When it was time to begin their set, Vic closed his eyes for a moment, feeling the low hum of anticipation from the already-rowdy crowd.The groove settled into his bones as the first song began.
He locked in tight with the bassist, pushing the whole band to and through the solo section.When it was his turn, the crowd responded with a roar that vibrated through the floorboards and up into his chest.
After the set, the frontman, Lucas, clapped him on the back, sweat dripping down his face.“You’re making us sound better than we deserve, man.”
Vic just smiled, wiping his forehead with the hem of his shirt.It felt good.The whole show was a level of professional he wanted to get used to, where no one was showing up wasted and derailing the night.The kind of gig where everyone did their job and went home satisfied.
But as he broke down his kit afterward, carefully packing away the cymbals and stands, a small voice in the back of his mind whispered:
This is safe.
But is it enough?
Vic paused, staring at the familiar hardware in his hands.The question lingered, quiet but persistent, as the house lights came up and the venue’s crew began tearing down the stage around him.
***
The last notes of thefinal encore faded into the rafters of the club in Grand Rapids, and the crowd erupted.
Vic rose from behind the kit, sweat dripping down his back, and gave the Silverline Drift guys a genuine grin.They’d played a hell of a show tonight—tight, energetic, and full of the kind of easy camaraderie that had made the weeks fly by.Lucas pulled him into a quick bro-hug at the edge of the stage.
“You saved our asses, man,” Lucas said over the noise.“We’re gonna miss the hell out of you.”
“Same,” Vic replied, meaning it.“You guys are solid.Keep killing it.”
He helped break down the kit one last time, loading cases into the van with the familiar rhythm of road life.When everything was secured, he stood in the parking lot for a moment, hands in his pockets, breathing in the cold night air.
It had been a solid run.Steady money.Good people.Respectable crowds.
But it still wasn’thisband.
His phone buzzed in his back pocket.
Unknown number.
He almost let it go to voicemail, but something made him swipe to answer.
“Yeah?”
“Vic Montrose?”The voice on the other end was tired but hopeful.“This is Danny Schraff.I play bass for Occupy Yourself.”
Vic’s heart gave a hard thump.
“Yeah, man.I know who you are.”
There was a short pause, and then Danny got right to it.“Look, I’m not gonna bullshit you.We’ve been through a string of drummers lately, and it’s been...rough.Benny’s solid again, but we need someone who can play the songs without drama.Meg Delorio gave me your name and said you’re the real deal.You interested in coming out and trying it with us?”
Vic closed his eyes, leaning back against the cold metal of the van.
Relief—pure, overwhelming relief—crashed over him like a wave.
This was it.
This was what he’d been waiting for without even realizing how badly he needed it.Not just another gig.Not another temporary fill-in.Occupy Yourself had something real.Something worth fighting for.He’d seen it himself when he watched them play.
“Yeah,” Vic said, not even trying to hide the grin spreading across his face.“I’m interested.When do you need me?”
“Yesterday would be ideal,” Danny said with a tired laugh.“We’re in Fort Wayne right now.Can you get here in the next couple of days?”
