Chapter Twenty-Six
Vic
Their next rehearsal felt off from the first downbeat.
Vic sat behind the kit, sticks in hand, but the groove wouldn’t settle.
Every fill came out a little too sharp, every transition a fraction too heavy.
The rest of the band was playing fine—solid, professional—but he could feel the tension rolling off himself in waves.
His mind kept drifting back to the bar, to Conner’s sneer, to the way Mason had looked at him when the threats first surfaced.
How long before they decide it’d be easier to cut me loose?
He missed a cue on the bridge of the new track. Benny glanced over, eyebrows raised, but didn’t say anything. The song limped to a stop.
“Again?” Leo, who, starting a few weeks ago, sometimes played with them, asked from behind the bass.
Vic shook his head, rubbing a hand over his face. “Sorry. I’m...not here tonight.”
The garage fell quiet except for the low hum of the amps. Vic could feel the eyes on him—not hostile but concerned. It only made the knot in his stomach twist tighter.
Chase, who had been quietly playing backing guitar in the corner, set his instrument down and stepped forward. The kid looked younger under the garage lights, but there was a steadiness in his eyes that Vic had come to rely on these past weeks.
“Hey,” Chase said, voice low enough that the others gave them space. “You good, man?”
Vic let out a harsh breath and spun one of his sticks between his fingers, a nervous habit he couldn’t seem to break.
“Not really. This shit with Conner...it’s messing with my head.
I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop.
For the club to decide I’m not worth the headache my family keeps bringing to their door. ”
Chase leaned against the edge of a speaker cabinet, arms crossed. He was quiet for a moment, like he was choosing his words carefully.
“I’ve seen a lot of shit around clubs,” he said finally.
“Grew up in and out of them. Different charters, different crews. Some of them turn on their own for less than what your brother’s pulling.
Suspicion, infighting, power plays—it gets ugly fast. But the RWMC?
” Chase shook his head, a small, almost fond smile tugging at his mouth.
“They’re loyal nearly to a fault. Once you’re in, you’re in.
Mason doesn’t throw people away easily. Especially not someone who’s shown up the way you have. ”
Vic met Chase’s eyes. “Even if my blood keeps trying to start wars?”
“Especially then,” Chase said. “Bear talks about you. So does Hurley. Even Mason’s noticed what you’ve been for me.
You’re not just some fill-in drummer anymore, Vic.
You’re one of us. The club sees that. They’re not gonna turn on you because your half brother’s an asshole. That’s his mess, not yours.”
The words landed like a steady backbeat—solid, reassuring, exactly what Vic hadn’t realized he needed to hear.
He let out a long breath, some of the tension bleeding out of his shoulders. “Thanks, kid. I needed that.”
Chase shrugged, but there was a quiet pride in his expression. “Anytime. Now let’s run that bridge again. You were rushing it because you’re in your head. Loosen up. I’ve got your back on the lead.”
Vic nodded, picking up his sticks again. This time when they started the song, the groove settled. Not perfect—nothing ever was—but closer. Stronger.
He still didn’t know what Conner would do next.
But with Chase’s words echoing in his chest and the pulse of the kit under his hands, Vic felt a little less alone in the fight.
***
Bonnie
Bonnie stood just inside the side door of Slate’s studio, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, nerves buzzing under her skin in the best possible way.
The late-morning sun poured through the high windows, turning dust motes into floating gold.
She’d changed her shirt three times before settling on a simple black tank and her favorite jeans—professional but still her.
Today felt important. Like the kind of day that could change everything.
Bethany Mason-Taylor had driven up from Nashville that morning, and she was already inside talking with Benny. Bonnie could hear their low laughter drifting down the hallway—warm, easy, like they’d known each other longer than twenty minutes.
She took a deep breath and stepped into the main room.
Bethany turned at the sound of her boots on the floor, and Bonnie’s first impression was strength.
The woman was sharp-eyed and put-together in a tailored blazer over sleek jeans, her dark hair pulled back in a sleek ponytail.
There was a quiet confidence in the way she carried herself—the kind that came from surviving things most people never had to face.
“Bonnie,” Bethany said, smiling as she extended a hand. Her grip was firm, warm. “It’s good to finally meet you in person. Mason’s been singing your praises.”
“Only the good parts, I hope,” Bonnie replied, grinning.
Bethany laughed. “All of them. He doesn’t waste breath on people who don’t earn it.”
Benny stood off to the side, arms crossed, looking more relaxed than he had in weeks. “She already likes our new material. Told me the label’s excited about the collaboration possibilities.”
Bethany nodded, pulling a sleek tablet from her bag.
“That’s why I’m here. Iron Indian Records wants to make this official.
We’re prepared to offer coordinated management and touring support for both your solo band and the work you’ll be doing with Occupy Yourself.
