Desperate Chances (34 page)

I did as I was told and grabbed the spice she needed. “Sophie and I broke up because we weren’t right for each other.”

“And it took you a year to figure out? It seems you’ve become a little soft in the head in your old age. Maybe it’s all that noise from your amplifiers. It short circuited something,” Mom teased.

“You’re hysterical, Mom,” I deadpanned.

Mom shook in a handful of red flakes and passed the container back to me so I could put it away. “I didn’t raise you to be a runner, Mitch. And it seems to me that you’ve been running a marathon.”

“What did Charlotte tell you?” I asked, instantly suspicious. Charlotte knew something had happened with Gracie, even though she didn’t know the particulars. I was sure she and Mom had been having a good gab at my expense.

Mom widened her eyes innocently. “What would Charlotte have told me, hmm?”

I gave my mom a sideways hug. “You’re sneaky, Ma, I’ll give ya that. But I’ve grown immune to your machinations.”

She put her arm around my waist and hugged me in return. “So, you didn’t answer my question. Will you be bringing Gracie over soon? I can make lasagna.”

I kissed the top of my mother’s head. “I’ll work on it,” I said.

“Y
ou guys had to know this was coming. It breaks our hearts to lose you,” Tate was saying.

Cole rolled his eyes and Garrett yawned.

Jordan was checking his phone and texting Maysie updates.

The conversation was going exactly as we had expected.

Danvers and Tate from Pirate Records had launched into a lengthy explanation about overhead costs versus incomings. Gross profit and other words I didn’t really understand. What I
did
understand was that they had other artists that
were
making them money. Generation Rejects, while a great commodity, wasn’t hitting their key markets. Blah, blah, blah.

Neal tried his hardest to push them on elements of our contract but it seemed it was all there in black and white. Pirate had the right to terminate our contract with notice. End of discussion. We didn’t push too hard though. We were all in agreement that the ride was over.

“Guys, do you have any questions?” Tate asked. He sounded distracted and more than ready to conclude the conversation. Not that I blamed him. Dumping bands had to be the sucky part of his job.

“I think the guys understand everything,” Neal piped up. We had spoken to him before the phone call and laid some stuff on the table.

Jordan told him that he had taken a song writing position with a smaller, independent label. He would be mostly working from home, which would be perfect once his kid was born.

Garrett had also used that time to drop the bombshell that he was moving to Boston to be with Riley. None of us were particularly surprised by that one.

Neal hadn’t been thrilled with the news that Generation Rejects were disbanding. “You guys can still go places. With your talent and sex appeal, we can find you the right market. I think you’re selling yourself short here.”

“Neal, we appreciate everything you’ve done. We really do. But at this point, we’ve got to move onto other things. We’ll always be Generation Rejects but we can’t commit to any projects right now,” Garrett told him firmly.

“Uh, well you’re still representing me,” Cole spoke up. We had all looked at him questioningly.

Cole had shrugged. “You guys all have other shit going on. I’m a front man, guys. It’s what I want to do. So I hope you all are cool with me maybe going out on my own.” He seemed nervous and for good reason. Last year we had been fucking pissed when he had left to do that very thing.

Now, it seemed the right thing for him to do.

“That’s cool, dude. You know you have our support,” Jordan said. Garrett and I both nodded in agreement. Cole looked relieved.

“Thanks, guys. I’d been freaking the fuck out about what you were going to say,” he admitted.”

“Cole, of course I’m going to represent your solo career. Let’s talk again about those solo gigs next week,” Neal had broken in. The rest of the conversation had been pretty standard after that.

“I know this has to all come as quite a blow but it’s in no way indicative of your talent,” Tate went on.

Garrett made a jerking off gesture and I tried not to laugh my ass off.

Yeah, we were all done with playing this stupid fucking game.

“No, we don’t have any questions,” I said into the phone. I figured some mild back patting was in order though, so I put on my Chapstick and kissed some ass. We didn’t want to burn any bridges. “But we do just want to say thank you to everyone at Pirate for believing in the band and our music. I’m sorry this couldn’t have been a long-term relationship for all of us.”

“This doesn’t mean that if we see the market change or you come back to us with something new we can’t try again. We’re your biggest fans,” Danvers said.

We all looked at each other. I saw the same thought reflected on everyone’s faces.

Were we doing the right thing?

Could we really walk away from this dream we had shared for so damn long?

How could we possibly say goodbye to the Rejects?

Then the moment passed and we all knew that the time had come to travel a different road.

Even if it took us in opposite directions.

“Thanks, guys,” Jordan said, neither committing nor refuting the idea.

It was always good to leave a door halfway open.

When we hung up the phone, the four of us sat in silence.

“That was sort of painless. I thought it would feel a lot worse,” Cole remarked, looking thoughtful.

“I did too,” I admitted. Because when all was said and done, I felt the same as when I broke up with Sophie.

Relief.

“I mean I do feel shitty about it. We worked our asses off to get a label to notice us. Now it’s over. The whole thing feels a little anticlimactic,” Garrett said.

