Chapter Three
Chase
Chase sat in his usual front window booth at the little diner on the edge of town, absently pushing scrambled eggs around his plate with his fork.
The morning sun poured through the windows, warm and bright, but his mind was still half-stuck in last night’s show.
The new songs were really starting to click.
The crowd had been loud. Vic and Benny had both told him afterwards that he was sounding tighter every practice and gig.
Still, something felt restless under his skin.
He took a sip of coffee and glanced out the window just as a deep, throaty rumble cut through the quiet morning air.
Chase knew that sound.
He’d spent hours in Bear’s garage watching the big man work on that bike—matte black with an electric blue-and-white schema streaking across the tank and fenders like lightning frozen in motion. Bear had been stupidly proud of the paint job. Said it was one of his favorites.
He hadn’t heard Bear say who’d bought it, but Chase expected to see one of the patched RWMC members pulling in.
What he saw instead made his breath catch.
A girl swung a leg over the bike to dismount with effortless confidence.
Short platinum hair caught the sunlight as she pulled off her helmet, the longer pieces on top falling messily across her forehead.
She wore a simple white tank top tucked into black shorts, bold red stockings that disappeared into black boots, and enough tattoos to tell him she didn’t give a damn what anyone thought.
A silver chain glinted at her waist. She looked like trouble wrapped in sunlight.
She stood for a second beside the bike, rolling her shoulders like she was shaking off a long ride, then turned towards the diner. Their eyes met through the glass for one electric second.
Chase’s heart slammed against his ribs.
She didn’t smile. She just held his gaze for a beat longer than necessary, one eyebrow lifting slightly like she was sizing him up. Then she broke the stare and walked towards the entrance, helmet tucked under her arm.
Who the hell is she?
Chase couldn’t look away. He watched her push through the door, the bell jingling overhead. She moved like she owned the room, not arrogant, just with certainty. Comfortable in her own skin in a way most people faked.
She ordered at the counter, then took a seat facing the window. When the waitress brought her coffee, she wrapped both hands around the mug like it was the only thing grounding her, something he could empathize with.
Chase realized he was staring again.
He forced his eyes back to his plate, but his pulse was still racing. That bike. That girl. The way she’d looked right at him like she could see straight through whatever mask he was wearing today.
He’d spent the last couple of years trying to figure out who he was when he wasn’t “Mason’s kid.” Trying to find his place in OY, in the club, or hell, in his own damn life. And on one random Tuesday morning, a girl on Bear’s custom bike had walked in and made everything feel louder.
He wanted to know her name.
He wanted to know why she was riding that bike.
He wanted more than that.
Chase let out a slow breath and risked another glance.
She was looking right back at him this time, lips curved in a small, amused smirk like she knew exactly what he was thinking.
Chase held her gaze, loving how bold she was. The moment was only broken when the waitress walked between them, depositing a plate in front of the gorgeous girl.
***
Chase’s coffee had gone lukewarm, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t stop watching her.
From the booth she’d sat in, she still projected the same easy confidence she’d shown getting off the bike. The red stockings stood out against the faded vinyl seat like a warning flag. Or an invitation. He wasn’t sure which.
Don’t stare, idiot, he told himself. You look like a creep.
But his eyes kept drifting back anyway. The way the sunlight caught the platinum streaks in her hair. The small tattoo peeking from the neckline of her white tank top. The way she drummed her fingers on the table like she was hearing music no one else could.
She was beautiful in a way that felt dangerous. Not soft. Not safe. The kind of beauty that made you forget you had reasons to keep your distance.
The waitress brought her a refill on her coffee. She thanked her with a quick smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes, then wrapped both hands around the mug again, bending close to take in a deep breath of the coffee.
Something I can feel. Something I can smell.
Chase recognized that move. He followed the same mantra most mornings when his head was too loud.
She’s got ghosts too.
The thought came uninvited and stuck.
He was still debating whether to go back to his eggs or do something stupid like introduce himself when she lifted her head and looked straight at him again. But this time she didn’t just glance. She held his gaze, one eyebrow arching slowly, like she was issuing a challenge.
Chase’s heart kicked hard against his ribs.
Fuck it.
He stood up before he could talk himself out of it, grabbed his coffee mug like a shield, and walked over. She watched him the whole way, expression unreadable.
