Chapter Five
Kath
Kath flopped backwards onto her bed, phone propped against a stack of pillows so the camera caught her face. The room was dark except for the glow of her bedside lamp and the blue light from her screen. She hit the video call button before she could chicken out.
Emy picked up on the second ring.
Her best friend’s face filled the screen—messy bun, oversized college hoodie, and the familiar worried crease between her eyebrows that Kath had seen a thousand times.
“Hey, stranger,” Kath said, forcing a bright smile. “You look like you’re one bad day away from burning the dorm down.”
Emy let out a tired laugh and rubbed her eyes. “You have no idea. God, I needed to see your face. How are you?”
Kath opened her mouth to tell her everything—about the bike, the diner, the boy with the intense gray eyes who made her stomach flip—but Emy’s expression stopped her cold. Her friend looked...defeated.
“Talk to me,” Kath said instead, softening her voice. “What happened?”
Emy groaned and leaned back, the camera angle shifting to show the cluttered dorm room behind her.
“I didn’t get it. The director spot for the big media piece this semester.
The one I’ve been prepping for since last year.
They gave it to some film-major trust-fund kid who’s never even held a camera before. ”
“Emy...”
“I know, right?” Emy’s voice cracked. “I stayed up for three nights straight editing my reel. I had this whole vision of raw, honest, real stories from students who actually have something to say. And they picked some polished bullshit with perfect lighting and zero soul.”
Kath’s heart squeezed. She hated hearing that tone in Emy’s voice—the one that said the world was winning again.
The memory hit her like it always did—sharp and sudden.
Two years ago, just after midnight, a soft but insistent knock had pulled Kath out of a restless sleep.
She’d crept to the front door with Maudie right behind her, both of them in pajamas, hearts pounding.
When they opened it, Emy stood on the porch, drenched from the pouring rain, a faded duffel bag clutched tight against her chest like a shield.
Water streamed off her hair and clothes, pooling at her feet.
Her eyes were wide and haunted, and even in the dim porch light, Kath could see the bruises blooming along her arms and the side of her neck—ugly fingerprints that told a story no one should ever have to live.
Maudie didn’t hesitate. She stepped forwards, wrapped an arm around Emy’s shivering shoulders, and pulled her inside without a single question.
“You’re safe now,” she’d said firmly, her voice steady even though Kath could feel her sister trembling with rage.
“Come on, baby girl. Let’s get you warm. ”
They moved as a team, the way they always did when one of their own was hurting.
Kath ran to the bathroom for towels while Maudie guided Emy to the couch and peeled off her soaked hoodie.
Kath returned with the biggest, softest blanket they owned and a pair of her own sweatpants.
Together, they dried Emy’s hair, helped her change, and wrapped her up tight.
Maudie made hot cocoa with the last of the milk while Kath sat on the floor in front of Emy, holding her icy hands and rubbing warmth back into them.
It took hours for the whole story to come out—halting words between sobs. The latest foster placement, the one that was supposed to be permanent, had gone wrong. The man in the house had started with long stares, then “accidental” touches, then worse. Emy had run the moment she could.
Maudie’s jaw had stayed locked the entire time, but her hands were gentle as she brushed Emy’s damp hair back from her face and whispered, “He’ll never touch you again.
I swear it.” Kath had curled up on Emy’s other side, arm around her waist, offering what little comfort she could while her own stomach twisted with helpless fury.
They stayed like that all night—two big sisters on either side of their broken girl—talking her through the panic, fetching water when she cried herself hoarse, and promising over and over that she wasn’t alone anymore.
The next morning, they presented a united front at the social worker’s office.
Maudie did most of the talking, her voice sharp and unyielding as she laid out every detail.
Kath stood on Emy’s other side, hand firmly in hers, refusing to let go even when the adults tried to separate them.
They were guard dogs in human form—fierce, protective, and unwilling to back down until the system finally listened and pulled Emy out of that house for good.
