Benny took it with a firm grip, eyes assessing.“Heard you stepped up while I was out.Thanks for that.”
“No thanks needed,” Vic said.“Just glad you’re back.”
***
The first rehearsalfelt like magic.
Benny waspresent.Focused.His voice had that raw, emotional edge again, but it was controlled now instead of fraying at the seams.The new songs they ran through crackled with energy.Vic locked in behind the kit like he’d been playing with them for years, feeding Benny the solid foundation he needed to push.
During a slower ballad, Benny closed his eyes and sang like the words were being pulled straight out of his chest.When he opened them again, he looked right at Vic and gave a small, grateful nod.
It felt right.
By the end of the four-hour session, everyone was buzzing.Mitty was already talking about how great the next gig was going to be.
“Looking good, Benny,” Vic said as they packed up.
Benny wiped sweat from his brow and exhaled.“Feels good.Real good.Thanks for holding shit down, Vic.I mean it.”
***
For five days, everythingstayed golden.
They rehearsed hard.They still needed a steady bassist, but a couple of session players were swapping in and out for now.They played a warm-up gig at a small club in town and absolutely killed it.Benny was sharp onstage, engaging the crowd, never once looking like he was about to fall apart.Vic’s drumming meshed perfectly with the band’s evolving sound, giving them a heavier, more driving bottom end that made the new material hit harder.
Even Bonnie had texted him once—a short, teasing message after hearing he was officially in OY:
*Heard you found a real band.Don’t fuck it up, Montrose.*
Vic had smiled at his phone like an idiot.She still had his number.
She kept my number.
He sent back, *The music is wild.How are you?*
There was no answer, but it felt like things were finally clicking.
***
The fractures startedsmall.
During a late-night rehearsal on day six, Benny’s voice cracked on a high note he’d been nailing all week.He brushed it off with a joke, but Vic caught the flash of frustration in his eyes.
The next afternoon, Benny showed up twenty minutes late, eyes a little too bright, movements a fraction too jittery.He blamed it on not sleeping well.
By the third day, the cracks were impossible to ignore.
He kept restarting songs, picking apart small mistakes that didn’t matter.His temper flared when Mitty missed a cue.During one particularly rough run-through, Benny threw his guitar pick across the room and stormed out for a cigarette.
Vic followed him outside.
Benny was pacing, lighting one cigarette off the end of another.
“You good?”Vic asked quietly.
Benny let out a bitter laugh.“I was.For a minute there, I really fucking was.”He dragged hard on the cigarette.“Then the noise in my head got loud again.The old shit...it doesn’t just go away, you know?”
Vic leaned against the wall beside him, saying nothing.He understood more than Benny probably realized.
