What They Say (Occupy Yourself #3)
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.
Say something to him, a voice in his head whispered. Or tell Dad—he’ll know what to do. If nothing else, Slate needs to know.
But the thought made him feel sick.
If he went to Mason, it would travel straight to Slate, who was Benny’s big brother. Things would explode. Benny would feel betrayed. And right now, Benny was pretty much the only person in Fort Wayne who treated Chase like a regular guy instead of “the president’s kid.”
Snitching on the one friend he had here felt like he’d be shooting himself in the foot.
Chase swallowed hard and forced himself to keep playing, matching Benny’s rhythm even as his mind spun in circles. What if he was wrong? What if it was just stress? What if saying something made everything worse?
He hated this. Hated feeling like he was choosing between loyalty and doing the right thing. Hated that part of him wanted to stay quiet just so he wouldn’t lose the only real connection he had outside his father’s world. Beyond the influence of Mason and his minions.
Benny caught him staring and flashed that brittle smile again. “You good, man?”
“Yeah,” Chase lied, gaze dropping down to his guitar. “Just thinking about the new riff you showed me yesterday.”
Benny gave him another flash of his grin and shouted, “Let’s fucking go, man.”
Chase followed along, but the unease stayed lodged in his chest like a stone.
He’d watch. He’d wait.
For now.
But deep down, he knew he was only delaying the inevitable.
And when it finally broke, he had a horrible feeling he’d regret staying silent.
***
Kath
Kath stood at the kitchen counter, phone pressed between her ear and shoulder while she rinsed the last of the breakfast dishes.
Sunlight slanted through the faded curtains, catching on the chipped edges of the plates and making the whole room feel a little less worn down than it was.
She’d waited until Maudie left for her shift and Emy was buried in her headphones before making the call.
Some things felt too new—too hopeful—to risk explaining to her sister yet.
The line clicked, and a deep, rumbling voice answered. “Bear.”
“Hi, this is Kath. Kathleen Daniels? I was hoping for an update on the bike, maybe when you might be done with it.” Her voice came out steadier than she felt. She dried her hands on a dish towel, gripping it a little tighter than necessary.
Bear’s chuckle rolled through the phone like distant thunder—warm, not mocking. “Yeah, I remember. Bike’s been sittin’ here lookin’ pretty. We can do a handoff this afternoon if you’re free. Say around two? I’ll be in the garage most of the day.”
Kath’s stomach did a little flip. She glanced towards the hallway, half expecting Maudie to reappear and ask questions she wasn’t ready to answer.
“Two works great,” she said, grabbing a pen and scribbling the time on the back of an old envelope. “I really appreciate this. I know it’s probably not your normal thing—helping out someone who doesn’t know how to ride very well.”
Another low laugh from Bear. “Darlin’, half the people who come through my garage don’t ride at all when they first show up. We’ll get you sorted. Bring your license and a helmet, if you’ve got one. If not, I’ve got spares. We can put some miles under the wheels. You know where we are?”
“Yeah, I have the address. I’ll be there.” She hesitated, then added softly, “Thank you. For doing this for me.”
Bear’s tone gentled just a fraction. “That’s what friends are for. See you at two, Kath.”
The call ended with a click, and Kath set the phone down on the counter.
She let out a long breath, staring at the scribbled note like it was a lifeline.
A bike. A real appointment. Something that felt like forward motion instead of the same old cycle of bills, worry, and waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Kath squared her shoulders, tucked the note into her pocket, and went to find her shoes. Two o’clock couldn’t come fast enough.
***
Chase
Later, after Eddie had gone to sleep with her head in Bear’s lap watching some shoot-’em-up movie, the living room had grown quiet except for the low chatter of explosions and gunfire on the screen.
Chase stared at the TV without really seeing it, the flickering light casting shifting shadows across the walls.
His leg bounced restlessly until he forced it still, but the tension in his shoulders refused to ease.
Bear’s big hand paused mid-stroke along Eddie’s hair. “Just spit it out already, Chase. What has you tied in knots?”
“What?” He shook his head. “I’m okay.”
“Liar. You’ve done this huge theatrical sigh four or five times now. If you aren’t even aware you’re carrying that tension, then you need to talk to narrow down the culprit.” Bear shrugged as he continued, “You know you can ask me anything.”
Chase rubbed a hand over his face, buying a second before he had to respond. The question had been circling in his head for weeks, ever since he’d watched Benny spiral again and realized how alone he felt in it. He let out another breath he hadn’t meant to release.
“Who’s your ride or die?”
Bear’s chin lifted, the question clearly taking him by surprise. “Any of the Fort Wayne members. Eddie. Some of the Chicago members. Mason for sure. What has you asking that?”
“I don’t think I have a ride or die.” He shrugged. “Maybe Benny, but then that makes everything harder. Because if he’s my only friend, I don’t want to lose him.”
The admission sat heavy in the room, louder than the muted gunfire on the television.
Chase picked at a loose thread on the arm of the couch, avoiding Bear’s steady gaze.
He’d spent several years now orbiting the club under different guises.
He was Mason’s kid, more recently the musician, but always and forever the outsider who never quite fit into either world.
Benny had been the first person who saw him as Chase, not just an extension of his father.
But what happened when that friendship got tested?
“And you’d lose him as a friend because you’d do what?” This question was carefully moderated, the tone of voice neither strident nor soft. Right in the middle where things seemed reasonable.
“Break a confidence. Maybe.”
Chase felt the weight of everything he wasn’t saying press against his ribs. The pull towards the club. The fear that chasing music would make him look soft. The nights he lay awake wondering if he was destined to always be on the outside looking in.
“Then you’ve got to decide for yourself if you want to ask those hard questions now or in the future.
” Bear reached for his beer, taking a long swallow.
“I’m here to listen, little brother. You need me to just shut up and let you talk, I can do that.
You want my advice on whatever it is twisting your knickers, I can do that too. ”
The simple offer landed like a warm hand on his back. Bear wasn’t pushing, wasn’t judging—just sitting there solid as ever, Eddie sleeping peacefully against him, the picture of the kind of steady loyalty Chase craved.
“Thanks, Bear.” Chase ducked his head a little, not wanting to look Bear in the face. “It means a lot you saying that.” He’d hold his silence for a little longer and watch Benny closely.
There’s lots of time to narc on my only friend.