“I’ll bring my blanket and pillow over later to set up my bed,” Max says, no longer really engaged with us and now just assuming that the rest of his plan is already enacted. In a way, Max is the ultimate closer—he never even gets remotely close to hearing no.

All I can do is raise my eyebrows at Mason and shrug, and while I finish getting ready for the day in the shower, I start to feel bad. I also know Mason can’t handle Max completely on his own. There are too many nuances, and I wouldn’t send him into that unprepared. When I finally meet them both downstairs for breakfast, I lean over to Mason while Max is eating.

“I’m coming too. Looks like the spare room is going to be awfully full tonight,” I smile, and he visibly sighs with relief.

Mason

At first I wanted to take the meeting with Kevin alone—having Ben involved in any type of business discussion is usually non-productive. But playing together last night, the way the four of us were on stage—that felt more right than any other performance we’d ever had. I feel like something good is beginning, and I don’t want to f**k it up by being shady and doing things behind the guys’ backs, so I called them this morning to break the news and set the meeting with Kevin for this afternoon.

Ben’s legs are hopping up and down so much that the whole damn table is shaking, and I’m just waiting for Kevin to call the meeting off for fear that our drummer is a coke head. To be honest, I’m not so sure he isn’t.

“Let me get to the point, gentleman,” Kevin says, pulling the black-rimmed glasses from his face and folding them on the table in front of us. “Your sound is perfect for what we’re putting together right now. That whole rockabilly, folk-rock kind of thing is hot, and we’re scheduling some big tours. What I’d like to do is have you slated to open for most of the shows in the Southwest.”

I cough when I swallow my water because what he is saying is the last thing I expected. I thought maybe we’d get another deal like the last—tour some small venues, build a base and maybe record an album if we were lucky.

“We’re in,” Ben says, shaking Kevin’s hand before the rest of us really have time to process.

“Wait, I have a few questions,” I pipe in, and I can feel the guys staring at me, just wanting to punch me in the face for even having a hint of a reservation. “Sorry, but we’ve sorta been down a road before, and I want to know where this one is leading. When you say open for a few shows, what kind of numbers are you talking about?”

“Off the top of my head, probably about twenty or so—primarily Arizona, Nevada, Utah, Denver, Southern Cal, maybe a couple in Texas,” he says, pulling up his briefcase to the table to pull out a set of papers that look like contracts. “You’d be opening for some of our up-and-coming bands, venues that hold about twenty.”

“Twenty people?” Ben asks, and I want to kick him. Kevin just laughs it off.

“Twenty…thousand,” Kevin says.

“Fuuuuuuck me. Where do I sign,” Ben asks, perching himself up on his elbows like an anxious child.

“What about recording? Will there be any possibility of that?” I ask, not sure how much Kevin really believes in us.

“Absolutely. Let’s see how the shows go. They’ll run through the end of the year, and if the response is good, we’ll know by late November if we need to schedule some recording time.”

The guys are already reading over the various points of the contract, and my paper is sitting in front of me, my pen on top, just waiting for my signature. I know how big this break is. But something has my hand trapped, and I can’t seem to get myself to commit.

“Look, Mason. I understand your reservations. I know your story—I don’t come into deals like this without doing my homework. I’m going to be really honest, what I’m offering you is the best deal you’re going to get—and it might be the last,” he says, holding out his hand, just waiting for me to shake it.

My mind is racing a million miles a second, trying to line up every last piece of my life into a neat and tidy row. But it’s impossible. The only thing I know for sure is that my dream is hanging on by a thread, and Kevin is holding the other end, and that seems to be enough to get me to shake his hand tonight. I sign my name on that small black line, handing over my life, and then I wonder what the hell I’m going to tell Avery.

“Hells yeah, man!” Ben says, raising his half-empty glass of whiskey to the rest of us for a toast. “To second chances!”

“To second chances!” everyone cheers. I’m not sure which chance I’m referring to, though, and I’m not sure if I’m welcoming one or saying goodbye.