But her thumb wouldn’t move.
She wasn’t going to be the one who called.She never was.Letting someone know she wanted them around felt too much like weakness.Like handing them power over her.And Bonnie swore a long time ago that she’d never give anyone that kind of power again.
Not after her dad left.
Not after every boyfriend who eventually got tired of her “attitude” and her long hours and her refusal to play house.
Not after watching her mom fall apart.Watching as her brothers tried to hold her together by sheer willpower and failed.
She tossed the phone onto the counter like it had burned her.
Vic Montrose would either call her or he wouldn’t.If he was smart, he’d stay away from her brand of complicated.If he wasn’t...
Bonnie pressed her palms to her eyes and let out a shaky breath.
She already knew she’d answer if he called.
She just wasn’t going to be the first one to reach out.
Some walls, she wasn’t ready to tear down.
Not even for a drummer who made her feel alive in a way she hadn’t in years.
***
Bonnie stood at herkitchen window, coffee gone cold in the mug she’d been holding for twenty minutes.She’d already deleted his phone number and was now second-guessing that action.The house was quiet except for the low hum of the refrigerator and the occasional creak of the old floorboards when she shifted her weight.Morning light slanted across the scarred hardwood, catching on the half-empty bottle of whiskey from last night and the damp towel she’d dropped by the couch after her shower.
She still smelled like him.
Sweat, smoke, that faint trace of the cedarwood soap he must use.It clung to her skin no matter how hard she’d scrubbed.Her body ached in the best and worst ways—thighs sore, back marked with faint fingerprints, lips still tender from the way he’d kissed her like he was trying to memorize her.She pressed two fingers to her mouth and closed her eyes.
Fuck.
The gig had been...everything.
From the second Vic sat down behind her kit, something had shifted.The groove she’d been chasing for years had finally clicked into place like a lock she didn’t even know was waiting.He hadn’t just kept time.He’dansweredher.Every growl of her guitar, every rasp in her voice, every risky tempo change—she’d thrown it at him, and he’d thrown it right back, bigger, deeper, more alive.The crowd had felt it.She had felt it in her bones.
And then the sex.
God, the sex.
She’d never been with anyone who matched her so completely—onstageandoff.He hadn’t tried to tame her.Hadn’t gone gentle when she wanted rough.Hadn’t asked for promises when she wanted to forget the world existed.
And then this morning she’d kicked him out like he was some random one-night guy.
Bonnie set the mug down too hard.Coffee sloshed over the rim, and she didn’t bother wiping it up.She crossed to the tiny desk in the corner, the one piled with notebooks and crumpled lyric sheets next to three different guitars leaning against the wall.She dropped into the chair, grabbed the nearest notebook, and flipped to a blank page.
Her hand shook a little as she picked up a pen.
She wrote the first line before she could talk herself out of it.
He hit the downbeat like he knew every scar I tried to hide
She stared at it.Too on-the-nose.Too raw.She crossed it out so hard the pen tore the paper, then tried again.
Thunder in the pocket, steady when I break
Eyes on me like he’s reading every note I didn’t play
