Meg had smiled into the phone, genuine pride warming her chest.She’d pushed him gently, reminding him of the thing he’d always been searching for, and Vic had met her there.No running.No second-guessing.Just a man who had finally found his place and was willing to fight for it.
Good for you, kid,she’d thought.
Then there was Bonnie.
The younger woman had shown up on her doorstep last week looking like she’d been carrying the weight of the world.A few shots of tequila later, Bonnie had admitted what Meg had already suspected.She was in love with Vic Montrose.Scared shitless, but in love.
Meg had seen the panic in Bonnie’s eyes—the same panic she’d once felt herself.
She took another slow sip of tequila, letting the burn settle.
Rosie.
Even after all these years, the name still brought a quiet ache.One wild weekend decades ago, when Rosie Montrose had blown through Nashville like a summer storm.Meg had been young, ambitious, and stupid enough to think she could hold on to a man like that.They’d burned bright and fast—laughter, music, tangled sheets, and conversations that felt like they could change the world.
Then he was gone.Back on the road.Back to the chaos.
She’d never told anyone how much that weekend had meant to her.How she’d carried a quiet torch for him long after he’d forgotten her name.How she’d watched from afar as he self-destructed, wishing she’d had the courage—or the power—to pull him back from the edge.
Now here she was, playing mentor to the son he’d left behind and the fierce young woman who reminded her so much of the best parts of Rosie himself.
Meg set the glass down and rubbed her eyes.
She was glad for them.Truly.Vic had found something real with Occupy Yourself.Bonnie was finally letting herself feel something deep and terrifying.They had a chance—a real one—if they didn’t let fear ruin it.
But sitting there in the quiet studio, the ghosts of what-ifs lingered.
If only I’d had another chance with you, Rosie,she thought, the ache soft but persistent.Maybe I could’ve shown you what steady looked like.Maybe we both could’ve been different.
Meg let out a long breath and raised her glass in a silent toast to the man who’d left too many broken hearts and unfinished songs behind.
Then she smiled, small and bittersweet.
At least his son was getting it right.
Chapter Nineteen
