Chapter Nine
Chase
Chase sat on a stool in the corner of Slate’s studio, the rest of the band taking a break after a long run-through of the new set.
Most of them had wandered outside for air or food, but he’d stayed behind, acoustic across his lap, fingers absently picking out that melody that refused to leave his head.
He’d started thinking of it as “Kath’s Song. ”
It was the one that had come to him while Kath had read her lyrics. It hit a warm, rolling meter, with a touch of discordant ache underneath. He kept chasing it, trying to pin it down before it slipped away.
The notes felt like her. Like freedom and armor at the same time.
Footsteps approached. He glanced up to see Bonnie Dupont walking over, guitar in hand, a half smile on her face.
“Mind if I join you?” she asked. “Vic’s out talking shop with Benny, and I’m avoiding the ‘tour logistics’ conversation for five more minutes.”
Chase grinned and nodded towards the stool beside him. “Please. I’m just messing around anyway.”
Bonnie sat and tuned quickly, then fell in beside him without needing sheet music or direction. They slipped into an easy groove—her rhythm guitar locking in with his lead lines, trading little fills and answering each other like they’d been playing together for years.
After a few minutes, Chase let the song breathe and looked over at her.
“How do you do it?” he asked. “Write new stuff, I mean. When it’s just you and a blank page. Does it come easy, or do you have a whole process?”
Bonnie strummed a soft chord, thinking. “A little of both. Sometimes a line hits me like a truck and I chase it. Other times I sit there for hours with nothing. I usually start with a feeling—what I’m angry about, scared of, or missing.
Then I try to find the right words to carry it.
The music comes after. Or sometimes before.
It’s messy.” She glanced at him, curious. “Why? You writing now?”
Chase felt his ears warm. He kept playing, eyes on his fingers.
“Not really. But I met someone. She writes songs. Or lyrics, anyway. She doesn’t play an instrument, so when she reads them to me, it feels more like poetry.
Really raw, honest stuff. And when she was reading the other night, this melody just...
appeared in my head. Wouldn’t leave me alone. ”
Bonnie’s smile turned knowing. “Ah. The mysterious bike girl.”
Chase laughed softly. “Yeah. Kath. I can’t stop thinking about her lyrics. Or her. It felt like if I’d had a guitar with me when she was reading, we could’ve written something real together. Or at least started something.”
Bonnie nodded slowly, still playing alongside him.
“That’s a good sign. When someone’s words make music show up in your head without trying...
that doesn’t happen every day.” She bumped his shoulder lightly.
“Bring her around sometime. I’d love to hear what she writes.
And if she ever wants to try putting music to any of it, I’m around. ”
Chase felt a quiet warmth spread through his chest. “Thanks, Bonnie. I might take you up on that.”
They kept playing for a while longer, the groove loose and comfortable. For the first time, Chase didn’t feel like the youngest guy in the room trying to prove he belonged. He felt like part of it, full stop. Like he was exactly where he was supposed to be.
And somewhere out there, Kath was carrying her notebook of lyrics—the ones that had sparked music in his head.
He smiled down at his guitar.
Yeah. He could definitely get used to this.
***
Kath
Kath twisted the throttle and pulled out of the lot behind The Grindhouse, the deep rumble of the custom bike vibrating through her bones.
Chase settled in behind her, his hands resting lightly on her waist—respectful, steady, exactly where they’d stayed before.
The afternoon sun was warm on her arms as they left town behind, taking the long river road with its sweeping curves and open fields.
The wind whipped past, tugging at her hair where it escaped her helmet.
It carried the sharp green scent of summer grass and wildflowers.
The engine’s steady growl filled her ears, a living thing that drowned out the noise in her head and made everything feel possible.
Every lean into a curve pressed Chase’s chest a little closer to her back, the shared vibration traveling through both of them like a secret language.
He moved with her effortlessly, trusting her completely.
It sent a low, dangerous thrill through her that had nothing to do with speed.
They rode in comfortable silence for a long stretch, the kind that didn’t need filling. Just wind, engine, and the occasional squeeze of his hands when she took a particularly sharp turn. Kath found herself smiling behind the visor. This, right here? This was freedom.
Eventually she eased off the throttle and pulled into their familiar overlook.
The sun was beginning its slow descent, painting the river in streaks of gold and rose.
She thumbed the bike’s Off button, and the sudden quiet felt intimate, broken only by the tick of cooling metal and the distant call of birds.
They climbed off the bike. Chase took off his helmet and ran a hand through his hair, looking rumpled and unfairly handsome in the golden light.
“I brought something,” he said, a little shy as he pulled a small paper bag from the saddlebag he’d insisted on carrying.
“Stopped at that taco truck you mentioned last time. Figured we could eat while we watch the sunset.”
