Being clean helped to clear my head. I was hung-over as hell and I knew I needed to get something to eat. But the thought of leaving my apartment and going out there, out where people would know me and want to talk to me, seemed like a really bad idea.

The last thing I needed in my general state of suckitude, was to try and make conversation with anyone.

My phone started ringing again.

Obviously the person on the other end didn’t understand that I was super busy wallowing in pathetic self-pity.

I picked up the source of my annoyance and went to hit ignore when I saw who it was.

Jose Suarez.

Figuring ignoring my manager wouldn’t be in my best interest right now; I put the phone to my ear.

“Hello?”

“Where the f**k have you been? I’ve been calling you since yesterday!” Jose demanded.

“Man, lower your voice!” I croaked, rubbing my temples. I needed some ibuprophen stat!

“I don’t give a shit if you’ve been run over by a damn bus, you answer the phone when I call you!” he ordered and I flipped him off, though he couldn’t see me.

“Yeah, yeah. Okay, what’s the emergency?” I yawned and even that simple movement made me feel like I was going to throw up again. I was a f**king mess.

“Are you screwing with me? What’s the emergency? Well except for the fact that your career is in the shitter, nothing really,” Jose bit out sarcastically.

Oh, yeah. There was that.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean it like it sounded,” I apologized.

“I’m getting the impression that not a lot of shit sorting is going on down in east bumblefuck, or wherever it is that you f**kers live,” Jose snarled.

I really needed some ibuprophen. And I needed to stop tasting my stomach lining in the back of my throat.

“Have you spoken to the other guys?” he asked and I shook my head. Oh right, he couldn’t see me.

“Nope.” My mouth popped around the word for emphasis.

“You planning to talk to them?” he asked snidely.

“I guess,” I said petulantly.

“You guess. Huh. Well that doesn’t sound much like someone who’s invested in saving his band,” Jose pointed out. He didn’t sound angry about it. Just thoughtful. And thoughtful Jose was kind of scary.

“I don’t know if it’s worth saving anymore. If they think it’s okay to walk off stage and leave me like that, I’m not sure I want to play music with them anymore.” And there I had said it. It was the thing that had been swirling around in my head since the entire concert fiasco.

I was bitter. I was really freaking bitter. And my feelings were hurt. I could admit that what my friends had done had cut me deep.

And maybe I was making decisions based on emotions, but I couldn’t think past it. I wasn’t sure we would ever be able to get to a place where we would be able to move passed our hurt pride.

There was a lot of ugliness between the four of us right now.

“I hear ya. I really do. So maybe now is a good time to talk about some news I have for you,” Jose said and I figured I needed to be sitting down for whatever he had to tell me.

“News?” I asked, rooting around in my medicine cabinet for pain reliever. The throbbing in my head had started to get worse. My brains were starting to liquefy.

“Yeah, so I was talking to my man, Roberto, who works over at Deep Hill Records,” he began and my ears perked up.

“Deep Hill Records? Are you shitting me? They’re one of the biggest labels out there,” I said, stopping my scavenger hunt in my medicine cabinet as Jose got all of my attention.

“No shit, Sherlock. Deep Hill is the big leagues. Pirate Records is great and all but they’re young. They’re still a starter company. They don’t have a lot in the way of reach or overall capital. Deep Hill, however, could launch your name into the universe. And they’re interested, Cole. Really f**king interested.”

I sat down heavily on the toilet seat and tried to get a breath. I couldn’t quite figure out what Jose was telling me.

“What do you mean they’re interested?” I asked, feeling like a total idiot.

“It means they want to see more from you. Just you. My man is a head A&R dude. He’s been in this industry since the late nineties. And he thinks you have something, Cole. He thinks you could be huge. He wants to talk to you about what Deep Hill could do for you. About working on an album.”

Jose’s words were going in one ear and out the other. I couldn’t grasp what he was telling me. It was all a little too much for me to take in right now.

I felt like death.

My friends had abandoned me.

My band was on the edge of total ruin.

And Jose was saying that a guy at Deep Hill Records thought I could be a star.

I was going to be sick.

“I’m gonna have to call you back,” I whispered, bile building up in the back of my throat.

“We need to talk about this now, Cole. My guy isn’t going to wait around forever. I know you have your sit down with Pirate next week. But you need to think long and hard about what you’re going to go in there and say. And if it were me, I’d say f**k it. Do what you have to do to get out of that contract. I’ve been reading over it and there are stipulations where you could be released without financial penalties. We need to talk about your strategy. Because I want to help you go beyond Generation Rejects. Cole, this is your chance to go all the way, man!”