Richey Mason was convinced that Parker Roberts was taking the piss.

He sat opposite the Artist Development Manager from Numb Records and listened.

NightDrive, the current covers band he played in, had just finished a gig in Oak Ridge. The moment their set concluded, a man approached the side of the stage that Richey played on.

“Hey, mate, good gig,” he said. “You rushing off or got time for a chat?”

Richey looked him up and down, checking out the smart suit and wondered what he could possibly want. “Not sure what you mean, mate, I’m not interested. Got a girlfriend.”

The man laughed. “If I were that way inclined, heavily tattooed, dark-haired men wouldn’t be my type anyway. Let me start again.” He held out his hand. “Hi, I’m Parker Roberts. I work for Numb Records, and I’m looking for a bassist to join a band. You look like you might fit the bill. Got time for a chat?” He pressed a business card into Richey’s hand.

It looked genuine enough to Richey, and the name vaguely rang a bell in the depths of his mind. He doubted that there would be anything in it, but Richey was flattered to think that someone was interested in his abilities with a bass guitar.

He shrugged. “Give a few minutes to clean up. And mine’s a pint.”

After getting the drinks in, Parker explained that he had really enjoyed watching the band play. He had been impressed by Richey’s performance; how he moved around the stage; how he picked up the vocals on occasion; and how he generally came over as more professional than his bandmates. Richey listened politely and waited for Parker to get to the point. Parker went on to fire a million questions at him: How long had he played with the band? Was it a permanent thing? What where their aspirations? Did they have any representation? Did he like the group? Had he heard of Blood Stone Riot?

“Yeah, course I have,” said Richey. “I thought they’d split up?”

Parker sipped his drink. “They’re on a break. Alik Thorne’s been doing some solo gigs with Nate McKenna and a session band. They always planned to get back together once they found a suitable bass player. I’ve been checking out options for them, and I think you might work with them really well. Would you be interested in talking to the rest of the band?”

Richey drained the rest of his beer. He slammed the empty glass down on the table. Parker went over to the bar to order another round.

Richey had spent the past year or so dicking about in the South West; gigging around Devon and Cornwall, and generally trying to stay away from temptations. Well, there had been temptations of blondes, brunettes, and redheads—all of which he willingly indulged in—but nothing else. Nothing that had got him into the sort of trouble that he had previously been in. The sort of trouble that had ruined his first chance at success. And now, here was some guy offering him the opportunity of a lifetime.

Parker came back with two more pints. He placed them on the table and sat down opposite Richey.

Richey took a slug of his beer. “Say I was interested in this opportunity, what would be the next step?”

“I’d need to talk to Alik, Nate, and Dev McLaughlin first. My guess would be that they’d want to do some sort of audition; make sure you’re the right fit. Then gigs. The EP’s been on ice since Alik took the decision to do the solo stuff. If there’s a new bassist in place, that can be released. Then there would be all the publicity around that.” Parker paused. “Got any skeletons in the closet you want to tell me about now?”

Richey thought for a moment. If he told Parker all of his deep, dark secrets now, he knew he’d put himself out of the running straight away. He shook his head. “Nothing I can think of.”

Parker checked his watch and stood up. “Look, I need to head off; last train and all that. Think about it and give me a call tomorrow. Are you staying here tonight?”

Richey nodded. “Yep, too late to head back down south this evening.” He drained the last of his drink and shook Parker’s hand. “Thanks for the chat. It’s been interesting.” Richey watched Parker exit the bar.

He was deep in thought when a couple of giggling girls came up to his table.

“You’re cute,” one of them said, slurring.

“And you’re drunk,” he said.

The last thing he needed was some random shag. He had things to think about. He stood up, put his empty glass on the bar, and headed out of the pub.

It had been a long time since he’d been in Oak Ridge. The town was still familiar to him. Very little had changed; a few new shops perhaps, but the pubs, clubs, and bars were the same. Roaming around the streets late at night brought back a raft of unwanted memories. Mostly fractured, hazy, flashbacks of the bad stuff. It wasn’t lost on him that the break Parker Roberts was presenting him with was happening in the very place where it had all fallen apart the last time.

It was just before 1am when Richey got back to the B&B that he and the rest of the band were staying in. He crept into the room he shared with the lead singer, who snored away in the single bed nearest the window.

Richey settled onto the other bed and quietly flipped open his laptop. As usual, the first thing he did was check his email. And, as usual, there were several new messages from someone he didn’t want to deal with. He deleted them without opening them. He reached into his wallet and pulled out Parker’s crumpled business card. He twisted it in his hands as he replayed their conversation. He typed Parker’s name into a search engine and was met with a plethora of results: The bands he’d worked with and brought into the public eye, the Blood Stone Riot story, his personal life and fallout from his relationship with the current darling of the UK acting scene, it was all there. Richey clicked on one of the Blood Stone Riot links, scanning a story that detailed the band’s success, right up until the point of Billy Walker’s accident. Just reading some of the things they had done, such as playing the Wilde Park Festival, filled Richey with excitement. Sure, he enjoyed messing around with NightDrive and doing a few gigs here and there, but this was a real shot at something more.

He had just been asked if he wanted to be a part of Blood Stone Riot and bring the band back to life. This was the chance to change his life, instead of gigging in backwater pubs to four men and a dog. His bandmate snorted loudly and farted in his sleep, which was enough to give Richey his decision.

He was going to grab this opportunity with both hands, whatever the consequences.