“Nothing. Forget it,” Jordan backed off, though I knew he had a lot more he wanted to say.
I looked around at the rest of my band and none of them had the balls to look me in the eyes. These guys were supposed to be my friends. So why did it feel like I was the ugly redheaded stepchild in the group?
Jose was pointedly looking at the menu. He had stirred up this hornet’s nest and now he was backing up and letting the destruction go down.
“So let me get this straight, it’s cool for Jordan to get an overindulged drum solo. Garrett can riff away even if it sounds like shit. And Mitch can have all the input that he wants, but when I make a suggestion, there’s a f**king problem?” I slammed my fist down on the table, causing the glasses to rattle.
“I think you get more than enough glory for the rest of us, Cole. So don’t play poor, pitiful bitch,” Jordan’s voice rose to meet mine.
“So that’s the problem. The fact that some stupid chick played twenty questions about Cole. And I had a few pictures taken that didn’t include you guys. So that’s a reason for you to play poor, pitiful me and get your panties in a bunch. Are you not getting enough attention, Jordan? I thought you were done with the strange now that you’re a one-woman man. But if you need me to toss some your way, I’m happy to do it,” I laughed hatefully.
Maysie looked like she was just as ready to punch me as her fiancé. But I just didn’t give a f**k. I was sick and tired of feeling like the bad guy because I was doing my job. I was the lead singer. I was supposed to be front and center. So why was it a problem all of a sudden?
“You need to be taken down a peg or two,” Jordan growled and I laughed again.
“I dare you to try,” I taunted him.
“Enough you two. This is ridiculous!” Garrett barked, leveling both of us with a shut- the-hell-up-before-I-make-you-choke-on-your-teeth look.
“He started it,” I said, sounding like a two year old. But I didn’t care, because it was true.
“You’re both asses, so shut the f**k up and eat your goddamned dinner,” Mitch piped up.
“Mitch is right. This isn’t the place. If you guys need to talk your shit out, do it on the bus without an audience,” Jose reprimanded and Jordan finally settled backed down in his seat.
Maysie had been quiet and I knew I had overstepped by making the comment I had about Jordan. Even though she annoyed the shit out of me, she was still a decent chick and didn’t deserve that.
“Sorry, Mays,” I said under my breath and only for her ears. She nodded and gave me a tight smile, though I knew, despite my apology, it would be held against me for a while.
There were no attempts at further conversation. We all sat like the uncomfortable f**kers that we were, eating our dinner while my “friends” tried not to look at me.
When we finished, Maysie and Jordan went to the convenience store next door to load up on supplies, Mitch went to have a cigarette and I was ready to get back on the bus and head to my bunk.
“Cole,” Garrett called out from behind me.
I slowed down and let him catch up. Out of all the guys, Garrett was my closest friend. He had given me a place to stay when my dad kicked me out of the house. I had been with him when he found out his parents died. We had been through some stuff. I had thought we were tight.
But he never once disagreed with the shit Jordan said. That led me to believe he agreed with him.
That he thought I was a limelight stealing fame slut just like the rest of them.
Maybe we weren’t as tight as I once thought.
“What?”
“That shit back there was f**ked up. You and Jordan need to deal with your beef before it starts impacting the band,” Garrett said and I got immediately defensive. I felt as though, once again, I were being blamed for everything.
“I think Jordan needs to get a handle on his own insecurities and low self-esteem. It’s got nothin’ to do with me.” I started walking toward the bus.
“That’s BS and you know it. You’re not helping things. We’re called Generation Rejects. Not The Cole Brandt Experience. We’re not your back-up band, you know.”
I turned on my friend and got into his face.
“I’m sick and f**king tired of defending myself. But let me remind you, I’m the lead singer. I’m the one who sings every f**king night and gets the audience off. I’m the one who interacts with the crowd while you hide behind your instruments. You guys need to realize that I make this band what it is. I bring those bitches in the door. Fucking accept it or go back to playing Barton’s. I don’t give a shit.”
“Do you hear yourself, man? I think you actually believe that line of junk coming out of your mouth,” Garrett said with a shake of his head.
“You guys would be nothing without me. Let’s remember until I came along you were getting booed off every stage. You would still be playing dime shows at Barton’s for the drunk and ugly. Be thankful I’m here. Show some f**king gratitude,” I growled.
And then Garrett punched me!
The motherfucker punched me!
I couldn’t remember the last time Garrett had been in a fight. I was so in shock that I couldn’t do anything but stand there and stare at him, my hand cupping my jaw.
Garrett shoved me hard in the shoulder and I stumbled backwards, catching myself before I fell on my butt.
“That’s what I’m talking about! Your ego has always been something to laugh about. You’re a dick, we get it. You’re the slutty lead singer. Way to go for being a stereotype. But I think you need to remember where you came from, dude.”
I rubbed my skin and grimaced.
Garrett had hit me. I still couldn’t wrap my head around it.
“You all right? Did I knock your brains out of your ass or something?” Garrett asked, not looking so angry anymore.
“I’m just still trying to figure out how you landed a punch,” I said.
Garrett chuckled. “Cole, I can kick your ass any day. Do I need to remind you of the tenth grade?”
“I tripped. It had nothing to do with you hitting me,” I argued, remembering all too well what he was talking about.
I had kissed Carmen Jenkins, the girl Garrett had been drooling over for months. I had been young. Carmen was cute and had a thing for basketball players. Garrett had caught us underneath the stairwell at the back of the high school.
He punched me. A lot like he had just done.
And that time I had fallen on my ass. Though I swore it had more to do with the book bag at my feet than his fist.