Chapter Two #4
He stared at the dark garage, imagining he could still see the half-finished bike on the lift. Music had been his safe place. Now it felt tainted by what he hadn’t done.
Next time, he thought, the promise settling heavy in his gut. Next time, I’ll speak up before it gets anywhere close to bad.
Even if it might cost him everything.
***
A couple of nights later, Chase found himself back in Slate’s studio with Vic.
Victor Montrose was a drummer Danny had arranged to bring in and replace Blake.
With the timing of all the nasty things in the universe, he’d been in the crowd watching the show, until everything was derailed by Benny’s collapse.
By that point, Vic had already traveled overnight to play with them.
There’d been so many things happening quickly in the period of time immediately after the ambulance had pulled away.
Benita and Danny’s secret relationship revealed.
Vic and Mitty standing firm on retaining the equipment, not allowing Benita to lay claim to anything that wasn’t hers.
Then there was the fact that Benny was now in rehab, so Vic and Chase had fallen into the habit of late-night acoustic sessions—stripped-down versions of the band’s material, plus whatever new ideas happened to surface.
He wanted to know when Benny would be back but wasn’t sure he wanted to ask the question.
What if it’s never? What if the band triggers his addiction?
Vic sat on a stool across from him, fingers moving lazily over the strings of an old acoustic. The room was quiet except for the soft strum of guitar and the occasional creak of the leather couch.
Chase played a simple progression he’d been messing with, something slower and more introspective than their usual sound. Vic listened for a few bars, then layered in a gentle countermelody that fit perfectly.
“You’ve been holding out on us,” Vic said with a small smile. “That’s got real heart.”
Chase shrugged, eyes on his fretboard. “Just something I’ve been working on. Doesn’t really fit the full band stuff yet.”
They played through it again, the notes filling the small space. After the last chord faded, Vic set his guitar aside and looked at Chase directly.
“You okay, man? You’ve seemed...somewhere else lately.”
Chase hesitated, fingers still resting on the strings. The question felt safe enough with Vic. The drummer had a steady way about him that didn’t demand anything.
“It’s my dad,” he admitted quietly. “Mason. I’ve been staying at Bear’s, trying to figure out where I fit in all this.
The club, the band...everything. I told him, my dad, that I wanted to prospect a couple years ago.
He laughed and told me to come back when I was eighteen.
Made me feel like a kid who didn’t know what he was asking for. ”
Vic nodded slowly, understanding flickering across his face. “That’s heavy. Sounds like he was trying to protect you, but it landed wrong.”
“Yeah.” Chase let out a slow breath. “Now I’m not even sure I want the patch. Music feels more like mine. But part of me still wants him to see me as...enough. Not just the kid he didn’t know about for more than ten years.”
Vic clapped a hand on his shoulder. “You’re already enough, Chase. The way you show up here, the way you play—that’s not nothing. Mason’ll see it eventually. Dads like that...they just take a little extra time.”
Chase managed a small nod. The words didn’t fix everything, but they eased something in his chest. They picked up their guitars again and kept playing, the music saying what words couldn’t.
***
Chase found himself back in Bear’s garage, the steady clank of tools the only thing keeping his mind from spinning out again. Benny would be in rehab for weeks still, and no visitors yet, the doctors said. The silence in the clubhouse had felt heavier than usual.
The side door creaked open. Vic stepped inside, drumsticks tapping restlessly against his thigh. The new drummer looked a little lost, like he wasn’t sure if he belonged here now that Benny was gone.
“Hey,” Chase said, lifting his chin in greeting. He set down the wrench he’d been holding. “You wanna jam a little?”
Vic shrugged, but there was a tired honesty in the movement. “Figured I’d see if Bear needed help with anything. News flash, he doesn’t. I don’t know. Just didn’t feel like sitting alone in the guest room staring at the wall.”
Chase understood that feeling all too well.
They worked side by side for a while—Vic helping him strip old grips off some handlebars—before the conversation started flowing easier.
“So,” Vic said eventually, wiping his hands on a rag, “you were tight with Benny, right?”
Chase nodded, throat trying to close around his words. “Yeah. He’s the reason I started coming around here more. Taught me a lot on the guitar. Made this place feel less like...I don’t know. Less like I was just Mason’s kid.”
Vic gave a low chuckle. “I get that. When I first got the call to fill in, I thought it was gonna be permanent. Then Benny went down, and now everything’s gone sideways.
