Quinten leaned back against the headrest of his car as he drove in route to the airport. Roy, his bodyguard, sat at his side unsure of why his friend and employer would put himself through this. Most guys would turn the station if their soon-to-be ex-wife were on the radio singing about how bad he had made her feel. Quinten, though, wasn’t like that. He didn’t want to run away from what he had done and being a musician himself he understood that writing about the pain could sometimes soften the blow. He encouraged it. “I don’t believe that, man.” Roy spoke up, deciding that he would like to debate the lyrics of the song since he could tell that Quinten was hashing and rehashing them inside of his head anyway. “You don’t believe what?” “The part about her saying…..