Rowdy Boy

Benjamin pops in too and doesn’t seem too pleased to see me even though he knew I was gonna be here.

They asked for this meeting, not me.

I already know what’s gonna happen.

“I take it you saw what happened between Michael and me?” I ask.

“Oh, yeah.” He rubs his lips, clearly annoyed. “It’s all over social media. Wanna explain why you threw yourself at him?” Tristan asks, folding his arms. “Why you attacked him, accused him of sending pictures? Kicked him from the fucking band?”

“I can’t,” I say, frowning as I look away. If I tell them about Monica’s picture, word will spread, and I don’t want to do that to her. “I would if I could, but I can’t. I can’t do it.”

“Give me one good reason,” Tristan replies.

I wish I could answer his question, but it’s not my place to tell them what Michael and his buddies did to Monica. That’s her story.

“He did something that’s unforgivable,” I say.

“And it involves some pictures?” Tristan asks. “Show me then.”

Like hell, I will. “No.”

“Why not?” he asks.

“They’re private,” I reply.

The look on his face tells me that’s not enough for him.

“What, that’s it?” Benji asks. “Pictures? That’s why he got kicked out?”

“There’s more.” I eye him down. “If I could say it, I would’ve done it already.”

“Bullshit, you were just looking for an excuse to kick him out, and now you make one up,” Tristan barks.

My nostrils flare. “I’m not making shit up. You know as well as I do he was a loose cannon from day one.”

“That’s not enough reason to kick someone out of this band, Cole. And you’re not the one to decide that on your own.”

“Did you forget the drugs? The bingeing? How he treated the girls?” I retort, stepping closer.

“Like you didn’t do shit with girls,” Tristan says, snorting. “You were just as bad.”

“If not worse,” Benji adds.

“Thanks, Benji.” I throw him a look and shake my head. “Wow.” Can’t believe he’s comparing me to that shithead now.

“Just saying.” He shrugs. “Not judging, but you’re judging Michael too now.”

“I was there! Okay, I was fucking there!” I say, adrenaline still pumping through my veins. “He did something that was really fucked up. And then he shared a goddamn picture too.”

“A picture? And we’re supposed to believe you based on what evidence?” Tristan asks.

“I saw it myself,” I say, swallowing.

“Do you even know for sure it was him that sent that picture then?”

I don’t know for sure, but who else could it have been? He’s the only one who had a vendetta against Monica. He probably blames her for the fact that I kicked him from the band.

“I … don’t know …” I sigh. “But he’s the only one with a motive.”

“What motive?” Benji asks, frowning.

“I kicked him out of the band after he did some fucked-up shit at the party,” I reply.

“But I was at the party. Nothing happened,” Benji says. “We all were.”

I look up at them both. “Yes, it did.”

“Wait …” His brows furrow. “Are you talking about Monica? That drunk chick you carried inside?”

I eye him down, tilting my head. “She wasn’t drunk, and she’s not just a chick … but yes.”

His nostrils flare as he takes in a deep breath. The air is thick with unspoken words.

“Then why won’t you fucking tell us what went down?” Tristan snarls. “If it’s that bad, don’t you think we should know?”

I sigh out loud. “I can’t … It’s not up to me.” I look him straight in the eyes because I can’t give him what he wants.

Instead, I shake my head and look away.

He snorts and rolls his eyes. “I knew it. Course this would happen.”

“Don’t,” I say. “Don’t put this all on me.”

“Why not? You were the one to make the call,” he retorts. “You kicked him out. Now we’re out of a guitarist, and we’re supposed to be playing an audition next week!” He’s enraged. I’ve never seen him like this before, and it hurts knowing it’s because of me, and I can’t do anything to stop it.

“I know,” I reply. “I’ll fucking find someone, okay? I can fix this.”

He shakes his head and laughs. “Yeah, you do that.” He starts walking backward and taps Benji on the arm. “C’mon.”

“What are you gonna do?” I ask. “Leave?”

“Yeah, Cole.” The disappointment in his face is unrelenting. “That’s exactly what I’m gonna do.”

“What about practice? The band? The audition,” I say, adrenaline pulsing through my veins.

“There is no band without our guitarist,” he replies, strain in his voice. “And no band without a drummer, either.”

He turns around and storms out without saying another word. Benji stands there and stares at me, making me feel guilty.

“Go,” I growl at him.

I know he wants to.

He makes a face at me and then shakes his head too. “I’m sorry, Cole.” And he clutches his bag and turns to leave.