Chapter Eight #2
She’d followed him from the coffee shop to Bear’s, and now they were sitting on the tailgate of his truck, legs dangling over the edge, the custom paint job gleaming faintly under the moonlight.
Kath had pulled a small, worn notebook from her backpack—the one she’d always kept her lyrics in.
Emy’s gift was waiting on the top of her desk in her room.
It’s not time for that book yet. Kath shook her head.
Dial in on the target, woman. She was nervous.
He could tell by the way she kept turning pages without really looking at them.
Chase settled beside her, the metal of the tailgate still holding a little of the day’s warmth. The notebook rested between them like something fragile. Kath fidgeted with the edge of a page, then let out a soft, self-deprecating laugh.
“Okay, full disclosure before I chicken out,” she said, cheeks already pinking.
“I have this...thing. When I’m really trying to write or get the words right, I take my pants off.
It’s stupid, I know. Something about the air on my legs helps me think.
No pressure or anything—I can keep them on.
I just...wanted you to know in case I start acting weird. ”
Chase blinked, and then a slow, surprised grin spread across his face. “Pants off, huh?”
“Don’t make it weird!” Kath groaned, covering her face with both hands, though he could see her smiling behind them. “It started when I was a kid hiding in my room during Mom’s bad nights. It just stuck. Makes me feel freer. Less trapped in my own head.”
He gently tugged one of her hands down so he could see her eyes. “Hey. No judgment. Whatever helps you create, I’m here for it. Pants on, pants off, whatever. I’m just glad you’re trusting me with this.”
Kath searched his face for a second, then relaxed.
With a quick, almost defiant little huff, she stood up on the tailgate, balancing carefully as she shimmied out of her jeans.
She folded them neatly and set them aside, then sat back down in just her tank top and underwear, bare legs swinging lightly over the edge.
“Better?” she asked, cheeks still flushed but voice steadier now.
Chase let his gaze linger for a respectful moment, appreciative but not hungry, before meeting her eyes again. “Much better,” he said softly, warmth threading through his words. “You look comfortable. And honestly? Kind of adorable right now.”
Kath laughed, the sound light and relieved, and bumped her bare knee against his. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Maybe. But I’m your kind of ridiculous.
” He nudged her shoulder with his. “Now show me those lyrics before I start writing bad poetry about how brave you are. Remember that you don’t have to show me anything you don’t want to,” Chase said quietly, shoulder brushing hers.
“Nothing but what you want when it comes to your art.”
Kath gave a small, self-conscious laugh. “I never show these to anyone. Not even Emy gets the raw ones, and she’s my sister from another mister.” She glanced sideways at him. “But...I don’t know. I feel like you might get it.”
Her smile softened into something deeper, more vulnerable. She opened the notebook, legs swinging gently in the cool night air, flipping to what appeared to be a destination within the book.
Chase stayed quiet, giving her space. After a moment, she cleared her throat and started reading.
Her voice was low, a little rough around the edges, like she was still deciding whether to trust him with this.
“He looked like safety wearing danger’s face, and part of me wanted to burn down the whole damn place, said I’m just like her, chasing smoke and fire, but I’d rather burn bright than live cold and tired...”
Chase felt the words settle somewhere deep in his chest. They weren’t polished. They were raw, honest, a little angry. He could hear the years of watching her mother, the fear of becoming her, the stubborn refusal to let that happen.
She read another one, then another. Each lyric felt like she was handing him pieces of herself she usually kept locked away. Chase listened with his whole body, heart beating steady and hard.
And underneath her words, a melody kept looping in his head.
It started simple in his mind, just a warm, rolling acoustic line that rose and fell with the emotion in her voice.
Then a heavier, driving rhythm underneath it, something that felt like the bike on an open road.
The tune wouldn’t leave him alone—it wrapped around her lyrics like it had been waiting for them.
If I had my guitar right now...
The thought hit him hard. He could see it so clearly, a future of sitting here with her, trading lines, building something together in real time. Not just listening. Creating.
Kath finished the last verse and went quiet, closing the notebook like she was embarrassed.
“Those are rough,” she muttered. “I know they’re not—”
“They’re good,” Chase said, cutting her off gently. “Really good. The last one especially...it feels like freedom and fear at the same time. Like you’re fighting to keep your own fire.”
She looked up at him, surprised. Vulnerable.
Chase continued, voice low. “I’ve had this melody stuck in my head the whole time you were reading.
It’s not fully formed yet, but...it fits.
Like it was waiting for your words.” He let out a soft laugh.
“If I had my guitar with me right now, I’d be trying to work it out with you.
We’d probably be writing something real. ”
Kath stared at him for a long moment. Then a small, wondering smile tugged at her lips.
“You hear music when I read my lyrics?”
“Yeah.” Chase shrugged, a little self-conscious now. “Does that sound crazy?”
“No,” she whispered. “It sounds...nice.”
They sat there in the quiet, the night air cool around them. Chase could still hear the half-formed melody in his head, threading through the memory of her voice. He wanted to chase that feeling. Wanted to sit with her for hours, turning her words into something they could both stand on.
He didn’t reach for her hand. Didn’t try to kiss her.
He just sat beside her on the tailgate, shoulder to shoulder, letting the possibility settle between them like the stars overhead.
Chase breathed deeply, holding tight to the feeling that he wasn’t just following someone else’s path.
He felt like he was starting to build one of his own—and Kath might be the best part of it.
***
Maudie
Maudie stood in the darkened kitchen, the only light coming from the cheap bulb over the stove.
The house was finally quiet—Kath had come home glowing from another afternoon with Chase and had disappeared into her room with that soft, secret smile Maudie was starting to recognize.
Good. Let her have that. Her little sister deserved something real.
Tony’s voice still echoed in her head from earlier that evening.
The fight had been ugly. He’d shown up drunk and handsy, pushing past her when she tried to keep him out, calling her a bitch for “acting like her stuck-up little sister.” The slap had come fast when she told him they were done.
She’d hit him back harder, screaming that if he ever laid another finger on Kath—or even looked at her the wrong way again—she’d burn his life to the ground.
She wasn’t blind. She’d seen the way he looked at Kath. The lingering touches. The “jokes” that weren’t jokes. That shit wasn’t going to fly. Not with her baby sister. Not anymore.
So she’d thrown his stuff into the yard, told him it was over, and slammed the door in his face while he cursed and threatened. The neighbors had probably heard every word. She didn’t care.
Now the adrenaline was crashing.
Maudie pulled the half-empty bottle of cheap vodka from the cabinet above the fridge. Her hands shook only a little as she poured a generous measure into a chipped mug. The first sip burned going down, but the second smoothed out the edges. She leaned against the counter, staring at nothing.
She’d been drinking more lately. The realization sat heavy in her chest. Not every night. Just when the bills piled up. When the fear of turning into their mother clawed at her throat. When she needed something to quiet the noise in her head.
“It’s no big deal,” she whispered to the empty kitchen, voice rough. “I don’t drink that much.”
The words sounded hollow even to her own ears. She took another long sip, the warmth spreading through her limbs.
“I don’t have a problem.” She stared straight ahead. “I’m not like Mom. Not like Tony.” She refused the immediate desire to spit after thinking his name. “I just want things to be better for me and Kath.”
Tomorrow, she’d cut back. Tomorrow, she’d be the big sister Kath deserved.
Tonight, she just needed the edges to soften.
She slid down the cabinet until she was sitting on the cold linoleum, mug cradled in both hands, the silence of the house pressing in around her. Kath was safe in her room, dreaming about a boy who she was sure always looked at Kath like she hung the moon. Maudie was glad. Really glad.
But God, she was tired.