We can align schedules, handle logistics, and make sure you’re not burning yourself out in the process.
Creative control stays with you and the bands. We’re partners, not dictators.”
Bonnie felt a rush of warmth bloom in her chest. This wasn’t some small-time deal or a favor from Meg. This was real. A label that believed in them—in her—enough to invest time, resources, and strategy.
Bethany continued, her voice enthusiastic. “We’ve already blocked out some strong support slots for Blazeborn on the upcoming comeback tour. Nothing that conflicts with OY’s headline dates. We want both acts to shine.”
Benny caught Bonnie’s eye from across the room and gave her a small, proud nod. She felt her throat tighten with something dangerously close to tears.
“I don’t know what to say,” Bonnie admitted, laughing a little. “This feels like...more than I ever let myself hope for.”
Bethany’s expression softened, but her eyes stayed sharp and knowing.
“You’ve earned it. I’ve read the reports, listened to the tracks, and watched the live footage.
You bring fire. Vic brings steadiness. Together with Benny and the rest of OY?
It’s special. We’re not here to tame that. Our goal is to amplify it.”
They spent the next hour going over details. All the dates, logistics, and promotional ideas, with the conversation flowing easy and fast. Bethany was sharp, funny when she wanted to be, and clearly passionate about the music. By the time they wrapped up, Bonnie felt lighter than she had in months.
As they walked Bethany back to her car, the label owner paused and looked between Bonnie and Benny.
“This is going to be good,” she said, smiling. “For all of us. Welcome to Iron Indian Records.”
Bonnie watched the sleek SUV pull away, then turned to Benny, unable to keep the grin off her face.
“We’re really doing this,” she said, half laughing, half disbelieving.
Benny bumped her shoulder with his. “Yeah, we are. And you’re a big part of why.”
For the first time in longer than she could remember, Bonnie let herself believe it. The future didn’t feel like something she had to fight for alone anymore.
It felt like something she was finally allowed to build.
***
The energy from Bethany’s visit still hummed under Bonnie’s skin as she and Benny settled into the small writing room at the back of Slate’s studio later that afternoon.
Sunlight slanted through the high windows, catching on the scattered lyric sheets and half-empty coffee cups.
It felt like the right kind of messy—creative, alive, and full of possibility.
Benny strummed a gentle acoustic riff on his guitar, the chords warm and intimate.
“Got something I’ve been messing with,” he said.
“It’s about Lucia and me. That feeling when you finally stop running and realize the person you want is right there.
Been trying to find the right words for the chorus. ”
Bonnie pulled her notebook closer, pen already moving. The melody wrapped around her like a familiar embrace, and before she knew it, lines were flowing.
We were lightning in a bottle, chasing storms we couldn’t tame
Now I’m standing in the quiet, calling out your name
No more running from the feeling, no more hiding from the light
You’re the song I’ve always needed, playing softly through the night
She sang the lines softly under her breath, voice rough with emotion. The words were about Benny and Lucia and the hard-won peace they’d found together, but they fit her and Vic just as perfectly. Every line felt like a mirror held up to her own heart.
Benny stopped playing and looked at her, a slow grin spreading across his face. “Damn, Bonnie. That’s beautiful. You sure this is about me and Lucia?”
She laughed, but it came out a little shaky. She set her pen down and met his eyes.
“I think it was supposed to be,” she admitted. “But now...it feels like it’s about Vic too. About us. I’m done pretending it’s not.”
Benny’s grin softened into something warmer, more knowing. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Bonnie leaned back in her chair, the truth settling over her like a soft blanket instead of the heavy weight she’d been carrying.
“I love him. I’m in love with him. And for the first time...
I’m not scared of it. I want this. The music, the late nights, the way we click when we’re playing together. I want all of it. With him.”
Benny chuckled, low and fond. “So how long before you pop the question?”
Bonnie blinked, then burst out laughing. The idea didn’t make her pull back or panic like it would have even a month ago. Instead, it settled deep in her chest, warm and right.
“I don’t know,” she said, still smiling.
“But I’m not ruling it out. The way we are when we’re making music is amazing.
And so is the way he looks at me like I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.
I could happily spend the rest of my life doing exactly what we’re doing right now. Just...with him. Every day.”
Benny nodded, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Good. You two fit. And you both deserve it.”
They went back to the song after that, the lyrics flowing easier now, richer with the truth Bonnie had finally let herself name out loud. By the time they had a solid chorus and bridge, the sun had dipped lower in the sky, painting the room in golden light.
Bonnie leaned back in her chair, notebook open on her lap, and felt something click into place inside her chest.
She was ready.
Ready for the music. Ready for the future.
Ready for Vic.
And as she checked her nerves for the hundredth time, the idea wasn’t terrifying.
It was like coming home.