It’s all up in the air.” He paused, eyes distant.
“Benita and Danny packed up and bailed pretty fast after Mitty and I got the gear secured. Left in a real huff too. Like we’d stolen something instead of keeping it from disappearing. ”
Chase shook his head, anger flickering through him. “They didn’t even stick around to see if he was gonna make it. Just grabbed what they could and ran.”
“Yeah,” Vic said quietly. “Felt pretty shitty watching that van pull out. But Mitty and I weren’t about to let Benny’s stuff get sold off or lost. That gear’s part of him, you know? It’s that way with musicians.”
Chase looked over at Vic, really seeing him for the first time. The guy wasn’t just some session drummer filling a chair. He had loyalty. Quiet, steady loyalty, the kind that showed up when things got hard instead of cutting and running.
“You didn’t have to do that,” Chase said. “Most people would’ve bounced with the rest of them.”
Vic tapped one of the drumsticks against his palm, a small smile tugging at his mouth. “Music’s the only thing that’s never let me down. Figured I owed it to Benny—and the rest of you—to at least try and hold things together until he gets back.”
Chase felt something ease in his chest. For the first time since the ambulance drove away, the band didn’t feel like it was falling apart. Not completely.
“Wanna play?” Chase asked, nodding towards the acoustic leaning in the corner.
“Yeah,” Vic said, sounding surprised at his own agreement. “Playing sounds pretty damn good right about now.”
“Grab it,” Chase said, surprising himself as well. “I’ve got a couple riffs I’ve been messing with. Might sound better with someone else on it.”
Vic hesitated only a second before picking up the guitar. They spent the next hour trading ideas, layering chords over rhythms, talking about what the band could sound like when Benny came back stronger. No pressure. No expectations. Just music.
By the time Bear wandered in and told them to clean up for dinner, Chase realized he was smiling for the first time in days.
Vic might not have been Benny, but he was solid. Real. And right now, that was exactly what Chase needed.
***
Kath
A few days later, Kath stood in Emy’s cramped bedroom surrounded by half-packed boxes and the chaotic evidence of a life about to change.
Clothes spilled from open drawers, books were stacked in precarious towers, and Emy was sitting cross-legged on the floor, trying to zip a suitcase that refused to cooperate.
“Help me sit on this thing,” Emy groaned, laughing as she bounced on the lid. “I swear I didn’t own this much crap when I moved in.”
Kath dropped onto the suitcase beside her, adding her weight until the zipper finally gave in with a triumphant zzzip. They both collapsed backwards onto the floor in a fit of giggles, shoulder to shoulder like always.
The laughter faded into a comfortable quiet. Kath stared at the ceiling, the familiar crack that looked like a lightning bolt suddenly feeling too permanent.
“You’re really leaving,” she said softly.
Emy turned her head, eyes serious. “Yeah. But not forever. Ride or die, remember? That pact we made the other night? It wasn’t just talk.”
Kath swallowed hard. “I know. It’s just...my house is going to feel even emptier without you.”
Emy sat up and reached under her bed, pulling out a small canvas tote bag decorated with doodled stars and musical notes. She handed it to Kath with a shy smile.
“Early goodbye present. Open it when I’m gone, okay?”
Kath peeked inside, then upended the bag.
A mix of things tumbled out into her hands.
There was a stack of her favorite snacks, a new notebook with “For all the lyrics you’re too scared to show anyone” written on the first page in Emy’s messy handwriting, a tiny bottle of the cheap vanilla perfume they both loved, and a folded letter tucked at the bottom.
“Rule breaker,” Emy teased. “I figured you’d need reinforcements once I’m not here to force you to watch terrible French movies,” she said, voice a little thick.
“And that letter has my new dorm address, my class schedule, and a very serious reminder that if you need me, you call. Day or night. I’ll answer. ”
Kath clutched the bag to her chest, eyes stinging. “You didn’t have to do this.”
“Yeah, I did.” Emy bumped her shoulder. “Ride or die, Kath. Campus is just a couple hundred miles. It doesn’t change us. You get in trouble, I’m on the next bus. I have a meltdown over some trust-fund idiot stealing my spot, you talk me off the ledge. We’ve got this.”
Kath pulled her into a fierce hug, burying her face in Emy’s shoulder. “I love you, nerd.”
“Love you more, Granola Bandit.” Emy hugged her back just as tight. “Now help me carry this stupid suitcase before I change my mind and stay here forever.”