Page 1 of What They Say

Chapter One

Chase

Chase allowed himself to linger deep in the shadows just inside the doorway, arms crossed tight over his chest, watching his father command the entire room without even trying.

From his yearslong analysis of his father, he knew Mason didn’t need to raise his voice to gain acquiescence from a dozen men at a time. Only a few quiet words, a tilt of his head, or in some cases a single look—and grown men scrambled to carry out whatever he wanted. It was the kind of natural authority Chase had studied for years, the kind he both admired and resented. Because no matter how hard he tried to integrate with the men who followed Mason, he still felt like he was watching all the action from the outside. He wasn’t one of them, but even so, he was closer to the ruling class within the club than many of the members could claim. Pariah all the way around.

He wanted to like his father. Hell, part of him already did. But honestly, even after four years, it still felt like he barely knew the man. Mason was a black box of actions and emotions.

Carrie, his mother, had spent most of Chase’s life painting Mason as a cold, uninterested bastard who turned his back the second he found out she was pregnant. She told the story so often it had worn grooves in Chase’s memory. Her weepy rendition about how she’d barely gotten the words announcing the pregnancy out before Mason walked away.

Except Mason told a different version from the very first time they sat across from each other in a diner, Mason claiming he’d arranged to meet Chase within twelve hours of learning he existed. Being the recipient of that kind of focus should’ve been reassuring, but he couldn’t help but listen for the lie. His mother had trained him well.

Chase knew Carrie lied. Hell, she lied about everything—big things, small things, things that didn’t even matter. He’d grown so used to it that he barely registered the lies anymore. Mason, on the other hand, seemed incapable of anything but brutal honesty. He would look you in the eye and still tell the truth, even when it left you bloody and hurt.

So why couldn’t Chase bring himself to trust him?

He snorted softly, the sound lost under the low rumble of voices and clinking bottles. Why should he trust him? Carrie had taught him early that only fools trusted blindly. She’d proven it to him the day store security grabbed him as she ran, driving off without looking back, leaving him to try and fumble through the story she’d drilled into him. Unfortunately, he’d confused himself and, through tears, had simply told the truth instead. That mistake had landed him in child protective services. He’d been seven years old.

The lesson he took from that instance? Truth-telling got you punished.

Chase shook the memory away and scanned the room again. Something was brewing tonight. There was a tension in the air he could almost reach out and touch. It had been building for days—ever since they got back from that chaotic outdoor wedding for Benny’s brother. For Chase, the campout weekend had consisted of too much heat, too many bugs, and way too much beer that no one was keeping an eye on. He and Lucia, Bear’s adopted daughter, had sneaked a six-pack and then hidden behind the tents, but in the end, she’d been too scared of getting caught by her dad to drink any. Hadn’t stopped Chase. He might have drunk another six hoping to have his father talk to him.

His gaze tracked back to Mason. The man was on the phone now, eyes sweeping the room like he catalogued every face, every movement, and never missed anything. It made Chase feel exposed even when he was trying to stay invisible, like now.

At least things were a little better now than a few weeks ago. Since Chase had been moved to Fort Wayne while his old man stayed mostly in Chicago, he didn’t have to see the disappointment in those eyes every single day. Just around moments like this.

He remembered the night he’d finally worked up the nerve to tell Mason he wanted to prospect into the club. He’d expected pride. Instead, he’d gotten a bark of laughter and a dismissive “Come see me when you’re eighteen, boy.”

Boy. Never “Chase.” Sometimes “son,” but rarely. It was like Mason couldn’t quite see him as his own person. Maybe that wasn’t as big a cut as it could seem, because he seldom called Chase’s little brother, Garrett anything other than Gar-boy.

Chase’s jaw tightened. At eighteen, he had broad shoulders and stormy gray eyes that made people do double takes. The women who hung around the clubhouse said he was handsome. He knew he looked like his father. He just didn’t want to be him—not the version Carrie described, but maybe not even the legend everyone else worshipped.

He wanted to earn respect the way Mason had. He wanted to matter in a visceral way. Where people asked his opinion on things.

“Hey, Chaser. Whatcha think?”

Benny Jones’ voice pulled him out of his head. The guy stood there with a guitar in each hand, grinning like trouble.

“Let’s go play,” Benny said, nodding towards the back room.

Chase pushed off the wall, the knot in his chest loosening just a little.

“Yeah,” he said, falling into step beside his friend. “Let’s fuckin’ go.”

***

Chase followed Benny into the back room, becoming just a little more relaxed with every step. Music had become his safe place, the one corner of his life where he didn’t have to constantly measure himself against his father’s shadow.

But as they plugged in and started tuning, Chase couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling crawling under his skin. It wasn’t his dad worrying him now.

Benny was acting...off.

His usual easy grin was there, but it looked painted on—too wide, too quick. His laugh came a beat too late when Chase cracked a lame joke about the ancient amp in the corner. And when Benny reached for a new set of strings, Chase saw it, the faint tremor in his hands. Not enough for most people to notice. But Chase had seen it before, late at night when Benny thought no one was watching.

He was using again. Or drinking. Or at least teetering right on the edge.

Chase’s stomach twisted into a hard ball. He knew enough of the signs. Because of the people Carrie surrounded them with, he’d had a front row seat to watch plenty of people in this world chase the same dragon Benny had been flirting with. The denial was always the worst part—the bright smiles and the fervent “I’m fine” reassurances spouted by addicts even in the moments right before everything came crashing down.