That was the night the three of them made their first real ride-or-die promise. No matter what. No matter where life tried to scatter them. They would always have one another’s backs.
“I’m so sorry,” Kath said quietly. “That sucks. You deserved it. You earned it.”
Emy shrugged, but her eyes were shiny. “Maybe I didn’t.
Maybe I’m just kidding myself. I switched to the arts program because I thought I could actually do something that mattered, you know?
Tell real stories. Make people feel something.
But every day it feels like I’m drowning in pretentious assholes who already have connections and money and...
and... God, Kath, what if I made a huge mistake?
What if I should’ve just done something safe?
Business. Nursing. Anything that actually pays. ”
Kath sat up straighter, leaning closer to the phone like she could reach through the screen and hug her.
“Emy. Listen to me. You are the most talented person I know. You see things other people don’t.
You make people care. That trust-fund kid?
He’ll make something pretty that everyone forgets in two weeks.
You would’ve made something that matters.
And if they can’t see that, then fuck them.
You keep going. You keep fighting. Because the world needs your version of things. ”
Emy was quiet for a long moment, wiping at her eyes with her sleeve.
“You always know what to say,” she muttered. “Even when I’m spiraling.”
“That’s my job,” Kath said, smiling gently. “Ride or die, remember? Half a state away doesn’t change shit.”
Emy gave a watery laugh. “Yeah. Ride or die.” She blew out a breath. “Enough about my disaster. Tell me something good. How’s the bike treating you? Any new bruises from that thing?”
Kath hesitated. The perfect opening. She wanted to tell Emy about Chase.
About the way he’d looked at her like she was interesting, not just hot.
About how they’d talked for a real hour without him once trying to steer the conversation towards getting her into bed.
About how she couldn’t stop thinking about him.
But Emy looked so tired. So raw.
So Kath swallowed the words and smiled instead.
“The bike’s good. Really good. Makes me feel free, you know? Like I can outrun everything for a little while.”
Emy studied her through the screen, eyes narrowing just slightly. “You’re holding back. I can tell. Spill it, Granola Bandit.”
Kath laughed softly. “There might be a guy. Maybe. I don’t know. I met him at the diner this morning. He knew the guy who built my bike. We just talked. But he was different, you know? Quiet. Real.”
Emy’s face lit up despite everything. “Oh my God. Details. Right fucking now.”
Kath shook her head, cheeks warming. “Not yet. It was just one conversation. Probably nothing.”
But even as she said it, she knew she was lying. Talking to Chase hadn’t felt like nothing. It had been special, and if she let it, it might even be the start of something good.
***
Chase
Chase couldn’t stop thinking about her.
Two days had passed since the diner, and Kath’s face kept flashing behind his eyes at the worst possible moments, like during rehearsal when he was supposed to be locking in with Benny, while he was helping Bear tune a carburetor, even when he was lying in bed staring at the ceiling at Bear’s house.
Platinum hair catching the light. That sharp, amused smirk when she called him out for staring. The way her voice dipped into a lower register when she talked about music feeling like a lifeline.
He’d failed at Flirting 101, because he didn’t have a number or a last name, just “Kath.” And the memory of red stockings and a custom blue-and-white bike that Bear had poured his soul into.
“Earth to Chase.”
Vic’s voice snapped him back to the present. They were in Slate’s studio, running through a new arrangement for the third time. The rest of the band was watching him expectantly.
“Sorry,” Chase muttered, adjusting the strap on his guitar. “Mind’s somewhere else.”
Benny raised an eyebrow but didn’t push. “You good, man?”
“Yeah. Just distracted.” He grinned, thinking of Kath’s smile. “Might happen again, but I’ll put in the effort, promise.”
Distracted was an understatement. He’d driven past the diner twice yesterday like some kind of creep, hoping to catch another glimpse of that bike. He hadn’t seen it. Hadn’t seen her.
After rehearsal wrapped, Chase lingered while the others packed up. Vic hung back, wiping down his kit with a towel.
