Chapter Fourteen
Vic
Vic knew he was in deep before he ever said the words.
It had been building for weeks—the late-night hookups turning into all-night stays, the wild sex melting into slow, devastating mornings, the conversations that went deeper than anything he’d ever had with anyone. Bonnie had gotten under his skin in a way no one else ever managed.
He was falling.
Hard.
And tonight, lying in her bed with her head on his chest and her fingers tracing lazy patterns over his ribs, he couldn’t hold it in anymore.
“Bunny,” he said quietly, voice rough from everything they’d just done.
“Hmm?” She sounded sleepy, content. It made his chest ache.
He swallowed. “I need to tell you something.”
She lifted her head, propping her chin on his sternum. Her hair was a beautiful mess, eyes soft in the low lamplight. “What’s up?”
Vic brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, heart hammering. “I’m in love with you.”
The words hung in the air between them.
For a second, her expression stayed open, almost tender.
Then the walls slammed down so fast it was like watching shutters crash over a window.
Bonnie went completely still. Her body, which had been warm and relaxed against his, tensed like a coiled spring.
“Vic...” Her voice was flat. Careful.
“I know it’s fast,” he continued, because now that it was out, he couldn’t stop. “But I’m not playing games. I’ve never felt this with anyone. You make me want to be better. You make the music better. You make everything better. I love you, Bonnie.”
She sat up abruptly, pulling the sheet around herself like armor. The warmth in her eyes was gone, replaced by something close to panic.
“You can’t say that,” she whispered.
Vic sat up too, reaching for her. “I just did.”
“No.” She scooted back, putting space between them. “We had a deal. This was supposed to be fun. Hot nights and good conversation. That’s it.”
“Bonnie—”
“Don’t.” Her voice cracked, but she hardened it immediately. “I told you from the beginning I don’t do this. I don’t do relationships. I don’t do love. You knew that.”
“I did,” he said quietly. “But things changed. At least for me they did.”
She stood up, wrapping the sheet tighter around her body. “You need to go.”
The words landed like a slap.
Vic stared at her. “You’re serious.”
“I can’t do this.” Her voice was shaking now, but she kept going. “I won’t. I’m not built for it. So just...leave. Please.”
He dressed in silence, chest tight, every movement feeling mechanical. When he was fully clothed, he stopped at the bedroom door and looked back at her.
She was standing by the window, arms wrapped around herself, not looking at him.
“I’m not going to pretend I don’t feel what I feel,” he said softly. “But I won’t push you. When you’re ready...you know how to find me.”
She didn’t answer.
Vic let himself out of her house and closed the door quietly behind him.
The night air hit him like ice.
He stood on the sidewalk for a long moment, hands shoved in his pockets, staring at the light still on in her bedroom window.
Then he started walking.
He didn’t know where he was going.
He just knew that for the first time since he’d met her, the music inside him felt painfully quiet.
***
Vic didn’t remember driving to Bear’s house. One moment he was standing on the sidewalk outside Bonnie’s building, the echo of her door closing still ringing in his ears, and the next he was killing the engine in front of the familiar garage, hands shaking on the steering wheel.
The memory wouldn’t leave him alone.
“I can’t do this.”
Her voice had been flat, final. The panic in her eyes when he’d said the words—I love you—had been worse than any physical blow he’d ever taken. He’d laid his heart on the table, and she’d kicked it back at him like it was nothing.
He climbed out of the truck, legs unsteady, and headed straight for the garage. The side door was open. Light spilled out, along with the low sound of acoustic guitar and quiet laughter.
Benny and Lucia were inside.
Benny was perched on a stool, picking out a gentle melody, while Lucia leaned against the workbench, watching him with that soft, private smile she saved only for him. They looked so damn content it made Vic’s chest ache.
Benny looked up first. His expression shifted instantly from relaxed to concerned.
“Vic? You good, man?”
Vic stopped just inside the doorway, hands clenched at his sides. “I need to play. Right now. Please.”
Lucia straightened, worry flickering across her face. Benny set the guitar down without hesitation.
“Garage is yours,” he said. “We’ll join you.”
Vic didn’t wait for more. He walked straight to the kit in the corner, sat down, and grabbed the sticks. His hands were already raw from clenching them so hard on the drive over, but he didn’t care.
The first crash of the cymbals felt like a scream.
Benny plugged in his electric, and Bear wandered in a minute later, drawn by the noise. No one asked questions; they just fell in.
They played for hours.
Vic drove them mercilessly. He started with heavy, punishing grooves, slamming the kick drum like he could drive the memory of Bonnie’s rejection into the floor.
Benny answered with raw, snarling riffs.
Bear laid down a thunderous bass line that vibrated through Vic’s bones.
They moved through originals, covers, half-formed ideas—anything to keep the momentum going.
Sweat poured down Vic’s face, soaking his shirt until it clung to him like a second skin. His arms burned. His shoulders screamed. But every time the memory of Bonnie’s panicked eyes flashed behind his eyelids, he hit harder. Faster. Louder.
“I can’t do this.”
Crash.
“We had a deal.”
Boom.
He couldn’t exorcise her. She was in every fill, every accent, every desperate push of the beat. So he played harder. The kit became a weapon, the sticks extensions of the pain he couldn’t outrun.
Bear and Benny stayed with him, matching his intensity, feeding off it. Lucia watched from the couch, her expression growing more concerned as the hours passed. They took short breaks only when Vic finally relented long enough to chug water, sweat dripping from his chin, shirt completely drenched.
By the fourth hour, his hands were on fire, but he barely noticed.
Bear finally took charge.
During a brief pause while Vic reached for another bottle of water, Bear stepped right up to the kit, towering over him, and got in his face.
“Enough.”
Vic blinked, chest heaving, sticks still raised.
“You’re bleeding, kid,” Bear said, voice low and firm. “Look at your fucking hands.”
Vic glanced down.
His palms were raw. Blisters had broken open hours ago. Blood smeared across the sticks and dotted the snare head. He hadn’t even felt it. The physical pain had been nothing compared to the one in his chest.
“Shit,” he muttered.
Benny set his guitar down and crossed the room. Before Vic could protest, Benny pulled him into a tight bro-hug, one hand gripping the back of his neck.
“I’m worried about you, man,” Benny said quietly, voice rough. “We all are. You don’t have to carry this alone.”
Vic closed his eyes, letting himself lean into the hug for a moment. The contact hurt and helped at the same time.
“I know,” he whispered. “I just...I need a couple of days. Gonna go check on Grams. She’s been on her own too much lately.”
He pulled back, wiping sweat and a little blood from his hands onto his already-ruined shirt.
“I’m not quitting,” he added, looking between Bear and Benny. “Not by a long shot. Grams’ house has always been peace to me, and I think I’m overdue for a dose of peace.”
Bear clapped a heavy hand on his shoulder. “Take the time you need. Door’s always open when you’re ready.”
Benny nodded. “We’ve got your back. Always.”
Vic managed a tired smile. “Thanks. Both of you.”
He left the garage with bloody hands and a heavy heart, but the decision felt right. A few days with Grams. Some quiet. Some perspective.
Then he’d come back and keep fighting for the life he was trying to build—with or without Bonnie in it.
For now, he just needed to breathe.