“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 fucked 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 fucking tired of defending myself. But let me remind you, I’m the lead singer. I’m the one who sings every fucking 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 fucking 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.
“Sure, you keep telling yourself that,” Garrett smirked and I knew we were cool again.
For the moment.