Chapter Twenty-Four
Kath
Going back to work at The Grindhouse felt almost absurdly normal.
Kath had begged off sick for a few days, claiming a migraine until the worst of the bruising around her wrists faded enough to hide under long sleeves.
Every time a customer got impatient or the espresso machine hissed too loudly, she had to fight the urge to flinch.
The world had kept spinning like nothing had happened, while she still woke up some nights feeling zip ties cutting into her skin.
But tonight was different.
Chase had picked her up in his truck instead of meeting her on the bike.
One of these days, he’d borrow a bike and ride beside her, rolling through the western Ohio hills.
Not today, though. She slid into the middle of the bench seat like it was the most natural thing in the world, and when he reached over and laced their fingers together, the steady warmth of his hand grounded her more than anything else had in days.
“You still won’t tell me where we’re going?” she asked, squeezing his hand.
Chase just smiled—that small, secret smile she was learning to love. “Nope. Trust me?”
“Always.”
The drive took them out of the busier part of town towards a quieter, tree-lined area.
When they turned into a long circle drive in front of a big, beautiful house, Kath’s eyebrows rose.
Behind the main house sat what looked like an old warehouse that had been converted into something else—lights glowing warmly from inside, the faint sound of music drifting out.
Chase parked, gave her a grin, and came around to open her door. He took her hand again as they walked towards the warehouse.
“You ready?” he asked softly.
“I have no idea what I’m supposed to be ready for,” she admitted with a nervous laugh.
He just kissed her temple and led her inside.
The space was incredible—high ceilings, exposed beams, a small stage area at one end, and comfortable seating scattered around. A few people were already there.
A woman with dark hair and a confident stride turned towards them first.
Bonnie Dupont.
Kath froze mid-step, suddenly speechless. This was the Bonnie—the guitarist who’d founded Blazeborn and was now playing with Occupy Yourself. This was Vic Montrose’s fiancée, the woman whose talent she’d admired from afar for years.
Bonnie smiled warmly and stepped forwards, offering her hand. “You must be Kath. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
Kath managed to shake her hand, her brain still playing catch-up. “It’s...really nice to meet you.”
Before she could say anything else, a man with an easy grin and kind eyes walked up and wrapped Bonnie in a big hug from behind. Benny Jones. He looked exactly like he did onstage, only more relaxed.
Then Vic appeared from the side room, drumsticks twirling absently between his fingers. Kath’s mouth fell open.
“You played drums at one of the first real concerts I ever went to,” she blurted out. “About four years ago. Small venue in Louisville. You were incredible.”
Vic’s eyebrows shot up, and then he grinned wide. “No shit? That was with one of my old bands. Glad you survived it.”
The nervousness that had been twisting in her stomach slowly started to ease as they chatted.
They were all so...normal. Warm. Funny. They teased Chase about how long it had taken him to bring her around, and Bonnie told a story about the first time she’d met the band that had Kath laughing before she could stop herself.
For a little while, it felt easy.
Until Bonnie gently pulled her aside while the guys were talking shop.
“So,” Bonnie said, eyes bright with genuine interest. “Chase mentioned you write. I’d love to see some of your stuff sometime. No pressure at all—just...if you ever want another set of eyes, I’m here.”
Kath’s stomach flipped. Sharing her lyrics felt incredibly intimate. It was more vulnerable than almost anything else she did. These were pieces of her soul she rarely let anyone see.
She was still trying to find the right words when she heard it.
The soft, familiar notes of a guitar.
Chase had picked up an acoustic in the corner and was quietly playing the melody they’d been working on together—the one that had come to life the night they wrote at her house.
The sound wrapped around her like a warm blanket.
Suddenly, sharing didn’t feel quite so terrifying.
Kath looked back at Bonnie, a small, tentative smile forming.
“Maybe,” she said. “Yeah...maybe I’d like that.”
***
Chase
Chase leaned against the workbench in the garage, the familiar smell of oil and metal grounding him as he watched his dad wipe grease from his hands.
The news about Willa had hit the club like a ripple—happy but heavy.
He’d known about the pregnancy for a few weeks now, and liked how that made him feel a little more secure in the circle of family.
She and his dad already had a boy, Garrett, who’d just turned two.
Now she was pregnant again. Everyone was celebrating, but this time, all Chase could think about was Hoss.
It had been a little over a year since Hope died. Just hours after bringing Faith Inez—sweet little Faynez—into the world. One minute Hoss had a wife and a new baby. The next...nothing. The kind of loss that hollowed a man out and left the club walking on eggshells around him ever since.
The fear had been gnawing at Chase for days.
“Dad,” he said quietly, voice rough. “Willa being pregnant...it’s good.
I know it’s good. But after what happened to Hope...
” He swallowed hard. “What if something goes wrong? What if—just, Jesus fuck, what if you lose her like Hoss lost Hope? I keep seeing it. Mom’s face, then Hope’s.
Faynez without her mama. It twists me up. ”
Mason straightened slowly, tossing the rag over his shoulder. For a long moment, he just looked at his son, eyes sharp but not unkind. Then he gave that trademark half shrug, the one that said the world was complicated but not impossible.
“Life’s got teeth, son. Always has. You’re not wrong to feel it—Hoss’ hurt is real, and it echoes.
But borrowin’ tomorrow’s grief for today just steals today’s peace.
” Mason stepped closer, voice dropping to that low, steady rumble that had calmed a hundred brothers in worse storms. “Willa’s strong.
Doc’s watchin’ her close. Ain’t the same as what happened to Hope, and it sure as hell ain’t the same as what happened to your mother. Different roads.”
Chase let out a shaky breath, the knot in his chest loosening just a fraction under his father’s unflinching gaze.
Mason clapped a heavy hand on his shoulder. “You feel the worry? Good. Means you give a damn. But don’t let it own you. We celebrate the wins when they come, we stand up when the bad hits, and we keep ridin’. That’s all any of us can do. You hear me?”
Chase nodded, the pithy truth settling over the fear like a well-worn cut. Manageable. Not gone, but manageable. “Yeah. I hear you.”
Mason squeezed once more before letting go. “Good. Now pass me that wrench. We got work to do.”