their hearts intact.

The lovey-dovey crap makes my longing for Nola so much stronger that it hurts to breathesometimes.

I set my pencil down on the notepad, filled with one-line lyrics, verses, choruses, and random words that only make sense to me, and make my way to the restaurant.

In the hall, I almost run smack dab into Justine as she’s coming out of her room.

We’re in a hotel for the duration of our Nashville stay, which I find relaxing.

Being on a bus for too long will make us stir crazy.

“Shit, sorry,” I say as I catch her before she crashes into the wall.

“No, no. It’s my fault. I should watch where I’m going.”

That’s ridiculous. We both came out at the same time and just happened to turn in opposite directions. Could’ve happened to anyone.

“It’s not that deep, Justine.”

She nods but doesn’t look at me.

I don’t know her story, other than she ran away from home. She doesn’t talk about her life prior to Plum, and I don’t ask. If she wanted me or any of us to know, she’d say something.

But whatever forced her to leave home, she carries it with her. Sometimes she looks scared when we have meet-and-greets or have to go to promos, like at the mall. I’ve watched her hide herself behind Keane. Even me.

“What are you doing right now?”

“Heading to the vending machine for a snack,” she says, finally looking at me.

I swear, she has purple eyes, which I know is an illusion because of the overhead lighting.

They’d fit her, though, with her shoulder-length lavender hair.

I heard someone call her cute as a button during one of the stops and can’t get the thought out of my head. She is cute.

Adorable, in fact.

And short, which I think adds to her cute factor. When she’s on stage, she doesn’t look small, until she’s standing next to me.

“Where are the girls?” I ask, in reference to Wynonna and Priscilla.

“They went out to dinner.”

And left Justine behind, or did she choose to stay?

“Come downstairs with me,” I suggest. “Elle and Ben are down there, and I’m sure we’re going to be talking non-stop about the tour.”

“I don’t want to impose.”

“You’re not.”

It takes her a minute to agree. She walks next to me to the elevator; the silence between us doesn’t seem uncomfortable, but just normal. Like this would be a moment when we don’t have to speak.

The doors open, and I motion for her to go first. There’s a man in the elevator, and I make sure to stand between him and Justine. She steps closer to me, and for whatever reason, I grab her hand, hoping to convey that she’s safe. I wouldn’t let anything happen to her.

In the lobby, we make our way to the restaurant and tell the hostess we’re meeting people. I find my sister, Ben, and my parents, along with Oliver in the back corner. Ollie stands in his chair and screams out my name, waving his hands in the air. I go to him and pick him up.

“What are you guys doing here?”

My parents stand and give me a hug.

“Your mother missed you,” Dad says as we sit. Thankfully, there’s an extra chair, so nothing feels awkward with Justine joining us.

“You guys remember Justine?” My parents nod and say hi to her.

“So, you didn’t miss me?” I say to my dad and then tickle Ollie. “Did you miss me?” He laughs and gives me a hug. His adoption still isn’t final, and I know it’s weighing heavily on my parents.

“Yeth,” he says with a slight lisp. “Dis much.” Ollie extends his arms out as far as he can.

“I missed you too, bud.” He goes back to Dad so he can sit in his booster seat. “So,” I say to my sneaky sister, “did you set this up?”

“Of course,” Elle says with a shrug. “We all need family time.”

She’s not wrong.

The waitress comes, and we place our order. My parents make things easy at the table and engage with Justine, asking how she’s enjoying the tour, living mostly on the bus, and dealing with my moody self. The latter being a question from Elle.

“I’m not that bad,” I say in my defense.

“He’s not,” Justine agrees. “Besides, the so-called moodiness brings out the best in his songwriting abilities.”

“Thanks,” I say as I look at her, wink, and casually put my arm around the back of her chair. She blushes and looks away. Duly noted, do not to wink again. Or maybe it’s my arm. She doesn’t shy away, though, so I don’t move my arm right away because I don’t want to embarrass her.

We end up hanging out in the restaurant for a lot longer than necessary, considering my parents are staying here as well. We finally call it a night and head back to our respective rooms.

On our floor, Justine and I walk side by side again until we get to our rooms.

“If you need anything, I’m right here,” I say as I point to my door. I have no idea what spurs me to say this, but I don’t regret it.

“Thanks,” she says and pauses. “And thanks for inviting me to dinner. I had a great time.”

“You’re welcome. See you in the morning for rehearsals.”

Justine nods. I wait for her to get into her room before I go to mine, wishing we had connecting rooms because I’d invite her over to work on some new music. She’s a hell of a songstress, and I really enjoy writing with her.

