Chapter Twenty-Four
Vic
The room was quiet except for the low hum of the monitors and the distant echo of Vic’s sticks against the practice kit.
He’d come to Slate’s studio alone after everyone else had left.No lights except the single work lamp over the drums.No click track.Just him, the kit, and everything he’d been carrying for years.
He started slow with some simple paradiddles, then basic rolling triplets that built into a heavy, searching groove.Each strike was deliberate.Controlled.
Grace in motion.
His father’s face flashed behind his eyes, with that lazy, charming grin that always promised more than it delivered.The nights Rosie never came home.The mornings teenaged Vic had woken up alone with no note and an empty fridge.The funeral where Conner walked away without a word.
Abandonment.
Vic’s playing grew heavier, darker, the fills sharper, angrier.The kit shook under the force of it.He poured every ounce of hurt, every broken promise, every time he’d sworn he’d never be like his old man—and every time he’d still chased the same ghosts.
Tears burned in his eyes, but he didn’t stop.
Then the groove shifted.
It opened up.Became something cleaner.Stronger.The anger burned away into something powerful and steady.A beat you could build a life on.
He thought of Bear opening his home.
Of Chase looking at him like he mattered.
Of Benny trusting him to hold the band together.
Of the Rebels accepting him as one of their own.
And Bonnie.
Bonnie.
The sticks flew faster, lighter, full of joy and hope.The rhythm became a celebration.A promise.
He was done running.
With a crash of cymbals, he ended the outpouring of emotion that had his hands shaking and his breath caught inside his chest.It struck him then that he wasn’t alone.Not against Conner, not for any reason.He might not wear a patch on a vest, or ride a motorcycle, but he knew the things Mason had offered meant he was as much a Rebel as any man under the president’s overview and protection.
Vic grinned wide, tipping his chin up as he still sucked in air, sweat dripping from every pore.I’ve got dozens of brothers now, and they’d help me with anything, no lie.
He pushed off the stool, standing in the quiet of the studio for a moment, thinking.Bonnie had a gig tonight and wouldn’t be getting home until late.
“Maybe it’s time to use the spare key she gave me.”
