Page 29 of What They Say

Chase looked over. “Do what?”

“Let guys on the back of my bike. Let them get close enough to...matter.” She swallowed. “My mom chased every spark she felt. Left us with nothing but debt and disappointment. I swore I’d never be like her. Never let a guy make me forget who I am.”

Chase was quiet for a long moment. Then he said softly, “I’m not asking you to forget anything. I just like being around you. Talking to you. Riding with you. Whatever this ends up being, I’m not in a hurry. We can go as slow as you want.”

Kath turned to face him fully. He met her eyes without flinching—steady, honest, a little vulnerable himself.

She believed him.

“Okay,” she whispered. “Slow works for me.”

Chase’s smile was small and real. He didn’t try to kiss her. Didn’t even step closer. He just stood there with her, watching the river, letting the quiet settle comfortably between them again.

For the first time in years, Kath let herself imagine what it might feel like to trust someone without anticipating the next blow.

And as they climbed back on the bike to head home with Chase’s hands warm and respectful on her waist, she thought maybe, just maybe, she could let herself find out.

***

Chase

Parked in his normal spot, Chase sat on the tailgate of his truck in Bear’s driveway, the sun long gone, the only light coming from the garage floodlight and the soft glow of his phone screen. His legs dangled over the edge as he replayed the entire afternoon in his head for the hundredth time.

The ride with Kath.

The way she handled the bike like it was an extension of herself. The quiet strength in her posture. The way she’d opened up just enough at the overlook to let him see the walls she kept so carefully in place. And how she hadn’t pulled away when he told her they could go slow.

He still felt the ghost of her waist under his hands. The warmth of her body in front of him. The trust she’d given him by letting him ride behind her on her bike.

It meant more than she probably realized.

His phone buzzed. A text from Benny:

*How was the ride?*

Chase smiled despite himself and typed back:

*Better than I expected. She’s...different. In a good way.*

Benny replied almost immediately:

*Don’t overthink it, kid. Just let it be what it is.*

Chase set the phone down and stared out into the dark yard. He was overthinking it. He knew that. But everything in his life felt like it was accelerating at once—the band gaining real traction with Iron Indian Records, the pressure of living up to the Mason name, the complicated tangle of feelings about his dad, and now Kath.

Maybe especially Kath.

He thought back to the night he’d told Mason he wanted to prospect. Barely sixteen years old, heart hammering, convinced that wearing a patch was the only way to finally earn his father’s respect. Mason’s laugh still echoed sometimes—not cruel, but dismissive. “Come see me when you’re eighteen, boy.”

Then OY had pulled him in. Benny. Vic. The music. Not the Rebels. Not his father’s legacy. Just him and his newfound love of creating magic out of nothing more than six strings and his fingers.

And now there was Kath.

Chase rubbed a hand over his face. He didn’t want to choose. He wanted the band. He wanted to figure out what kind of relationship he could have with Mason. And—if he was being honest—he wanted to keep seeing where things went with the sharp-tongued girl on the blue-and-white bike.

The garage door creaked open. Bear stepped out, wiping his hands on a rag, and spotted him.

“Still out here mooning over that girl?” Bear asked, a teasing rumble in his voice.