“Hi,” he said, stopping at the edge of her booth. His voice came out steadier than he felt. “I, uh...noticed the bike outside. That’s Bear’s custom work, right? The blue-and-white streaking?”
She tilted her head, studying him like she was deciding whether he was worth the conversation. Up close, she was even more striking. Her face was all sharp cheekbones, full lips, and eyes that looked like they’d seen more than most people her age.
“Yeah,” she said finally. Her voice had a low, slightly raspy edge that did dangerous things to his pulse. “You know Bear?”
Chase nodded, sliding into the seat across from her without waiting for an invitation. She didn’t tell him to leave, so he took that as a win.
“I live at his place sometimes. Help out in the garage. I watched him dip and paint that tank for weeks. He was ridiculously proud of it.” He offered a small smile. “Didn’t expect to see anyone else riding it. Especially not...” He trailed off.
Especially not someone like you.
She finished the sentence for him anyway. “Especially not a girl?” Her tone was amused, but there was steel underneath it.
Chase rubbed the back of his neck, feeling heat creep up his ears. “That’s not what I meant. Just...most of the guys who ride Bear’s customs are patched. You don’t look like you belong to any charter I know.”
She laughed—the sound short, surprised, and genuine. “Good. I don’t. Name’s Kath.”
“Chase.”
She took a slow sip of coffee, eyes never leaving his. “So, Chase. You always walk up to girls in diners and comment on their bikes, or am I special?”
There it was. The sarcasm he’d suspected. It hit him like a shot of espresso—sharp, warm, and addictive.
“First time,” he admitted. “But that bike’s loud. Hard to miss. And you...you’re hard to miss too.”
Kath raised an eyebrow again. “Smooth. Do lines like that usually work for you?”
“Not even a little,” he said honestly. “I’m usually the guy in the corner who doesn’t talk much.”
“Yet here you are.” She leaned forwards slightly, resting her chin on her hand. “Talking.”
Chase felt something loosen in his chest. The usual weight of being the one still figuring shit out, it all felt a little lighter under the directness of her gaze.
“Yeah,” he said. “Here I am.”
They talked for nearly an hour.
She told him she knew Bear through a mutual friend and had been saving for months to buy the bike once it was finished. She rode it because it made her feel free. Because the roar drowned out everything else in her head. Chase understood that better than he could say.
He told her he played rhythm guitar in Occupy Yourself. She admitted she’d heard of them but hadn’t seen them live yet. When he asked what she did, she shrugged and said mostly she worked at a coffee shop downtown and wrote songs she never showed anyone.
“Too personal,” she said, tracing a finger around the rim of her mug. “Feels like handing someone a map to all the places I’m messed up.”
Chase nodded. “I get that. But sometimes the music feels like the only honest thing I’ve got.”
Their eyes met again, and this time the silence stretched. Not awkward. Charged.
Kath finally broke it. “You seem...different than I expected.”
“Expected?”
“Guy who looks like you? In a town full of bikers and musicians? Usually they’re all ego and noise.” She smirked. “You’re quiet. Watchful. Like you’re waiting for the world to prove it’s safe before you commit.”
Chase felt exposed, but in a way that didn’t make him want to run.
“Maybe I am,” he said quietly. “Spent a lot of years not feeling safe. Figured out it’s smarter to pay attention.”
Kath’s expression softened, just for a second. Then the walls came back up, but they weren’t quite as high as before.
“Yeah,” she murmured. “I know something about that.”
The waitress dropped off another cup of coffee for each of them, and Kath ordered a muffin.
They were quiet until it came back on a plate, and Kath offered him half without asking.
He took it. Then they kept talking—about music, about shitty families, about the way certain songs felt like lifelines. Chase lost track of time completely.
When she finally glanced at her phone and cursed under her breath, he felt a sharp tug of disappointment.
“Shit. I’m late for work.” She slid out of the booth and grabbed her helmet, fastening it into place. Then she paused, looking down at him. “You gonna keep staring at me every time I ride that bike around town?”
Chase grinned up at her, feeling bolder than he had in months. “Probably.”
Kath’s lips curved into a real smile this time—small but devastating.
“Good,” she said. “I’ll see you around, Chase.”
She walked out. The bell jingled behind her. Through the window, he watched her swing onto the blue-and-white bike, bring it to life, and roar out of the lot.