Chapter Four #3
She set the phone down before she could say what she really felt, which was I don’t know how much longer I can keep pushing forwards like this.
The water was starting to cool. She reached for the hot tap with her toes and let fresh heat flood in. Steam rose again. She closed her eyes and let her mind wander back to the stage.
Dewayne hadn’t hit on her once. Not before, during, or after the show.
He’d treated her like a peer. A band leader.
He’d asked smart questions about arrangements.
Complimented her tone on a particular solo.
Shook her hand afterward with genuine respect and said, “You’ve got something special here. Don’t let it stay small.”
Those words had lodged in her chest like a hook.
Don’t let it stay small.
She’d been trying so hard not to let it stay small.
Booking the gigs, fighting with promoters for better slots, writing new material at 3 a.m., fixing the van when it broke down on the side of the highway outside Paducah.
She’d poured everything into this—blood, sweat, tears, and more pride than was probably healthy.
And most nights it still felt small.
But tonight...tonight had shown her the shape of something bigger. A band that could make magic. A drummer who elevated instead of dragging. A stage where the music felt like flying instead of fighting.
Bonnie slid deeper into the water until only her face remained above the surface. Her hair floated around her like dark seaweed. She let the heat seep into every tight muscle, every knotted place in her back and neck.
She thought about her brothers. Remy would tell her to keep swinging. Beau would say to find the right people and not settle. Luc would remind her that she was a Dupont—they didn’t quit, they made the world bend.
But none of them had to live this life. None of them knew what it felt like to stand onstage night after night, pouring your soul out only to have half the crowd more interested in your ass than your lyrics.
She thought about her mother’s tone in the last voicemail she’d left. Once a week like clockwork, nothing would prevent Donna from pushing Bonnie for more. “When are you going to grow up and find a real job, Bonnie Rae? This music thing is just a phase. You’re not getting any younger.”
As always, Bonnie had deleted it without replying.
She wasn’t giving up. She couldn’t. The music was in her blood the same way it had been in her father’s before he walked out. The same stubborn fire that had kept her going when everyone else said she was crazy for chasing it.
But tonight had cracked something open.
She wanted that feeling again. The one where the drums didn’t just keep time—they answered her. Where the groove lifted her instead of weighing her down. Where she could close her eyes onstage and trust the person behind the kit to catch her if she fell.
Bonnie sat up slowly, water streaming down her skin. She patted the water off her hands on a nearby towel, then reached for her notebook on the toilet tank, flipping it open to a fresh page, the paper slightly warped from steam.
She wrote fast, the pen scratching across the paper.
Hot water can’t wash away the high
One night where the rhythm didn’t lie
He played like freedom, like the song could fly
Now every other night feels like a slow goodbye
She kept going, the words coming easier now, fueled by the contrast between tonight and every other mediocre gig.
Been carrying this weight on shoulders made of stone
Smiling through the almosts, pretending I’m not alone
But one perfect pocket and the truth is finally known
I don’t want to settle; I want what I was shown
Bonnie read the lines back to herself, voice barely above a whisper. Her throat felt tight. She wasn’t crying—she refused to cry—but her eyes burned anyway.
She set the notebook aside and sank back into the water, letting it close over her shoulders again. The lavender scent filled her lungs. Her body felt heavy and loose at the same time.
She let herself imagine it for a minute. A real band. A drummer who showed up ready to work, not ready to fuck. A future where the gigs got bigger, the crowds louder, the music deeper. Where she didn’t have to fight so hard every single night just to be taken seriously.
It scared her how badly she wanted it.
Because wanting made room for disappointment. And she’d had enough of that to last a lifetime.
Still, tonight had planted a seed.
She thought about calling Meg again in the morning. Asking if there were more drummers like Dewayne out there. Asking if any of them were looking for something permanent. Asking—quietly, carefully—if any of them might be worth trusting with more than one night.
Bonnie finished the last of her wine and set the glass down.
The water was cooling again. She let it drain a little and refilled the tub with more hot, then lay back and closed her eyes.
Tomorrow, she’d be back at the job. Booking, rehearsing, pushing. Fighting off the next Kyle who thought her talent came with open legs.
But tonight, in this small bathroom with steam curling around her and the echo of a perfect groove still ringing in her ears, she let herself believe it was possible.
She let herself want more.