Kath’s stomach did a happy little flip. She accepted the bag, their fingers brushing, and they settled on the wide flat rock overlooking the water. The tacos were still warm, spicy and perfect, and they ate in easy silence for a while, shoulders touching, the river glittering below them.
When the food was gone, Chase leaned back on his hands, eyes on the horizon. “This is my favorite part of the day,” he said quietly. “Everything slows down. Makes it easier to think.”
Kath nodded, watching the colors deepen across the sky. The wind had gentled, brushing warm air across her skin. She felt hyperaware of him beside her—the steady rise and fall of his breathing, the faint scent of soap and leather, the way his gray eyes caught the sunset light.
She turned towards him at the same moment he turned towards her.
Their faces were suddenly close, inches apart.
Chase’s gaze dropped to her mouth for a heartbeat, dark and intent.
Kath’s pulse kicked hard. She could feel the warmth of his breath, see the faint freckle on his cheekbone she hadn’t noticed before. The air between them crackled.
For one suspended moment, she thought he might close the distance. She wanted him to.
Chase’s hand lifted, fingertips brushing a stray strand of hair from her cheek with aching gentleness. His thumb lingered just below her jaw, sending sparks across her skin.
Then he pulled back slightly, eyes searching hers, voice rough. “I really like this,” he whispered. “Being here with you. I don’t want to rush it.”
Kath’s heart thundered in her chest. The near-kiss hung between them like a promise, sweet and electric and full of possibility. She leaned her forehead against his for a second, breathing him in.
“Me neither,” she murmured. “But I’m glad you’re here.”
They stayed like that as the sun dipped lower, painting the world in fire and gold, the almost-kiss still tingling on her lips like a secret they were both holding on to.
***
Chase
The studio felt different with Benny back in the room.
Not louder, exactly, although Benny had always brought the noise.
But the studio came alive in a way it hadn’t been during the long weeks of rehearsals with just Vic filling in.
Chase stood near the back wall, guitar slung low, watching as Benny adjusted the strap on his guitar with careful, deliberate movements.
His hands were steady today. Clear eyes.
The brittle edge that had lingered right after rehab had softened some, but everyone could still see the caution in the way he moved.
Bonnie sat on a stool beside Vic, her own guitar resting across her lap. She gave Benny a warm, encouraging smile. “Whenever you’re ready, Ben. No pressure. We’ve got all night.”
Benny nodded, swallowing once before strumming a soft opening chord.
The notes were tentative at first, almost fragile, but they grew stronger with each pass.
Chase fell in on rhythm guitar, matching him gently, while Vic laid down a subtle brush on the drums—nothing flashy, just steady support.
Bonnie layered in delicate fills, her playing weaving around Benny’s like she’d been doing it for years.
They ran through an older track first, something simple from the early days. Benny’s voice started rough around the edges, but by the second chorus, it opened up—raw and honest, carrying the weight of everything he’d been through. When the last chord faded, the room went quiet for a beat.
Vic was the first to speak, drumsticks still in hand. “Damn, Benny. That sounded real.”
Benny let out a shaky laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Felt real too. First time I’ve sung that one sober in...hell, I don’t even know how long.”
Bonnie leaned forwards, eyes shining. “It shows. There’s a depth there now that wasn’t there before. Pain and hope all mixed together. It’s beautiful.”
Chase fought hard for words as he watched his friend. Benny looked vulnerable under the studio lights, but he also looked present—really here, not hiding behind the manic energy or the bottle. “You sound like you again,” Chase said quietly. “Better, even.”
Benny met his eyes, something grateful and a little scared flickering across his face. “Thanks, man. For sticking around. For not giving up on this even when I made it hard.”
The band shared a long look. They were four people who had been through chaos and had come out the other side still standing. Bonnie reached over and squeezed Vic’s knee, the quiet gesture speaking volumes about the kind of love and support they all leaned on.
“All right,” Benny said, straightening a little. “Let’s try something new. Chase, you got that melody you’ve been working on? The one inspired by...what’s her name again?”
Heat crept up Chase’s neck even as he grinned. “Kath.”
Benny’s grin turned knowing. “Yeah. Kath. Play it. I want to hear what’s got you all twisted up in the best way.”
Chase picked out the warm, rolling progression he’d first heard the night Kath read her lyrics to him.
Vic joined in with a soft heartbeat rhythm.
Bonnie added gentle accents, and Benny listened for a full pass before layering in a tentative vocal line—low and searching, full of the kind of ache that made the hairs on Chase’s arms stand up.
When they reached the bridge, Benny stopped and looked around the circle. “This one’s got legs. Real ones. Feels like starting over. Clean.”
The band played it again, tighter this time, the music swelling with hope and hard-won second chances.