The stand-in drummer—Dewayne something, she couldn’t remember his last name—had come in cold to cover for her newest regular guy who’d come down with food poisoning.Dewayne had worked with the headliner group for years, and his professional experience showed.From the first sound check hit, he’d understood exactly what she needed.He hadn’t rushed.Hadn’t tried to show off.He’d justlistened, found the pocket, and then gently, powerfully, pushed it wider until the whole band rose to meet him.
The crowd had felt how special the moment was.Hell,shehad felt it in every cell.
For once, they’d played like the songs had always been meant to sound this good.Her voice had opened up in ways it hadn’t in months.Her guitar solos had breathed.Even Leo and Marco had stepped up, feeding off the energy coming from behind the kit.The setlist that usually felt like a slog had flown by in a blaze of sweat and lights and roaring approval.
Bonnie trailed her fingers through the water, watching the ripples.A small, tired smile tugged at her lips.
That’s what it’s supposed to feel like.
She let the memory wash over her again.Dewayne locking eyes with her during the bridge of “Devil’s Backbone,” giving her the tiniest nod right before she launched into the solo.The way he’d answered her with a rolling fill that had made the whole room surge forward.The thunderous crash on the final chorus of their closer that had the crowd screaming for an encore they almost never did.
For once, she hadn’t left the stage feeling like she’d carried the whole night on her back.She’d felt...part of something bigger.Supported.Matched.
It was dangerous, how good it felt.
Because now she knew what was possible.
And that knowing made the memory of every other night that much worse.
Bonnie sank lower until the water touched her chin.Steam curled around her face.She reached for the glass of red wine she’d poured and took a slow sip, letting the warmth spread through her chest.
Her mind drifted back over the last two years.The string of drummers who couldn’t keep time.The ones who could keep time but had no feel.The ones who had feel but spent more energy trying to get into her pants than locking in with the songs.Kyle’s smug face flashed behind her eyes and she grimaced, pushing the memory away.
She thought about the gig three months ago in Louisville, when her regular drummer at the time had been so hungover he’d dropped a beat in the middle of their strongest original.The crowd had noticed.She’d noticed.She’d finished the song on pure willpower and rage, smiling through it while her stomach twisted with embarrassment.
Or the night a couple of years ago in Evansville when the then pre-Leo bassist had decided mid-set that he was going to “spice things up” and completely changed the arrangement on “Rusted Chains” without telling anyone.She’d had to fake her way through it while silently promising herself she’d fire him the second they got offstage.After disembowelment, preferably.
Bonnie grinned, but then the feeling faded.It had been night after night of almost-good.Of close-but-not-quite.Of carrying the weight and pretending it didn’t crush her.
She set the wineglass down on the tub ledge and submerged her arms, letting the heat soak into her sore wrists.Her fingers were still tingling from gripping the guitar so hard.
She whispered a few lines that had been circling in her head since she left the venue.
“One night of real fire, and the rest feel like smoke
He played like he heard me, like the music ain’t a joke
Now everything before tastes like watered-down hope”
She hummed the melody under her breath, low and rough.The words weren’t finished, but they felt true.That was the worst part—knowing what the music could be when someone actually met her where she was.It made settling feel like betrayal.
Her phone buzzed on the bath mat.She dried one hand and picked it up to find a text from Leo.
*Great show tonight.That fill-in guy was killer.We booking him again?*
Bonnie stared at the message for a long moment.Her thumb hovered.She typed, deleted, typed again.
*He was.But he’s with the headliner full-time.We keep grinding.*
She set the phone down before she could say what she really felt, which wasI don’t know how much longer I can keep pushing forwards like this.
The water was starting to cool.She reached for the hot tap with her toes and let fresh heat flood in.Steam rose again.She closed her eyes and let her mind wander back to the stage.
Dewayne hadn’t hit on her once.Not before, during, or after the show.He’d treated her like a peer.A band leader.He’d asked smart questions about arrangements.Complimented her tone on a particular solo.Shook her hand afterward with genuine respect and said, “You’ve got something special here.Don’t let it stay small.”
Those words had lodged in her chest like a hook.
Don’t let it stay small.
