***
The next forty-eighthours passed in a strange kind of limbo.
Benny was stable but out of commission—doctors said alcohol, exhaustion, dehydration, and the lingering effects of pushing too hard too soon.The band had canceled the rest of the weekend’s shows, and everyone was lying low at the hotel while the dust settled.Danny had thrown his lot in with Benita, so he was persona non grata around the hotel and clubhouse.
Vic found himself with nothing but time on his hands and no real place to be.
He spent most of the first day hanging around the hotel, which was also owned by the Rebels, helping Mitty and a couple of the crew reorganize the gear storage so Benita couldn’t try anything sneaky.By the second afternoon, he was restless.
That was when Hurley found him.
The big, quiet Rebel with the easy smile and scarred knuckles clapped a massive hand on Vic’s shoulder outside the hotel.“You look like a man who needs something to do.Come on.We’re grilling.”
That was how Vic ended up in the backyard of a sprawling house on the edge of town, surrounded by leather cuts and the smell of charcoal and cooking meat.
Hurley introduced him around like he’d been known to the club for years.Pinto, a wiry, sharp-eyed member with a quick tongue, immediately started giving him shit about being “the new drummer who already picked a side in a fight.”
Vic just grinned and took the beer Hurley handed him.“Seemed like the right side.”
Pinto laughed.“Smart man.”
They spent the afternoon talking bikes, music, and the kind of trouble that came with both.Hurley turned out to be a surprisingly good cook.Pinto told wild stories about past runs that had Vic laughing harder than he had in months.For the first time since he’d rolled into Fort Wayne, the tension in his shoulders started to ease.
Later that evening, after most of the crowd had drifted off, Bear wandered over carrying two guitars—one acoustic, one a beat-up electric.
“You any good on six strings when you’re not behind the kit?”Bear asked, offering him the acoustic.
Vic took it with a raised eyebrow.“I get by.”
They ended up on the back porch for almost two hours.Bear played with a loose, soulful style that surprised Vic.They traded licks, worked through a few covers, then started messing around with original ideas.Vic found himself sinking into the music, letting the day’s leftover stress bleed out through his fingers.
When they finally set the guitars down, Bear studied him for a long moment.
“You got a place to stay while Benny’s sorting his shit?”he asked.
Vic shrugged.“Hotel for now.Figured I’d wait and see what happens first.”
Bear nodded once.“Hotel’s fine, but if you want something quieter, I’ve got spare rooms you and Mitty are welcome to.You’d have your own space, and Eddie, my wife, and I wouldn’t mind the adult company.The guest room, and Lucia’s old room.Our girl is with Benny most nights anyway.”He laughed.“We do have the boys, so don’t think it’ll be anything close to serene around there.”
Vic blinked, caught off guard by the casual offer.He knew Lucia was Bear’s adopted daughter, because she and Benny were a couple now.The kindness of the offer meant everything.
Bear shrugged like it was nothing.“Figured a man who stood up for Benny the way you did might be worth having around.Plus, I got a decent drum kit in the garage if you need to blow off steam.”
Vic let out a slow breath and felt something tight in his chest loosen.
“Yeah,” he said quietly.“I’d appreciate that.Thanks, Bear.”
Bear clapped him on the shoulder, the same heavy, reassuring grip Hurley had used earlier.“Good.Pack any shit you’ve got here.We’ll swing by the hotel in the morning and pick up the rest.”
As Vic sat there on the quiet back porch, the low hum of crickets filling the night air, he realized he’d gone from sleeping on Sheri’s couch to crashing with a patched Rebel in the span of months.
And for the first time in longer than he could remember...it felt like he was exactly where he was supposed to be.
***
Bonnie
Bonnie slammed the cargo door of her van so hard the whole frame rocked.The parking lot behind The Hot Hearth was nearly empty now, just a couple of roadies loading the last of the gear and her bassist, Leo, leaning against the bumper smoking a cigarette like he hadn’t just played the sloppiest set of his life.