But I don’t knock on her door and invite her over. I can’t. Not without inviting everyone else in.

As inviting as the bed looks, I head over to the small, two-person table near the window, and sit down.

Briefly, I look out the window, staring down at the party happening on the street.

Nashville is such a lively city. People from all walks of life come here, just to say they’ve been to Lower Broadway or Honky Tonk Highway.

Some of the best musicians have played in the dive bars along Music Row.

My spiral steno pad sits on the table, with my pencil next to it. I’ve used this pad since we boarded the bus. It’s almost full, and I make a note to buy another one before we leave again.

The first few songs came easy. They’re upbeat crowd favorites to get the adrenaline going. But the back half?

That’s where my story hides.

That’s where my truth leaks out.

Setlist:

Track 1: Run Wild, Burn Bright – D & Q

Track 2: Red Lights & Late Nights - D

Track 3: Sinful Distraction – D & Q

Track 4: Gravity – Q & D

Track 5: No Apologies Tonight - D

Track 6: In Your Wake – D & Q

Track 7: Crescent Moon - Q

Track 8: Echoes on the Stairs – Q & D

Track 9: I Still Do (Acoustic) - Q

Track 10: Come Undone (duet with Justine)

Track 11: Stayed Too Long in Goodbye (Chorus Teaser) – H tease the crowd and flow right into 12.

Track 12: Hollow Days - D

Track 13: Fading Ink – Q & D

Track 14: Second Wind – Q

Track 15: Flame & Ash – Q & J

Track 16: Break the Silence – D

Track 17: Midnight Revival – D

Encore: Stayed Too Long in Goodbye – Q & J

I study the list I put together and realize almost every one of our songs is about her.

About Nola.

And if I line them up just right, maybe she’ll hear it. Maybe whatever she’s doing at her parents’, she’ll see a clip online, recognize the melody, and remember who we used to be.

Who we can still be.

It’s a long shot. A stupid, desperate hope.

But hope’s all I’ve got left.

My door creaks open, and I realize I never made sure it was latched or even bolted. It’s a good thing it's Dana and not some stalker. Elle would’ve killed me.

Dana hands me one of the two bottles of water she’s holding and sits down in the chair across from me. She reaches for the setlist, reads it over, and then gives me the “I’m going to call you on your bullshit” look she’s learned from my sister.

“You good?”

“Yeah.”

“You know when I suggested we move some songs around, I didn’t mean rewrite the entire thing.”

“I’m trying to make them flow better,” I tell her, which is a massive lie.

“I don’t usually care what order the songs go in. But this?” She nods toward the paper in my hand. “This feels like a therapy session set to music.”

I raise a brow. “That a complaint?”

“No,” she says honestly. “Just an observation. One that screamsyou’re writing for her .”

I open my mouth to protest, but she cuts me off.

“Don’t lie to me, Quinn. I sing these songs with you. I can feel it when you’re somewhere else, and lately you’ve been everywhere, but rarely on the stage.”

I look down at the page, the graphite slightly smudged from where my hand has smeared over the words. Dana has never given me a reason not to trust her. I sigh heavily and scrub my hand over my face.

“She left,” I finally say. “She didn’t say much. Just that she needed space. And that she’d be with her parents.”

Dana leans back, studying me. “And this is your way of getting her back?”

I hesitate.

Then shrug.

“Maybe,” I say, voice low. “Maybe if she hears something . . . she’ll remember what we had.”

Dana’s voice softens, but her words don’t pull punches. “You’re not writing for her anymore, Quinn. You’re writing for you. You just don’t want to admit it yet. Writing about life, love, and shit we’ve lost, it’s therapeutic.”

There’s a beat of silence before she stands, tossing her water bottle in the trash.

“I’m going to raid your minibar,” she says as she crouches in front of the cabinet.

“Then I’m going to go get the guys, and we’re going to start playing those songs.

We need to be perfect before the show tomorrow, and I don’t want to spend hours at rehearsal in the morning. ”

Before I can protest, she has a bottle cracked open, poured into one of the plastic cups offered by the hotel, and she’s adding cranberry juice.

She walks to the door and looks back at me.

“It goes without saying that I think you’re a lyrical genius and I love singing, not only with you but with the songs you write . . .”

“But?”

“But sometimes people leave for the right reasons, and it takes all the wrong reasons to realize it. If you make your persona on stage about her now, it’ll be hard to change it when you don’t want it to be all about her.”

The door clicks shut behind her, and I’m left alone with the paper again.

She’s right.

But that doesn’t stop me from underlining “Stayed Too Long in Goodbye” and adding: our next release.

Just in case Nola is listening.