Page 2 of Strike A Chord

“What’s it?”

Listening to their conversation was like a rock and roll version of who’s on first.

“The band name.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” I had my back to them and had no clue who said what to whom and zero desire to get involved. In my life, keeping my mouth shut and my dick in my pants were the best things I could do.

“Chaotic Abyss.”

Wait, what? Fuck.

Slowly, I turned and found all three sets of eyes on me. “Well, if you learn our songs as fast as you named the band, you’ll do all right.” Jason smiled wide, kinda wigged me out. “Guitarist hired, check. Band renamed, check. Now to get signed with a reputable management company while lining up more gigs.”

I truly was starting over, but at least they appeared to be happy. Maybe. Kinda. Well, all but Nigel. I think his default setting was resting dick face. Were all drummers this fucking angry or just the ones that met me?

Guess dear old dad wasn’t the only one my existence rubbed wrong.

Who was I kidding, I hated myself so how could I expect anyone else to give a shit? These guys only wanted me for my talent, and I’d do well to remember that.

I sat my stuff by the door and returned to the table they had set up in the middle of the empty warehouse. “So, is there like a contract or something I need to sign?” Being picked up as Ryder’s backup right out of the gate never gave me any real-world experience. Their band management took care of everything. Now I guessed I’d have to learn to decipher legal documents. Not my forte by any means. Hell, I never graduated high school and it was highly unlikely I’d understand more than where to sign my name. My past sang that crystal clear when my dumbass signed with Nicholas without doing my homework first.

“Nah, man. Not yet. We’re still unsigned and had to push back the gigs we had scheduled when numbnuts walked off stage during our last show.” Jason sighed.

“And on a night with scouts in the crowd.” Marley shook his head. “If I ever see that fucker again...”

“Well, better he did it now than after we got signed.” Nigel had a point, then they would’ve been in a mad scramble for a replacement or be in breach of contract. “And he’s not worth an orange jumpsuit so let it go.”

The Seattle music scene was crazy, as it was in LA and Nashville so I more than understood their frustrations. Bands were a dime a dozen here and if you didn’t have a gimmick or a sound that stood out from the rest, you’d get lost in the crowd. For me, I’d left Tacoma as soon as the ink was dry on the contract with Maiden, the first of two I’d ever signed without reading, only to return with my tail tucked between my legs and a shit rep to match. Getting away from my old man’s flying fists was worth the cases of ramen I lived off of over the years. Being back here stirred up long since repressed memories and the nightmares had returned, only drowned out when I could afford a bottle of whisky to silence my screams.

“Here,” Jason handed me his phone. “Put your number in and text yourself so you have mine. I’ll add you to our group chat. While you’re at it, add your email. That way when I get our schedule laid out, I can shoot it over to you.”

Well, I guess I had a job?

“I’ll start making calls.” Marley grabbed his phone and wandered off. Their team dynamic hadn’t been shared which left me even more in the what the fuck dark. How would I fit in? I wasn’t new to social media, but I also didn’t post anything that benefited anyone but me. Fuck, I had so much to learn.

“Is there something I can help with?” Hopefully Jason, who appeared to speak for the band, could fill in the blank.

“Be back here tomorrow at two for practice and a band meeting. Hopefully we’ll have a lineup of shows to go over then we can see where your strengths lie and where you can help.” Jason’s easy smile said more than his words, he was the glue for this band.

“Right on, thanks.” How long would it take before they tired of my inability to have any abilities that didn’t involve a guitar? I nodded, thanked them and loaded up my car. Thankful as fuck I hadn’t had to pawn it—yet. My 1968 black-on-black Charger R/T with a 426 Hemi was the first big purchase I made back when I had a job. I rented an onsite storage unit with a garage door that my complex offered which was likely the only reason she hadn’t been stolen. After that, I added to my guitar collection which was all but gone now. Life was much easier when your room and food were paid for while on the road.

I headed off to my usual haunt, a hotel bar near SeaTac in a shitty as fuck area of town. The surly bartender was hot, though he constantly shot down my advances, and the drinks were affordable. Well, he was surly with me but that was nothing new. To everyone else, he was as kind as could be. If I could just learn to engage a brain-mouth filter, things between us would be different. But one must have that in order to activate it.

Couldn’t blame a guy for trying, even though I was a total commitment-phobe. One-night stands I fucking rocked, relationshits were just that—shit, and I avoided them like the plague. Playing guitar and fucking were all I knew. Guess I had two talents after all. Yay me.

Man bun, sexy black-rimmed glasses. Dark, wavy hair that was only let down long enough to resecure the bun. Tall, slender and a ridiculously captivating smile I got lost in. Reagan, bartender extraordinaire, delivered snark and adult beverages with grace and ease. It was hard to get mad at his snark because you were far too enthralled with his charismatic allure to do so. Hipsters weren’t usually my type, but something about Reagan did it for me. Either that or it had been far too long since I busted a nut.

“And so, he returns.” Reagan winked as he wiped the bar down. Huh, the wink was new, and I’d take it as a win. “A little late today, aren’t you?”

“I’d watch it if I were you or someone might get the wrong idea and think you kept track of me.” Would be a first. Unless I was late for Maiden’s practices literally no one in my life ever gave a flying fuck where I was.

“You wish. Usual?” Straight to business was how he rolled.

“Please.” I glanced around the bar, only about ten heads filled seats in the dimly lit room. “Light night?”

“Seems to be. Sun was out today so most are enjoying the great outdoors I’d guess. Gotta soak up the Vitamin D as much as you can up here, Arizona boy.”

I never bothered to correct his assumption I was from AZ. Once, it came up in conversation right after I moved back to Washington, and he asked where I came from. Usual bartender chat but it was better no one knew I was from here. As far as I knew Reagan had no idea who I was, and it was best to keep him in the dark about that. “True dat.” One thing I did miss about Phoenix was the sun. Having been born and raised here, I ached for those bright rays in the land I’d once called home and swore I’d never move back. Yet here I was.

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