“Cole is a big part of the problem, yeah,” Garrett said after a beat.

“Really? Why is that?” Gracie gave me a look that clearly said I needed to shut up. It really wasn’t any of my business and the glance Mitch and Jordan threw my way said as much.

But I wanted to know. I wanted to hear from them what exactly the problem was.

Garrett popped the cap off his beer and tossed it into the now empty case on the table. “Let’s just say some people forget too quickly where they came from.”

I felt my face get hot and an unreasonable irritation spread wildly through my insides. It wasn’t right that they were sitting here gossiping like old bitches behind Cole’s back. It wasn’t cool that they were holding onto their anger without having the decency to talk to him about it.

I didn’t know what went down except through secondhand knowledge. I had no idea what it was like on the road with Cole. But I did know that he had been friends with the three guys sat in front of me for years. They had built a band and created music together. They had started a journey together and there were always two sides to every story.

Given my recent anger towards Cole, I was surprised with how quickly my heart and mind had jumped to his defense.

“I think the same could be said for everyone. Don’t you think?” I asked, chugging the rest of my beer and putting my empty bottled on the ground by my feet.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Viv. You, of all people should know exactly what we were dealing with. How you can sit there and be all morally disapproving when not two weeks ago you were telling Cole to take a hike,” Jordan threw at me and I knew he was right.

But. . .

“I just think it’s sort of screwed up that you’re placing everything on his shoulders. Cole can be a handful but he’s still a part of this band. So where is he?” I asked, giving each of the remaining members of Generation Rejects a pointed look.

“At his apartment, I guess,” Mitch shrugged.

“Why isn’t he here? Why aren’t the four of you figuring shit out?”

“Vivian, this really isn’t any of your business,” Maysie remarked firmly, narrowing her eyes.

“You’re right, it’s totally none of my business. Maybe that’s why it’s easier for me to see how messed up it really is,” I suggested.

Mitch snorted. “Oh please. As if you’re an unbiased party.”

I crossed my arms over my chest, accepting the barb but not letting it go without my own.

“And I think your heads are too far up your own asses to see anything clearly. It looks to me like Cole’s wasn’t the only ego that was the problem.” I dropped my words like a bomb. I got to my feet and picked up my empty beer bottle and started to walk toward the kitchen.

“You got anything to drink besides beer?” I asked over my shoulder, more than aware of the looks everyone was tossing my way. But I didn’t care. I said what needed to be said.

“Uh, there’s some vodka I think,” Jordan offered and I smirked at the befuddlement in his voice.

I could tell I had made him think. That I had made all of them think. And even though Cole would never know I had stuck up for him, I knew I had to say something.

And my feelings had nothing to do with it.

I had become really good at convincing myself of just about anything.

15

I thought I was going to be sick. My stomach started to clench and my mouth began to water.

I had exactly ten seconds to make it to my bathroom before I threw up all over myself.

I stumbled out of my bed, tripping over the empty bottle of Everclear on the floor and made it to the toilet just in time.

I hated to puke. And I had been doing a lot of that for the past couple of hours. I felt like shit. Every part of my body ached. My head felt like someone was drilling a hole straight through my temples.

That’s what I got for picking up a crate of liquor on the way home from the airport and proceeded to drink myself into a stupor.

The flight back from Chicago had been tense. I hadn’t shared more than two words with any of my bandmates. A wall had been put up between them and me.

I was pissed. I was hurt. I was full of crazy f**king rage.

I had paid out the ass for a cab to take me all the way back to Bakersville. It was a hell of a lot better than riding back in Garrett’s van.

I asked the driver to drop me off at the liquor store, where I proceeded to buy my weight in alcohol. I then went to my shitty apartment, a place I honestly had hoped to never see again, and drank my way into a coma.

It had seemed like such a good idea at the time.

Now, not so much.

My phone started to ring and I couldn’t do much more than moan as the sound bounced around my cell.

“Shut up,” I whispered hoarsely from my fetal position on my bathroom floor.

It listened, thank god, and the ringing stopped. I sat up and slowly got to my feet. I ran the water in the sink and filled my hands and splashed my face several times. It cleared some of the fog in my head.

I smelled like shit. That was definitely vomit on the front of my shirt. I looked at my reflection in the mirror and had to laugh. I was a long cry from being the sexed up bad boy singer everyone was used to seeing.

I looked like crap. Like a heroine addict before they overdosed in an alleyway. My cheeks were sunken and I had dark circles under my eyes. Despite feeling like ass**le warmed over, I had enough residual vanity to make myself strip my clothes and jump in the shower.