Page 5 of What They Say

Kath stayed hidden in the shadows of the hallway, heart aching so fiercely it felt like a bruise. She wanted to step out, wrap her arms around her big sister, and promise they’d figure it out together—like they always had. Split the bills. Call the creditors. Make a plan. But nope, Maudie’s stature and actions had made it painfully clear she didn’t want help. She wanted to pretend everything was fine, to keep carrying the weight alone so Kath could stay the “baby” a little longer.

The ache deepened into something heavier, a familiar helplessness that tasted like rust and old fear.

Kath crept back to her room on silent feet, the weight of the house pressing down on her heavier than ever. The walls felt thinner tonight, the ceiling lower, every creak and shadow whispering the same old truth: They were still cleaning up Mom’s messes, even when she wasn’t here to make them.

She eased the door shut behind her and leaned against it, eyes closed, listening to Emy’s soft, even breathing. At least one of them could sleep tonight.

***

Chase

The studio at Slate’s place smelled like fresh coffee, old wood, and guitar polish. Late-afternoon light slanted through the high windows, catching dust motes in the air as Chase settled onto a stool with his acoustic across his lap. The drummer, Blake, was gone, said he had some family thing up north, so they’d ditched the full band setup for the afternoon. Just acoustics, a couple of mics, and whatever ideas they could chase without the full kit.

Benny sat across from him, legs stretched out, fingers moving easily over the strings of his favorite guitar. He looked good today. Clear eyes, steady hands, and that easy grin Chase had come to count on. For the first few songs, they fell into a comfortable groove—tight harmonies, loose jamming, the kind of playing that reminded Chase why he kept showing up even when everything else in his life felt like walking a tightrope.

“You been working on that new bridge?” Benny asked, nodding towards Chase’s guitar. His voice was relaxed, normal. “Sounded solid last time.”

Chase played the progression, watching Benny listen with real focus. They traded ideas back and forth, layering a softer, stripped-down version of one of their newer tracks. It felt good. Honest. Like music could always be one place where Chase didn’t feel like he was measuring himself against anyone.

For a while, Benny stayed right there with him—laughing at a bad chord Chase hit, suggesting a better expression, even humming a harmony that gave Chase chills. Normal Benny. The guy who’d become his first real friend in Fort Wayne.

Then something shifted.

Benny’s foot started tapping faster. His fingers picked up speed on the strings, almost too fast for the gentle acoustic vibe they were going for. He laughed at something that wasn’t particularly funny, the sound bright and a little too sharp. When he reached for his coffee mug, Chase caught the faint tremor in his hand—the same one he’d noticed a couple of nights ago in the garage.

“You good?” Chase asked, keeping his tone casual.

“Never better,” Benny shot back, flashing that wide grin. It stayed on his face a beat too long. “Let’s run that last one again. I’ve got this sound in my head—feels like it could carry the whole thing.”

They played it again. And again. Benny pushed the tempo harder each time, his energy ramping up like someone had flipped a switch. His laughs came quicker, louder. He started talking over the chords—half-formed ideas spilling out one after another, jumping from melody to lyrics to some wild story about a show they’d played last month. The words tumbled faster, brighter, until it was like Benny was chasing something only he could see.

Chase’s stomach twisted. He knew this pattern. He’d seen it before—people in the club world, people in the music scene. Normal behavior sliding into wired, wired descending into manic. The too-bright eyes. The restless bounce of Benny’s knee. The way he kept pushing, like if he stopped moving, the crash would catch him.

Say something.

The thought sat heavy in Chase’s chest. I need to tell Slate. Or Mason. But he couldn’t get past how alone he’d felt for years, seated behind his father at so many meetings, watching members trade glances about the prez’s kid. He’d been surrounded by a hundred men and was utterly alone.

He swallowed the words and kept playing, matching Benny’s accelerating energy even as unease crawled under his skin. Benny launched into another riff, fingers flying, grin manic now, eyes gleaming with that dangerous spark.

“You feel that?” Benny asked, voice crackling with excitement. “This is it, man. This is the sound.”

Chase forced a nod. “Yeah. It’s something.”

He’d watch. He’d wait.

For now.

But deep down, he knew the edge was getting closer, and staying quiet might cost them all more than he wanted to admit.

***

Kath

The next morning, Kath padded into the kitchen on bare feet, still wearing the oversized T-shirt she’d slept in. Sunlight slanted through the cheap blinds, striping the worn linoleum in dusty gold. She needed coffee like she needed oxygen.

Maudie was already there.

Her older sister stood at the counter in yesterday’s clothes, stirring the contents of a mug with a spoon, circling around with slow, mechanical movements. The tension in her shoulders was unmistakable. She looked like she hadn’t slept much either.