Seductive Chaos (Bad Rep #3)(42)
Author: A. Meredith Walters

I was certain we would have kept going until one of us was unconscious if Jose hadn’t come in and dumped ice cold water on both of us. He hauled Jordan up to his feet and slammed him against the wall. Maysie grabbed my arm and pulled me back.

“Enough! All of you!” Jose yelled, pinning Jordan with his forearm across his chest. Jose was a beefy guy and even though Jordan was strong, he was no match for our manager

Jose was furious. “What the f**k was that?” he screamed to the four of us. None of us said anything. What could we say? We were all guilty of letting our egos get the better of us. We had really screwed up.

Jose let go of Jordan who slumped a bit. “Go back to the hotel. I’ve got a hell of mess to clean up. We’ll talk in the morning,” he barked. We all stood there, either obstinate or afraid to move. This felt like the beginning of the end.

“Go!” he hollered and that propelled us into action.

I grabbed my jacket and exited the dressing room first. My heart was pumping; my head was fried.

And I was pretty sure I had just lost my band and my best friends all at the same time.

Why had I decided to play that song?

I knew why. I was feeling bitchy. I wanted to show them I could do whatever the hell I wanted to. That I didn’t have to answer them. That was I was better than they could ever possibly be.

I had wanted to show them that they couldn’t tell me what to do. Just as I had done all those years ago when I had walked out of my house and left my parents behind.

I didn’t take direction well, that was obvious.

I had just never self-destructed so totally and completely before.

But I wasn’t the only one to blame for this shit. And I wouldn’t let the guys off easily.

What had happened to us?

Once back to my room, I peeled off my clothes and took a hot shower. I trembled under the spray, not sure what I was going to do. How do you come back from something like that?

The bond the four of us had for years felt ruined.

The thing that had made us great was destroyed.

I didn’t see how we could continue on.

I got out of the shower and wrapped a towel around my waist. I grabbed my phone and sank down on the bed.

I dialed a familiar number.

“Hello. You’ve reached my voicemail. . .”

I listened to the recording of Vivian’s voice and when the beep sounded in my ear I hung up.

“The label is pissed. They’re threatening to pull the record,” Jose told us the next morning. We were sitting on the tour bus, having checked out of our hotel rooms first thing. I sat by the window and the rest of the guys were gathered around the table.

It couldn’t be more obvious it was them against me. I was on the outside of my own f**king band.

“Can they do that?” Jordan asked.

Jose sneered at him, barely containing his rage. “Hell yeah they can do that. They can do whatever the f**k they want to! They own Current Static, you bunch of f**king morons! And if they decide to chuck this album those songs you worked so hard on, that music you bled your souls out for, will never see the light of day. It will sit in a f**king vault while you fade away into nothing.”

“It was one show. How can it be that big of a deal?” Mitch asked, tapping his fingers on the table, a sure sign of his agitation.

He should be agitated. We were f**ked.

“It’s a big deal because immature children with massive egos don’t sell albums. This isn’t the eighties, fellas. Trashing hotel rooms and storming off stage is frowned upon. And you aren’t some big name that can get away with that shit! I hate to be the one to remind you, but Generation Rejects isn’t anybody. You are a blip on the f**king radar. And if you aren’t here tomorrow, no one will miss you. Some other band will slide in and fill the gap,” Jose yelled.

Ouch, that hurt.

“You have problems with your lead singer. Woo f**king hoo. Join the club with every other band out there. But he is your selling power,” Jose pointed at me. “He is what gets you interviews. Like it or f**king lump it.”

Jordan’s face turned red. “What about our music? Doesn’t that have something to do with it? Cole’s f**king face isn’t what got us here!”

Jose laughed but it wasn’t from amusement.

“Grow the f**k up Levitt. You’re in an industry where sex f**king sells. And Cole is your sex up for sale. Your music is fine and dandy. Your lyrics are deep and meaningful. Whatever. You are being marketed as a band that is fronted by Cole Brandt. That is what the label sees as your strength,” Jose nodded in my direction and I couldn’t help but feel validated.

Mitch, Garrett, and Jordan however looked as though they had just swallowed glass.

“The label wants to meet with you in a week to discuss the future of your band and your album. I suggest you take the time to figure out what you’re going to do. Whether you can put your ego trips on hold and do what’s best for all of you or not. Because I’m not going to waste my time and you can bet your asses the label won’t either. We aren’t going to wait around on a bunch of pussies to figure their shit out. You’re playing with the big boys now.”

I was thoroughly embarrassed by the whole thing. And I could tell by looking at my band members that they were as well. Maysie was rubbing Jordan’s back but even she seemed worried. And she should be.

“Primal Terror has asked that you be replaced.”

We all recoiled at that. For the first time I made eye contact with the others and we all wore the same horrified expression.

“What?” I hissed.

Jose shrugged, raising his hands in a what did you expect gesture.

“This is their first nationwide tour. The last thing they want is to be sidelined by your drama. Because that’s what the press will pick up on and it will overshadow them completely. So way to burn your bridges guys,” Jose said sarcastically.

“Maybe we could apologize-” Garrett began but Jose cut him off.

“An apology ain’t gonna cut it, son. You and this tour are parting ways. Now, you have seven days until you have to be in New York to meet with the label. I suggest you pack your shit and you go home to wherever it is you f**king came from and get yourselves sorted. Take a break. Regroup. Do some yoga or something. And come to the table next week either with your heads in the game or with an understanding that this shit ain’t gonna work. But this petty bullshit is at an end.”

Jose slammed his hands down on the table, knocking over his empty coffee mug.