Because Gracie Cook loved me.
“So you and Gracie, huh?” Garrett asked, glancing up from his guitar.
“Yep.” I sat down on the edge of the stage and tuned my own instrument.
“Cool,” was all he said. He was a man of few words. Four letters was all Garrett required to let me know that he was pleased.
“You guys ready?” Moore asked. “The line is all the way around the block. The guys at the door are already turning people away. We haven’t had a crowd like this in months! When can I get you guys back?”
Jordan, Cole, Garrett, and I all exchanged looks.
Time to drop the bombshell. Better now than later.
“This is the Rejects’ final show. At least for a while,” Jordan said, grabbing his drumsticks and sitting behind his kit.
“What?” Moore looked horrified and that was heartening. It was nice to know that we would be missed. “Your last show? Tell me it ain’t so!”
Cole clasped the older man’s shoulder. “I’m afraid so, my man. But I’ll be happy to jump in and play a solo show anytime.”
Garrett and I rolled our eyes.
“I wish that you had told me earlier. I could have charged a lot more at the door,” Moore complained before walking off, clearly annoyed by the loss of potential earnings.
Garrett got to his feet and slung his guitar strap around his neck. “You guys ready for this?”
I looked out at the crowd, finding Gracie standing at the front with Maysie, Riley, and Vivian.
“I don’t know. Are we?” I asked, feeling the weight of what we were about to do.
Cole punched me in the gut, and I let out a groan, doubling over. “What the fuck, man?” I yelled, standing back up.
“You get a little G * and now you’re a bitch. This doesn’t mean we’ll never play together again. Get a grip. Now let’s put on the best damn show these assholes have ever seen!” Cole said, pumping his fist in the air.
“He’s got a point. Generation Rejects will never be dead,” Jordan added, tapping out a quick beat.
“Nope. Never,” Garrett agreed.
I looked at the guys who were my brothers, and knew they were right.
“Generation Rejects forever!” I yelled. Cole, Garrett, and Jordan all groaned.
“Seriously, shut the hell up. You’re such a fucking dork,” Cole muttered, walking to the center of the stage.
I laughed, not taking his insult personally.
We took our places for the last time—well the last time for now—and we faced the crowd who had come out to see us play.
The lights dimmed. That was our cue.
Cole brought the mic up to his mouth and looked down at his adoring public. “We’re baaaackkkk,” he drawled out.
There was a cacophony of noise as the screams and cheers began. It was a heady feeling. One, I could admit, that I’d miss.
I looked down at Gracie, her eyes only for me, and I knew that I may be losing this, but I was gaining something so much more.
“So I know you guys are here to see a kickass show,” Cole began, followed by more cheers. “But we’ve got something that we need to share with you all first.”
Cole looked back at the rest of us before continuing. “A bunch of years ago we started Generation Rejects. We were four fuck-ups who wanted to play some music. We sucked.”
There was a general sense of disagreement at that statement. I appreciated the crowd’s loyalty. But what Cole said was right. We had definitely sucked.
“We did, it’s okay guys. We’re pretty fucking awesome now, right?” The roar was deafening.
“Alright, settle down, I have a story to tell.” The crowd quieted down and Cole continued. “So when we became fucking awesome, we signed with a label. We went on the road and tried to take over the world. But sometimes things don’t turn out the way we want them to.”