He winced, but she wasn’t wrong.“I’m starting to think I might be.”
Sheri’s expression softened.She reached over and gave his forearm a quick squeeze.“You’re a good guy, Vic.Talented as hell.But you’re closing in on twenty-eight years old and still living like you’re a teen.I’ve watched you do this for better than five years now, and the song never changes.Sooner or later, you’re gonna have to decide if you want the next pretty face and the next adrenaline rush, or if you want something real.Something that doesn’t disappear when the bus pulls out.”
The words landed heavier than he expected.He stared at his half-empty plate, the truth of the statements settling somewhere behind his ribs.He wanted the music—hell, he would always want the music—but the rest of it, the endless cycle of temporary everything, was starting to feel like a cage.
“I’m done chasing ghosts,” he said.“My old man has spent his whole life doing that.Chasing the next party, the next woman, and shouting that the next gig is gonna be the big one.Look where it got him.Playing sessions at a studio once a month to feed his drink and smoke habits.”He swallowed hard.“I don’t want to end up like that.”
Sheri nodded, understanding flickering across her face.She set her own fork down and leaned her elbows on the table, studying him with the kind of steady gaze that always made him feel seen.
“You know, I’ve been thinking about that pattern of yours,” she said gently.“It’s not just the bands.It’s the girls too.You either pick the ones who are safe or the crazy ones.They’re always pretty, fun, and have zero expectations other than bagging the drummer.Unless it’s one of the crazy ones.Remember that redhead in Knoxville last year?The one who swore she was cool with casual?”
Vic’s stomach twisted.“Yeah.Twilla.”
“You stayed three nights.On the fourth morning, she asked if you’d ever thought about settling down somewhere.You were packed and on the bus before noon.Left her crying in the hotel parking lot.”She pointed a finger at him.“You told me that story, which means it hit hard enough to leave a mark.”
He looked away, shame heating his neck.“I never promised her anything.”
“I’m sure you didn’t,” Sheri said softly.“But you also never told her the truth—that you’re scared of anything that might stick.You give them just enough of you to feel special, then disappear before they can ask for more.It’s easier that way, right?No one gets close enough to see the mess underneath.”
Vic didn’t answer.He couldn’t.Because she was right, and hearing it out loud made the pattern feel pathetic instead of inevitable.
Sheri reached over and covered his hand with hers.“You deserve more than couch-surfing and one-night exits, Vic.You deserve someone who sees the guy who stayed up all night helping me pack my ex’s shit last year because I was too scared to do it alone.Someone who sticks around after the high wears off.But you’ve gotta stop running long enough to let them.”
The words sat between them, heavy but kind.Vic felt something crack open in his chest—small, tentative, but real.
“I think I’m done running,” he said quietly.“At least for a little while.I’ll head home for a bit.See Grams.Sleep in my old room there.Maybe I can figure out if there’s anything left in Nashville worth sticking around for, or if it’s time to look for something steadier.Something that doesn’t fall apart every six months.”
Sheri smiled, small and proud.“Good.That’s a start.”
He didn’t mention the other part—that quiet itch under his skin that had started the moment he’d realized Occupy Yourself was having trouble keeping a solid drummer.He wasn’t ready to say it out loud yet, but the thought was there, hovering.
Why not me?
His phone buzzed on the counter.He glanced at the screen and felt a strange twist in his gut.The area code was familiar—Memphis.A number he hadn’t seen in months.
Whatcha Want.
The band that had replaced him without so much as a phone call after their last implosion.The band that had promised him the world and then kicked him to the curb when things got hard.
He let it ring through to voicemail.Not today.
Sheri raised an eyebrow but didn’t dig.“You good?”
“Yeah.”Vic pushed his plate away and stood, stretching.“I’m good.Thanks for everything, Sheri.Seriously.I don’t know how I would’ve gotten through this week without you.”
She waved him off with a grin.“You’d have figured it out.You always do.Just...try not to fall for the next pretty boy with a guitar, okay?”
Vic laughed, the sound lighter than it had felt in weeks.“No promises.”
He headed back to the couch to pick through the clothes in his bag, a shower in his near future.As he worked through his thoughts while under the hot water, this decision felt solid in his chest.Home first.Stability next.And maybe—just maybe—something real after that.
In the back of his mind, the ghost of Whatcha Want lingered, a reminder of what happened when he let himself believe the next band would be different.
This time, he told himself, it would be.
***
“Sheri,” he whisperedwhile hugging her tightly.
