Not when his mother left.Not when Conner disappeared.Not when Rosie forgot birthdays or Christmases or every single promise he’d made.The drums had always been there—steady, honest, waiting for him to pour everything ugly and broken into them and turn it into something powerful.
Music would save him.It always had.
***
Three weeks later,Meg called.
He answered with a grin.“Did I forget about a session?”Which he knew wasn’t true, because he had gobbled up all the work she’d given him.
“No, but I’ve got a band that needs a drummer for three or four weeks,” she said without preamble.“Their guy had an accident in Atlanta.They’re in the middle of a decent club run, about to head through the Midwest.You interested?”
Vic didn’t even hesitate.“When do I leave?”
“Day after tomorrow.I’ll send you the itinerary.”
Chapter Nine
Vic
The band was called Silverline Drift—a solid mid-tier rock outfit with strong original songs and a tight, well-rehearsed live show that had earned them a loyal following on the club circuit.They welcomed Vic warmly the moment he showed up for the first rehearsal, clearly relieved and grateful to have a pro who could step in cold with almost no notice.
Their regular drummer had fractured his wrist in three places after a clumsy stage dive, and the tour was already booked and paid for.No one had time for auditions or long rehearsals.Vic learned their entire set in two marathon six-hour sessions, absorbing the arrangements, the dynamics, and the subtle cues between the members like he’d been playing with them for months.
Then they hit the road.
By the end of the first week, Vic felt more like himself than he had in months.
The crowds weren’t massive, but they were enthusiastic and appreciative—the kind of rooms where people came to listen as much as they came to drink.The groove was comfortable, reliable, and satisfying in a way that let him settle in without constantly having to prove himself.The other guys were true professionals: They showed up on time, knew their parts inside and out, and played hard every night without the chaos that had poisoned so many of his previous bands.
Lucas, the frontman and rhythm guitarist, had a steady, no-nonsense leadership style that kept everyone focused.Their bassist, a quiet guy named Paul, locked in with Vic so seamlessly that it felt like they’d been playing together for years.The lead guitarist, a tall, lanky kid named Ryan, brought sharp, melodic solos that gave Vic room to breathe and push the pocket when needed.
No drama.No egos clashing.No one showing up wasted or forgetting lyrics mid-set.
Just music.
It was exactly what Vic needed.
