“I get that. I just wasn’t sure what I was going to tell you,” I answered honestly. No sense in mentioning the fact that I had spent most of the past week drunk off my ass and feeling f**king sorry for myself.

“Then we talk it out. I need your head in the game. I want to get you to where you need to be, Cole. I thought we were getting on the same page. I thought you wanted this. I hope like hell I didn’t misread you. I thought you were someone who would fight tooth and nail for the fame and the recognition. You want it. I see it every time you get on that stage. And everyone else sees it too. Which is why Deep Hill f**king wants you. They don’t go after just anyone. But they’re going after you.”

I didn’t say anything. I watched as the Manhattan skyline got closer and closer. Jose’s lip service was kind of grating. This was a guy who only wanted me for what I could give him.

I could suck three ways to Sunday but if I could make him a buck or two, Jose would surgically implant his lips to my ass.

“Are you hearing me, Cole? This is your chance! You’d be a f**king idiot of you didn’t do it. Do you realize how many young artists would murder their own grandma to have the chance that is sitting in your lap? Open the glove compartment,” he barked, obviously irritated by my lack of response.

I thought about telling him to shove his demands straight up his nose, but didn’t want to end up in the Hudson River sleeping with the fishes.

I opened the glove compartment, not sure what I was looking for.

“Get those papers out,” he directed.

I pulled out a stapled stack of paperwork and saw my name and Jose’s at the top.

“That’s your new contract. The one that let’s me work with you. Just you. There’s a pen in there as well.” He thought I was just going to sign it. That I was going to do whatever the hell he told me to do.

“What’s the hold up? Just sign it. It’s a standard contract. Nothing crazy.” He was being awfully pushy.

Traffic into Manhattan was a bitch. And things inside the car were getting markedly tenser.

“I’m not signing these right now, Jose. There’s a lot going on. I need to get through the next few hours, if you don’t mind,” I said firmly. I was sick and tired of this dick bossing me around. He was supposed to be working for me, not the other way around.

Jose seemed shocked by my new set of balls.

“Yeah, sure. I get it. I wouldn’t worry about today. I’ve already spoken to Tate at the label and we’re going to be able to dissolve the contract without a whole lot of bullshit. The label will keep the album but you’ll be able to go elsewhere when all is said and done.”

“You did what?” I couldn’t believe Jose had taken it upon himself to do that shit! Who the hell did he think he was? I had never said that was the direction I wanted to go in! I didn’t appreciate anyone, let alone Jose f**king Suarez, handling my life for me.

“It’ll just be a matter of signing some papers and then it’s over. I’m sure you’ll get the bad little boy scolding. But who gives a f**k? You’re moving on to bigger and better things, my friend,” Jose was saying, but I barely heard him.

“So they want to dissolve the contract?” I clarified. Damn it! The guys were going into this blind. I had to tell them what was going on. This shit wasn’t cool.

“You didn’t think Pirate Records would want to keep an unknown band on after the drama you’ve had on the tour? Apparently Primal Terror has been pretty vocal about your infighting. And Pirate is a young company. They don’t want to be attached to such an unpredictable act. But it’s no skin off your nose. You’ll come up smelling like roses.”

“And what about Garrett, Jordan, and Mitch?” I asked, interrupting him.

“What about them?” Jose seemed confused.

“Where does that leave them?”

“I don’t know. But they’re not my concern. Making you bigger than Jesus is,” Jose grinned and it chilled me to the bone.

I didn’t say anything else. The wheels in my head were turning a million miles a minute. We finally pulled up almost an hour later, in front of the non-descript stone building that housed Pirate Records headquarters. It definitely wasn’t the fancy glass skyscraper one would expect to see when going to a record label. It was squished between a hairdresser and a dry cleaner.

I got out of the car and Jose made to follow me. I held my hand out, stopping him.

“You don’t need to come with me,” I told him, reaching into the backseat and grabbing my bag. I rolled the new contract up in my hand and smacked my knee with it.

“I’m your f**king manager, of course I’m coming with you. I’ve got to make sure things go the way they’re supposed to. Then afterwards we can go over that new contract.”

“No, we’re not,” I stated, handing him the rolled up paperwork.

“What the hell are you doing, Cole?” Jose narrowed his eyes at me.

“I’m giving you your shitty contract back and I’m telling you to go f**k yourself.” I grinned a little maniacally and started to open the door.

“You stupid little shit. Do you realize what you’re doing? You’re throwing away everything. You think you’ll get anywhere without me?” he sneered.

I shrugged. “I don’t really care. I just know I’d rather live in the f**king streets than sign those papers. You were supposed to be the manager for Generation Rejects. You’re a backstabbing, calculating, cunt and you’re definitely not the sort of person I want representing me. I’d say it was nice knowing you. But then I’d be talking out of my ass.”