She walked into the bedroom, stripped the sheets off the bed, and stuffed them into the washer.The cedarwood scent hit her again as she shoved the fabric in.She paused, fingers buried in the cotton, and let herself remember the way Vic’s arms had felt around her when she’d fallen asleep for those few stolen hours before panic set in.
Then she closed the washer lid, turned it on, and stood there listening to the water rush in.
She wasn’t ready to call him.She’d realized his number still existed in the text thread with Meg, so she had access when she was ready.If she ever became ready.
She wasn’t ready to admit how much she already missed the steady thump of his bass drum lifting under her guitar.
But for the first time in years, she wasn’t sure she wanted to keep running either.
Bonnie went back to the desk, opened the notebook, picked up the pen, and wrote one last line across the bottom of the page in small, careful letters.
Maybe grace looks like letting someone stay
She stared at it for a long time.
Then she closed the notebook once more, set the guitar back in its stand, and went to make a fresh pot of coffee.
The day was waiting.Gigs to book.Songs to finish.Walls to keep standing.
But somewhere in the back of her mind, a new rhythm had started.
Chapter Thirteen
Vic
Benny walked into rehearsal after three months like he’d never been gone.
Vic was adjusting the height of his throne when the door to Bear’s garage studio opened.Benny stepped in—clearer eyes, steadier posture, and a determined set to his shoulders that hadn’t been there the night he went down.
The whole room went still for half a second.
Then Benny flashed that crooked rock-star grin.“Miss me?”
Mitty let out a relieved laugh and pulled him into a back-slapping hug while Vic grinned like an idiot.Even Chase, Mason’s son, who’d been quietly observing from the corner, looked genuinely happy.
Vic stood up and offered his hand.“Good to see you vertical, man.”
