He kept talking.The words came easier the longer he spoke.
He told his father about OY.About Benny going down onstage and how he’d stepped in without thinking.About the way the band felt like home in a way Klatmatch Ends and Silverline Drift never had.About protecting Benny’s gear with Mitty while the Rebels rolled in like cavalry.About how good it felt to finally be part of something that mattered.
He talked about Grams.How frail she was getting.How much he worried about her.How he was trying to be the man she’d raised him to be instead of the one Rosie had been.“No offense intended.No, fuck that.Offense intended, old man.”
He talked about Conner showing up at the funeral and then walking away without a word.About how much that still hurt.
He talked about the itch.The one that had followed him from band to band.The one that had finally gone quiet when he played with Occupy Yourself.
An hour passed.Maybe more.The voicemail had long since cut him off, but Vic kept talking anyway, voice raw and cracking in places.
“I miss you, you bastard,” he whispered at the end.“Even though you made everything harder.Even though you broke a lot of shit.I still miss you.I hope you’re somewhere with a stage and a crowd that never stops cheering.And I hope...I hope you’re proud.Wherever you are.”
Vic looked at the dark screen.The phone had shut off half a conversation ago.
Then he sat there in the dark and cried like he hadn’t since he was a kid.
***
Bonnie
Bonnie pushed open the door to Meg’s favorite little bar in Nashville and spotted her immediately at a back table.Meg raised a hand, already halfway through a margarita.
“You look like shit,” she said cheerfully as Bonnie slid into the booth.
“Thanks.I feel like it.”
Meg flagged down the waitress.“Two shots of tequila.And keep them coming.”
Bonnie raised an eyebrow.“You trying to get me drunk?”
“Truth serum,” Meg said with a small smile.“You only call me when you’re spiraling.So talk.”
The tequila arrived.They clinked glasses and downed the first round.
Bonnie felt the burn all the way down.It loosened something in her chest.
“I met someone,” she said quietly.
Meg’s eyebrows shot up.“The drummer?Vic?”
“Yeah.”Bonnie traced the rim of her glass.“He’s...different.He sees me.All of me.The music, the walls, the mess.And he still looks at me like I’m worth sticking around for.”
Meg was quiet for a moment, studying her.Then she signaled for another round.
“I loved his dad, you know,” Meg said suddenly.
Bonnie blinked.“What?”
“Not like that.Well...kind of like that.”Meg gave a self-deprecating laugh.“We had a weekend.Years ago.Probably before you were born.He was playing a gig in town, and I was young and stupid and thought I could fix him.It was one weekend, but it stuck with me.He had that same fire you do.Same refusal to settle.I think that’s why I’ve always looked out for Vic.He reminds me of the best parts of Rosie.And the parts that scared the hell out of me.”
Bonnie stared at her, the tequila making everything feel a little softer around the edges.
“My thing with Vic...it’s not the same,” she said slowly.“It’s longer.Deeper.He told me he loves me.”
Meg’s expression softened.“And how do you feel?”
Bonnie looked down at her hands.The truth she’d been avoiding rose up like it had been waiting for the right moment.
