Chapter One
Vic
Dinner would be late, probably burned, but Vic found he wasn’t so much on the hungry side of things now.This could be because the volume of the screeching coming from his old man’s room was nearing metal concert decibels.He slid off his bed and closed the door, hoping that thin as it was, it would at least keep the visual of the breakup at bay.
“You never gave a shit about my art, Rosie,” Cammi screeched, just a bit louder than the last ten times she’d screeched the same thing.
Cammi was his dad’s latest girlfriend, and while she was nice enough when not plastered out of her gourd, right now she wasdefinitelyplastered out of her gourd, and her feelings were hurt to boot.
“Nevah,” she shrieked, and Vic slid his headphones back into place, turning up the volume because he was already tired of listening to her.Tired of listening to the collective of his old man’s women when they realized that the man they’d hooked up with, who was funny as shit, could party like a rock star, and also looked like the rock star he’d always wanted to be, gave all that up as soon as you met him.Right off the bat, you knew every part of him.Vic Montrose Sr., known to everyone far and wide as Rosie, held nothing back, which meant there wasn’t anything to discover.He wasn’t holding a supremely nice guy at bay, wasn’t concealing a guy who gave a shit about anything but the current party, or the current beer.Or, in this case, the next party along with the next beer—and now, clearly the next woman, seeing as how Vic had already seen Cammi haul her suitcase to the door.
But they hoped and planned, playing up sweet to both of the Montrose men and trying to find the door to that guy who never existed.They’d leave when their hopes were inevitably dashed and their life plans had been derailed, because chasing a ghost was a sure way to break your own heart.
Vic was jolted out of his music when his door slammed open.He looked up to see his dad staring in at him.Making a brusque motion with his hand, he instructed Vic to take off the headphones.
“Cammi’s history,” his dad said as soon as he’d complied.
“Got that,” Vic said and sighed, waiting for whatever would be coming next.
“Nashville called.Gonna go up and do some studio work.Blackbird Studios.Might turn into a regular thing with the band.”
That was good.His old man was far from a slouch on the guitar, and him getting called in on gigs at the Blackbird would pay bills Vic knew were piling up.The fact that he was already making plans that were full of air and ready to pop wasn’t good.That delusion meant his dad was away in dreamland, wishing up an unlikely ending.
“Sounds good, Pop,” he said, then waited again.
“Meg said they want you too.Drum track for demos.”
Meg meant Meghan Delorio, talent scout and main force behind a small independent record label.This was both good and bad, because being a demo meant less money for the studio gig, but good because it showed she dug his drumming and might make good on the promise that he could beat the skins for her sometime.
“I got school and the football game,” he reminded his dad.Senior year meant there wasn’t much more schooling left for him, since there wouldn’t be any money for college.“Shift at Maggio’s too.”Maggio’s was the sandwich shop he worked at after school and on weekends, pretty much any time they’d schedule him and he wasn’t working a party.He did DJ work too.Birthday parties and shit, mostly with little kids where you were guaranteed at least one multicolored spew fest, or older parties where kids whose folks had money celebrated things like their bar mitzvah or making the grades to graduateandget into a good college.
“So call off.”His dad shrugged.“You’re a good worker, never bail on them.They’ll get this is important.”
“School,” he reminded him, already anticipating the next shrug coming.
“Not like you’re going for perfect attendance.”
“Football game?”He could anticipate the dismissive response now, but he wouldn’t budge on this.He was lead on the drum line and proud of what his crew had accomplished already this season.They were the reason the fans were on their feet and cheering half the time.
“We’ll go Saturday morning, then.I’ll clear it with Meg, but she’ll be cool.”
Vic stared at his dad for a long second, then shrugged.“Fine.I’ll go.”
***
Thirty-six hours later, he was in Nashville, warming up behind a beautiful drum kit in a dimly lit tracking room at Blackbird Studios.The air smelled like warm electronics, and that particular scent that came from creative tension.Meg had set it up.Rosie had sweet-talked his way into the room, which was cool.Vic loved the idea of playing with his old man.Maybe this time the music was truly listening back.
Sitting on his throne for the first session, he couldn’t help but grin.It was for Malachi “Mace” Buckley, a grizzled country singer in his late forties whose voice sounded like gravel soaked in bourbon.The scent of coffee seemed to permeate the air around him, a wake-up call Vic had never needed.He sat waiting, sticks balanced lightly in his hands, heart already racing with that familiar mix of nerves and hunger.He was more than ready to play.
Mace wanted a swing groove, something loose but muscular, the kind of vibe that felt like broken-in work boots stomping across an old wooden porch after a long day in the fields.
Vic listened to the scratch track once, eyes closed, letting the song sink into his bones.On the first take, he gave them exactly what they asked for: a relaxed kick-snare pocket, gentle push on the hats, and just enough forwards motion to keep the train rolling.It was solid.
Didn’t mean it was right.He knew he could do so much more.
For take two, he opened everything up.He loosened the hi-hat until it breathed like a sigh, slipped a soft ghost note onto the “and” of three so the snare had air around it, and added a subtle drag on the kick that made the whole groove lean back like a man settling into his favorite chair.The steel guitar wept in response.
They were three minutes into the song when Mace stopped playing mid-verse, spun around on his stool, and pointed straight at Vic with wide, shining eyes.
