Bonnie swallowed.Something in Meg’s tone made her wonder if the woman was matchmaking as much as recruiting, but she let it slide.
“I’ll think about it,” she said instead.“Thanks, Meg.For listening.”
“Anytime, kid.And Bonnie?”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t settle.You’re too good for that.But don’t burn everything down either.Sometimes the right person—or the right band—shows up when you stop trying to carry the whole damn world alone.”
Bonnie ended the call and dropped the phone into her lap.She sat there in the dark van for a long time, replaying the gig in her head.The moments where the groove had almost clicked.The places where it hadn’t.The way her body still thrummed with unused energy, like it knew there was something bigger out there waiting.
She thought about Vic Montrose.A name.Just a name.
But it stuck.
***
Inside her house shekicked off her boots, left her guitar case by the door, and headed straight for the shower.The hot water pounded against her shoulders as she stood under the spray, eyes closed, trying to wash away the frustration.
It didn’t work.
Steam filled the largish bathroom.She braced her hands on the tile and let the water beat down on the back of her neck.The memory of the gig kept looping—every missed cue, every polite clap, every time she’d had to push harder just to keep the energy from dying.
She whispered a few new lines that had been circling since she left the stage.
“Another night of almost, another crowd that’s half asleep
They clap because they should, not because the music cuts them deep
I’m screaming into microphones that don’t know how to hear
Waiting on a thunder that still hasn’t appeared”
Bonnie turned off the water and stepped out to stand dripping in the tiny bathroom, staring at her reflection in the fogged mirror.Wet hair plastered to her shoulders, eyes too bright, jaw set in that stubborn line she knew too well.
She wrapped a towel around herself and padded into the bedroom.Her notebook was on the nightstand.She picked it up, flipped to a fresh page, and kept writing, the pen moving fast across the paper as she struggled to keep up with her own mind.These snippets of songs kept her soul fed, and sometimes they wound up being a gem.
There’s a time and place for everything
Space for the creative roots to sing
A window into the soul, a chance to play a part
Only thing required is the grit to try and start
Fighting so many silent battles to win a song
Knowing that success doesn’t hang around for long
Gotta feed the beast to stay on top
And have the will to never stop
***
Vic
Vic was helping Bear tune up an old cruiser in the garage when his phone rang.
