He threw himself into every show with a kind of quiet desperation, letting the steady, practiced environment soothe the raw edges left by Klatmatch Ends, by Harper, and by his father’s funeral.Each night onstage felt like a small reset with the familiar weight of the sticks in his hands, the vibration of the kick drum through his chest, and the way a well-timed fill could lift the entire room.For the first time in a long while, the music didn’t feel like survival.It felt like healing.
Even the long drives between cities felt peaceful.Vic would sit in the back of the bus with his headphones on, watching the highway roll by, letting the exhaustion from that night’s show settle into his bones.No one pressured him to talk about his past or his future.They just let him be.
It was simple.It was steady.
And for a man who had spent years bouncing from one chaotic situation to the next, simple and steady felt like a lifeline.
By the end of that first week, as they loaded out after a particularly strong show in Indianapolis, Vic caught himself smiling, a real one, for the first time in what felt like ages.
This was what he needed.
At least for now.
***
They were loading inat a midsize club in Indianapolis when Vic spotted them.
Riley Kane was leaning against the bar, nursing a beer and looking every bit the rock guitarist with his messy blond topknot and sharp, restless eyes.Trey Bishop stood next to him, bigger and bearded, laughing at something Riley had said.Jax was nowhere in sight.
Vic froze for half a second, the familiar prickle of old tension crawling up his spine.Then he kept walking toward the stage like nothing was unusual, hardware case heavy in his hand.He wasn’t going to hide.Not anymore.
Riley noticed him first.A slow, surprised grin spread across the guitarist’s face.
“Well, shit.Look what the cat dragged in.”
Vic set down his case and walked over, offering his hand.Riley shook it firmly, grip strong and genuine.Trey followed, pulling him into a quick, back-slapping hug that smelled like beer and familiarity.
“No Nova?”Vic asked, glancing around the room.
Riley shook his head, expression turning rueful.“She bailed right after you did.Said she was tired of boys playing at being rock stars.Can’t really blame her.”
Trey chuckled, low and easy.“Band imploded pretty spectacularly after that.Jax is off chasing some solo deal that’ll never happen.We’re just...figuring shit out.”
There was no heat in their voices.No blame.No lingering resentment or sideways looks.They were just three guys who had thrown themselves into something that ultimately didn’t work.Vic felt a strange kind of relief settle in his chest.
“Yeah,” he said, nodding.“It happens.”
Riley studied him for a moment, then smirked.“You look good, man.Clear-eyed.How are you doing?”
“Taking it day by day,” Vic answered honestly.“You?”
“Same.”Riley lifted his beer in a mock toast.“We’re playing here next week, actually.Come out if you’re still in town.We’ll put you on the guest list.”
“Appreciate it.”
They talked for a few more minutes, the kind of easy, surface-level catching up that left no wounds behind.A couple of tour stories, a shared laugh about a disastrous gig they’d played in Knoxville, nothing too deep.When Vic excused himself to finish load-in, there were no hard feelings.No burning bridges.Just another band that hadn’t worked out.
He climbed up on the stage, sat behind the kit, and ran through a quick sound check.The familiar weight of the sticks in his hands grounded him immediately.
Music hadn’t failed him.
Not when Klatmatch Ends fell apart.
Not when Harper blindsided him.
Not when his father died.
And it wouldn’t fail him now.
