Vic
The garage studio at Bear’s house had never sounded so alive.
Vic sat behind the kit, sweat dripping down his temples, sticks moving in a relentless, driving groove as Benny leaned into the mic for the final chorus of their newest song.The energy in the room was electric—different from the tentative hope of Benny’s first return.This was solid.Confident.Real.
Benny’s voice soared, raw but controlled, hitting every note with power and intention.Their session bassist locked in like he was born to it.Mitty’s guitar sang with new fire.Even Chase, sitting in on rhythm for parts of the session, was grinning from ear to ear.
When the last chord rang out, the room fell silent for half a second before everyone exploded.
“Fuck yes!”Benny shouted, throwing his hands up.He turned to Vic, eyes bright.“That pocket you laid down on the bridge?Killer, man.Absolutely killer.”
Vic twirled a stick and grinned back.“You gave me something worth chasing.”
***
Mercedes had been thecatalyst.
She’d started showing up to rehearsals a week earlier—small, fierce, with her ever-changing hair colors and that uncanny ability to see straight through people’s bullshit.At first, Vic thought she was just Benny’s friend.He quickly learned she was so much more.
She had an ear for lyrics that made Benny’s words sharper.She called out lazy phrasing in arrangements.Most importantly, she had a way of steadying Benny when the old demons started whispering.One quiet word from her in the corner could pull him back from the edge before anyone else even noticed he was slipping.
With Mercedes in the room, the band felt complete in a way it hadn’t before.
They were in the middle of their first serious recording session at Slate’s brand-new home studio when Vic really stepped up.
The track was ambitious—a six-minute epic that shifted from heavy, stomping verses into a soaring, emotional chorus.They’d been struggling with that exact transition for two hours.Everyone was getting frustrated.
Vic set his sticks down during a break and walked over to the group.
“Listen,” he said, voice calm but sure.“The problem isn’t the tempo.It’s the feel.We’re playing it too safe.Benny—on that last build, instead of holding back, lean into it.Let it get a little ugly.I’ll meet you there with the drums.Trust me.”
Benny studied him for a second, then nodded.“Let’s try it.”
They ran it again.
This time, Vic pushed.He attacked the kit with controlled power, throwing in a massive fill right before the chorus that cracked the song wide open.Benny answered with a raw, passionate vocal delivery that gave everyone chills.When they finished, the control room was dead silent.
Slate’s voice came over the talkback, sounding stunned.“Holy shit, boys.That’s the one.”
Mercedes, sitting cross-legged on the couch beside the mixing board, gave Vic a slow, approving smile and a single nod.
***
Slate was leaning againstthe doorway of the control room and appeared to be watching as the band packed up after that strong take.Vic looked at him and then pointedly nodded towards Mercedes and lifted a single eyebrow.
“Figured I should make this official,” Slate said, nodding at the woman perched on the couch with her notebook.“Vic, this is Mercedes Gruffudd.She’s Benny’s sobriety companion.”
Mercedes looked up, expression calm and professional, though her eyes held a spark of humor.“Paid, full-time, and very good at my job,” she added dryly.
Slate continued, addressing the whole room.“After everything that went down, the label and the club agreed that Benny needed structured support on the road and in the studio.Mercedes came highly recommended.She’s not just here to keep him clean—she’s got a serious ear for music and zero tolerance for bullshit.When she speaks up about a lyric or an arrangement, it’s worth listening to.”
He looked directly at Vic.“She’s been around for a while now.Helped pull Benny back from the brink more than once.If she’s in the room, it’s because she’s earned the right to be.Treat her like one of the band—because as far as I’m concerned, she is.”
Mercedes gave Vic a measured nod.“I don’t interfere with the music unless it affects Benny’s recovery.But when it does...I speak up.Fair warning.”
Vic studied her for a beat, then offered a respectful chin lift.“Good to know the full story.I’ve already seen how you steady him.Appreciate you being here.”
Benny, still behind the mic, let out a short laugh.“She’s saved my ass more times than I can count.Don’t let the ‘companion’ title fool you—she’ll call you on your shit faster than Mason does.”