“I had hoped for at least a little yelling and an f-bomb or two,” I remarked dryly.

“Guys, hey, I’m still here,” Neal’s voice came through the phone, startling us. We had forgotten about him.

“It’s been a real honor working with you the last year. I do think that you’re an amazing band and there’s still a lot out there for you guys. So don’t shelve the band entirely.”

“We won’t Neal. Thanks again for everything. You’ve been a great manager,” Jordan told him.

“I hope one day to represent you all again. And Cole, we’ll talk next week. I think we can make something great happen for you.”

Cole grinned and I was happy for him. There wasn’t any bitterness. Things were turning out the way they were supposed to.

We hung up with Neal and I sat back on the couch, folding my hands behind my head.

“So that’s it,” I said.

“Yep. That’s it,” Jordan agreed.

Garrett pulled out his guitar. He held it in his lap for a while then started strumming a few chords. We all listened to him for a few minutes before Jordan grabbed a pair of drumsticks he had left on the coffee table and started to tap out a beat on his thigh.

I grinned and grabbed my bass, giving it a quick tune before joining in. Cole, not about to be left out, hummed the familiar melody of our most popular song to date.

“
Your touch is toxic. Your heart’s a mess. Which is why you’ll always be my perfect regret…”

We jammed together for hours, going through our entire catalog of songs and even riffing on a possible new one. The music flowed effortlessly. There was no pressure. No stress. We were just four guys hanging out, doing what we loved.

How it was in the beginning.

I
didn’t head up to my room until almost midnight. Cole and Jordan had left hours before, but Garrett and I had stayed up playing video games.

So it was only after I had taken off my shirt and threw on a pair of shorts that I saw the note that had been left on my dresser. It had been propped up against the wooden box and the hair ties that I had kept all these years.

I opened it and stared down at her familiar handwriting, knowing exactly what this was.

It was a chance.

One that I wasn’t going to pass up. Not this time.

Chunky Monkey.

-Gracie-

She needed me.

Fuck, she wanted
me.

This wasn’t about doubt or guilt or shame. This wasn’t about a one-night stand or messing up what had already disappeared.

This was about Mitch and Gracie.

Gracie and Mitch.

I had to go to her.

Now.

I wasn’t going to wait another second. I had wasted enough of those.

I grabbed my keys and all but ran to my Jeep, almost falling on my ass on a patch of ice. It was snowing heavily but I didn’t care. My Jeep was four-wheeled drive.

And it would take more than snow to keep me from Gracie Cook tonight.

I
woke up to a loud banging at my front door.

“What the—?”

I sat up suddenly, the bowl of popcorn falling on the floor. “Shit,” I hissed, reaching down and sweeping up kernels.

I looked around the dark living room a little confused. I must have fallen asleep on the couch watching the Fresh Prince. Some sort of infomercial for wrinkled cream was playing on the TV. I turned it off and stood up, stretching.

What time was it?

I picked up my phone and saw that it was almost one in the morning.

The apartment was eerily silent and I remembered that Cole and Vivian were staying the night at their new apartment.

It was nice. The whole lack of sex noises thing. Maybe living on my own wasn’t going to be so bad.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

Okay, so I hadn’t imagined that. I turned on a lamp and walked to the door, tripping over my sneakers that I had kicked off earlier.

“Stupid shoes,” I grumbled, picking them up and tossing them behind the couch.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

Christ! Who was trying to beat down my door so late at night? Whoever it was, wasn’t very patient. And that annoyed me. A lot.

“Hold your horses, jeesh,” I muttered. I glanced out the window and could see that the world was completely white. Streetlights glinted off the snow and it was really pretty.

Who in the hell would be out in this weather? A complete moron most likely.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

“If you pound on that door one more time I’m going to shove something uncomfortable up unmentionable places,” I said loudly. I quickly grabbed a mint and popped it in my mouth. Even when woken from a very deep sleep, a girl had to think about her oral hygiene.

I pulled open the door and froze, my scowl melting into an expression of total shock.

“Mitch?”

He was standing in the hallway with melting snow in his hair, his cheeks red from the cold.

“Hey, Gracie. Please don’t shove something uncomfortable in a place that’s unmentionable,” he chuckled, his hand braced against the doorframe.

“What in the hell are you doing here?” I stepped out into the hallway, not sure if I should let him in or not. He was looking a little on the frantic side and that made me nervous. What in the world?

“Did you drive? The roads look awful!” I scolded. “There’s this handy invention known as a telephone, you know.” I crossed my arms over my chest and narrowed my eyes.

Mitch’s eyes heated and I had to take a step back. I was still waking up and I wondered, on some level, if I was still sleeping. Because he looked at me like he wanted to devour me. Eat me whole. He was a wet dream come to life.

“What I have to say can’t be said over the phone,” he rasped, his voice low and rough.

Nope, this was real all right. The cold blast of air drifting down the hallway was making my nipples hard and the hair stand up on my arms.

“What’s wrong? Are you okay? Did something happen?” I fired each question in rapid succession. I was worried now. Why else would this man be standing outside my door in the middle of the night during a snowstorm?