Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 93936 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93936 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
“You happen to be the lead singer of said band, whose logo is blasted all over the place. You happen to be writing and working on a song with Justine, who is the lead singer of another one of my bands, and I thought, hell, I don’t know, you could work with her while this thing is moving down the road. Furthermore, one of the guys from Talking Til Dawn brought his baby on tour, and I didn’t think you’d want to listen to the crying.”
Many valid points. This is why she’s the manager and I’m the talent.
“Where’s Nola? Is she really not coming on tour?”
I could make some excuse, like she’d been doing for so long now about school, but I don’t. “Nah.”
Elle doesn’t push, and I appreciate it.
“Where’s Ben?” I look around for my brother-in-law, wondering if he’s coming on tour.
“In Beaumont. He’ll meet up with us later. He’s got some work to do.”
I really like my brothers-in-law. I think my sisters chose well. They’re both amazing guys who treat my sisters like they walk on water. Even though all of us know Elle can be a pain in the ass, Ben worships her. Noah and Peyton are a different story. They are so connected, none of us can even begin to peel away the layers of their relationship.
But I look at them and know this is what I want; I just don’t know what I did wrong—and clearly still doing wrong—in order to achieve it.
Resigned, I sigh heavily, pick my duffel bag up, and sling it over my shoulder.
“Is that all you brought for clothes?”
“Uh . . .”
Elle says something under her breath, which sounds like “I’m not your wife” or something to that effect. I want to laugh because she should’ve absolutely expected this from me. This isn’t our first tour, and while yes, for the last tour Nola packed for me and made sure I had enough underwear to last until we had a day to get our laundry done. This time, I threw some shit into a bag and called it good.
“I’ll have stuff sent to the hotel.”
“Do you know my size?”
Elle rolls her eyes. “Get on the bus, Quinn.”
I hesitate.
“Or I’m calling Mom,” she threatens. “And I’ll have her come down here, tears and all, showing everyone how you’re the baby of the family even though you’re older than me and Peyton. I’ll tell Mom to baby the shit out of you and make a big deal about how you’re an adult and still need Mommy to pack your shit. And I’ll video every bit of it, send it to every ragtag media agency, and post it all over social media with whiny emojis. Get. On. The. Bus. Quinn!”
My face falls. “You’re meaner now that you’re pregnant.”
Elle says nothing and points to the bus.
I board the bus because I am obedient. Always have been. In fact, I can’t recall a single time I’ve ever done anything wrong. I never missed curfew, defied my parents, hit my sisters in the way siblings fight, or backtalked a teacher.
Did I miss out on a rebellious side?
Elle had hers.
Peyton almost did, but her near-death experience changed everything for her. More so, it changed Noah, and he finally said fuck it and told the world he loved my sister.
Me, I’ve done nothing, except fall in love with a woman who can’t be with me right now.
Right now, I tell myself. Nola didn’t say forever; she said she needed space. In my mind, there’s a distinct difference.
As my foot touches the first step, my hand presses to my chest, feeling the heaviness of Nola’s ring under my shirt. I didn’t know what else to do with it. Leaving it home, in an empty house, didn’t seem right. My hand then goes to my pocket, feeling for the tattered edges of a folded note I’ve read so many times I have the words memorized, etched permanently in my mind.
I’m going to give her the space she asked for. I won’t text or call her. I may write her notes about this tour, the bus trip, and everything else happening in my life, but I’ll hold onto those until I see her.
Our stop in South Carolina isn’t that far off when I count tour stops and forget the travel in between. Before long, she’ll be on this bus with me, and everything will be the way . . . the way I want it but she doesn’t.
I groan internally as it hits me square in the chest. The ache pushing her diamond into my heart, reminding me that she gave it back even though she wants me to call her when the tour stops in South Carolina. Our life together has been about me, and while she knew this going into the relationship, I didn’t allow her to grow as a person.