Page 20 of The Road to Forever (Beaumont: Next Generation #7)

“Good,” I say, and to my surprise, I mean it. “I’ll have my manager send you the necessary papers to remove you from the house.”

“Okay.”

“As far as your tuition goes, consider it a gift.”

“I’ll pay you back.”

I shake my head. “After I leave here, you’ll never hear from me again. You won’t even have access to me.”

“I still have your number.”

I scoff. “If you think you’ll get through, go for it.”

I reach into my pocket and pull out the ring I’ve been carrying since the day she left. The one I wore around my neck until I couldn’t bear the weight of it anymore.

“I wanted to give this back to you,” I say, holding it out.

She shakes her head. “It was a gift. I can’t take it back.”

“You’re right. I gave you a lot of gifts, didn’t I?”

She nods.

I cock my arm back and throw the ring deep into the park, knowing someone will find it and hopefully pawn it or something.

“Quinn!”

“What, did you think I’d insist you take it? You cheated on me, Nola. You lied and used me. Used my family.”

“I can’t?—”

“I don’t need any excuses. What’s done is done. Do me a favor?”

“What’s that?”

“Be a better person. I don’t deserve what you’ve done to me. I wasn’t a bad boyfriend to you. My family treated you like you were one of theirs. This shit . . .” I sigh and look around. “None of this had to happen. When you started giving yourself to him you should’ve ended things with me.”

“I know,” she says quietly.

“You could’ve saved me—us—a lot of stress.”

She nods. “For what it’s worth, we were real, just not forever.”

“Nah,” I say, shaking my head. “We weren’t. You used me.”

“I didn’t.”

“Yeah, you did.” I stand. “I should go. Soundcheck and all that.”

“Will you be okay?” she asks like she genuinely cares. I want to say a bunch of shit to her.

I look past her toward the harbor, the endless sky, the future stretching out before me, unknown but somehow less frightening than it was an hour ago.

“Yeah,” I say. “I will be.”

I don’t hug her goodbye. Don’t kiss her cheek. Those aren’t our gestures anymore.

Instead, I simply nod, turn, and walk away.

And with each step, the weight I’ve been carrying since she left gets a little lighter, a little easier to bear. I expect the tears to come, for the gut-wrenching sobs to rack my body, but the only thing I feel is relief.

I think I’ll always be pissed off she cheated, but deep down, I think I knew there was something going on.

No one giggles that much when they’re texting their mother.

The signs were there, and I missed them, or maybe I ignored them, because I wanted to believe the best about her.

I wanted to believe she was the only one for me.

By the time I reach my car, I’m not looking back anymore. I’m looking forward. This isn’t a breakup, this is closure. I was just too in my own head to realize she left me a long time ago.

I put all the windows down, despite the lower temps.

The wind rips through my hair, no doubt ruffling it up and giving it that windblown effect.

I turn the music up, singing loudly to each song and changing the station when one of Sinful Distraction’s songs come on.

At the stoplights, I look at the cars next to me and wave to whoever is in the passenger seat.

Right now, I don’t care if they recognize me.

I hope they do, and I hope it makes their day.

Unfortunately, I have to wait in the long line of traffic trying to get to the arena parking lot. I think about calling Elle for a police escort but by the time someone gets here, I’ll likely be at the gate with my pass.

Each second that ticks by I expect to break down, to have my heart shatter and break me.

When it doesn’t, I tell myself I’m going to be okay.

I have a lot to look forward to. Both my sisters are going to make me an uncle, with Peyton having her triplets shortly.

Thankfully, we’ll have a few days off so I can spend some time in Beaumont, and then we’ll have the holidays, and finally Elle will become a mother.

All before the end of the year.

I’ve never looked forward to the winter or even the new year, but next year is going to be my year.

When it’s my turn at the parking gate, I show the kid working the booth my pass.

“Man, you didn’t have to wait in this line,” he says. “You just had to drive around the side of the venue. There’s a private entrance there.”

“Next time.”

He laughs and wishes me luck. For all I know, I’ll need it.

The venue is alive with pre-show energy when I return. Roadies rush past with equipment. Sound engineers call to each other from opposite ends of the stage. Somewhere in the wings, I can hear Dana warming up her voice, hitting notes that would shatter glass if she pushed them any harder.

And for the first time, I see everything clearly.

I slide past everyone, keeping my head down, making a beeline for the greenroom where my guitar is waiting. I just need a minute alone before soundcheck. Just one minute to process everything.

But when I open the door, Justine is sitting on the couch, strumming quietly on her guitar. She looks up, startled.

“Sorry,” she says, starting to stand. “I didn’t know you’d be back so soon. I can go?—”

“Stay,” I say, the word coming out before I can think about it. “Please.”

She settles back down, watching me carefully as I grab my guitar and sink into the chair across from her. For a long moment, neither of us speaks. She doesn’t ask how it went. Doesn’t press for details. She just waits, giving me the space to find the words.

“She’s moved on.”

Justine nods. “Are you okay?”

I look up, meeting her purple-tinged eyes, thanks to colored contacts, have somehow become a constant in my chaotic world.

“Getting there,” I say and believing it.

Justine doesn’t smile or offer any condolences, which I appreciate. She just starts playing again, a gentle melody that intertwines with the weight of the moment.

I join her, finding the harmony as naturally as breathing.

And for the first time in months, the music isn’t about what I’ve lost.

It’s about what might be waiting, just past the grief, just beyond the ending.

Something new.

Something real.