Chapter Two #2
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.
Kath hesitated in the doorway, then moved to the cabinet for her own mug. The silence stretched between them, thick and uncomfortable.
“Morning,” Kath finally said, keeping her voice neutral.
Maudie gave a short nod. “You get any sleep?”
“Not really.”
Another beat of silence. Maudie’s spoon clinked against the side of her mug. Once. Twice. She didn’t look up.
Kath poured coffee, the rich smell doing nothing to ease the knot in her stomach. She could feel her sister’s questions hovering in the air like smoke—heavy, unspoken, and aimed straight at last night.
Maudie cleared her throat. “Tony...he was pretty messed up when he got home.”
There it was. Not quite a question, but close enough. Kath waited, gripping her mug tighter. She knew her sister had seen at least part of it—the yelling, the way Tony had grabbed her arm too hard before Maudie had stepped in. But Maudie wasn’t asking outright. She never did.
Right now she’d ignore the “home” aspect of what Maudie said. He didn’t live here, and if she had anything to do with it, he never would. “Yeah,” Kath said carefully. “He was.”
Maudie’s eyes flicked up for half a second, then dropped back to her coffee. “He didn’t...do anything else? After I went to bed?”
The words hung there, loaded. Kath could hear everything her sister wasn’t saying: Tell me it wasn’t worse. Tell me I don’t have to deal with this. Tell me you’re okay so I don’t have to feel guilty for staying with him.
Kath swallowed the bitter taste in her mouth. “No. He passed out on the couch.” She’d seen him when she came out to get another bottle of water a few hours ago. She tipped her chin towards the couch. “Snores say he’s still there.”
Maudie nodded once, too quickly. Relief flickered across her face, but it didn’t reach her eyes. She knew. She always knew when Kath was holding back pieces of the truth, just like Kath knew when Maudie was choosing not to push.
“Good,” Maudie muttered. She dumped the rest of her coffee in the sink and rinsed the mug with sharp, efficient movements. “I’ve got a double shift today. Try to stay out of his way when he wakes up, yeah?”
Kath stared at her sister’s back. That’s it? she wanted to scream. That’s all you’re going to say?
But she didn’t. Because Maudie wasn’t going to meet her in the middle. She never did. Not when it came to Tony. Not when it came to any of the hard stuff. Awareness sat between them like a third person in the room. The feeling was heavy, acknowledged by both and then carefully ignored.
“Sure,” Kath said quietly. “I’ll stay out of his way.”
Maudie grabbed her keys off the counter and paused at the doorway, almost looking back. Almost.
Then she was gone without another word, the screen door banging shut behind her.
Kath stood alone in the quiet kitchen, coffee growing cold in her hands, wondering how long they could keep dancing around the truth before something finally broke.
***
That evening, after Maudie had come home exhausted from her double shift and as they’d both picked at leftover pizza in awkward silence, something shifted. Maudie suddenly stood, went to the hall closet, and pulled out an old shoebox.
“Remember these?” she asked, setting it on the table.
Kath opened it. Inside were faded photos: the four of them at the park when Kath was six, Mom pushing her on the swings while Maudie made silly faces.
It had been so long since she’d seen a picture of him, it took her a minute to recognize her father.
Another photo of Mom baking cookies, flour on her nose, all three of them laughing.
For a few minutes, they flipped through the pictures quietly, shoulders touching.
“She wasn’t always like this,” Maudie said softly. “Before Dad left...she tried. She really tried.”
Kath nodded, throat tight. “I remember her singing in the kitchen. Badly. But we’d dance anyway.”
Maudie gave a watery smile. “Yeah. Those were the good days.”
They stayed like that for a while, letting the memories sit between them, the emotions bittersweet but oh so real. It didn’t fix anything. But for once, it felt like they were on the same side.
***
Bear
Bear leaned against the workbench in the quiet garage, the overhead lights buzzing softly above him.
Eddie had gone to bed hours ago, and Chase was finally crashed out in the guest room after a long evening of tinkering on bikes and trading riffs.
The kid had been quieter than usual tonight, but he was settling in—laughing more with the brothers, asking real questions about club life instead of just watching from the edges.
Bear’s phone vibrated on the bench. Mason’s name lit up the screen. He wiped his hands on a rag and answered.
“Prez.”
“Bear.” Mason’s voice came through low and steady, the familiar rumble of Chicago in the background. “How’s my boy doing out there?”
Bear settled onto a stool, stretching his legs out.
“He’s blending in better than I expected.
The brothers like him—he’s quiet, works hard, doesn’t run his mouth.
Spent most of today in the garage helping with a really pain-in-the-ass detailed rebuild.
Even sat in on a couple of the younger guys’ conversations without trying to prove anything.
He’s listening more than talking, but when he does speak up, it’s solid. ”
Mason exhaled, a sound that carried both relief and the ever-present weight of fatherhood. “Good. That’s good. He still keeping his distance from the officers, or is he warming up?”
“Warming some. Sat with Slate for a bit yesterday, talking music. Kid’s got talent—real talent.
Makes the garage feel alive when he pulls out that guitar.
” Bear paused, rubbing a hand over his beard.
“But he’s still carrying a lot, Mason. Bad dreams most nights.
Wakes up breathing hard, sometimes yelling out.
Won’t talk about it much, but I’ve caught pieces when he’s half asleep. ”