“You’ve been off the last couple days,” Vic said quietly. “Everything all right with the club? Or is there something else?”
Chase hesitated. Vic had become one of the few people he actually trusted to shoot straight with him.
“I met a girl,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “At the diner the other morning. She was riding one of Bear’s custom jobs, a sharp-looking blue-and-white beauty. We talked for a while. She was different. Talking to her was different.”
Vic’s grin spread, slow and knowing. “Different how?”
“Smart. Funny in that sharp way but never mean. Didn’t seem impressed by the whole ‘Mason’s kid in a band’ thing. Called me out for staring at her bike.” Chase let out a short laugh. “Didn’t even try to play it cool. Just totally real.”
Vic nodded, understanding flickering across his face. “Sounds like someone worth pursuing.”
“Yeah.” Chase stared at the floor. “Problem is, I don’t know her last name. Don’t know where she works. Just ‘Kath.’”
Vic clapped him on the shoulder. “Fort Wayne’s not that big. And if she’s riding Bear’s bike, he probably knows who she is. Ask him.”
Chase hadn’t thought of that. Hope flared in his chest, the feeling sharp and unfamiliar.
Later that evening, he found Bear in the garage, elbow-deep in an old bike.
“Hey, big man,” Chase said, leaning against the workbench. “That blue-and-white custom you finished a while back...who ended up with it?”
Bear straightened, wiping his hands on a rag. He tipped his head to the side as he looked at Chase. “Why? You finally gonna stop pretending you don’t notice pretty girls on bikes?”
Chase felt his ears heat. “Just curious.”
Bear chuckled. “Girl’s name is Kath. Kathleen, I think. Tough kid. Friend of a friend’s little sister. Saved up her own money for it. Doesn’t take shit from anybody.” He eyed Chase knowingly. “She got under your skin already?”
“Something like that,” Chase admitted.
Bear nodded towards the house. “She works at The Grindhouse downtown. Coffee shop. Shifts are kinda random, but she’s usually there afternoons.”
Chase felt that pull again—stronger this time. Not just curiosity. Something deeper. Like the same instinct that told him when a riff was right.
“Thanks, Bear.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” Bear called after him as Chase headed for his truck. “That girl’s got walls higher than Mason’s. Good luck, kid.”
Chase climbed into his loud, club-modified truck and sat there for a moment, engine rumbling.
He thought about all the reasons he should let it go.
He was still figuring out his place in OY.
Still proving he wasn’t just riding on the coattails of his father’s name.
Adding a girl, especially one who seemed as guarded as he was, felt like asking for complications.
But then he remembered the way she’d looked at him across the diner booth. Like she saw him. Not Mason’s son. Not the new guy in the band.
Just Chase.
He shifted into gear and pointed the truck towards downtown.
Some things were worth chasing.
Even if they came with red stockings, sharp words, and walls he’d have to earn the right to climb.
***
Kath
Kath parked in the employee lot behind The Grindhouse and sat on the bike for a long moment, helmet still on, letting the day’s warmth fade from her skin.
The conversation with Chase still lingered in her mind like a favorite song she couldn’t stop replaying—his quiet laugh, the way his voice had softened when he said her name.
She finally swung off the bike and pulled her helmet free, shaking out her hair.
As she turned towards the back door, a prickle crawled up the back of her neck—the unmistakable feeling of being watched.
It wasn’t the casual glance of a coworker or a customer cutting through the lot. This felt heavier. Intentional.
Kath paused, heart picking up speed. She scanned the rows of cars, her grip tightening on the helmet.
A dark sedan sat two rows over, windows tinted too dark for the bright afternoon sun.
No one got out. No doors opened. The engine wasn’t even running.
It just sat there, like whoever was inside had been waiting specifically for her.
A cold knot formed in her stomach. This wasn’t the first time she’d noticed it lately—a shadow in her periphery, the same nondescript car appearing in odd places.
She’d brushed it off as leftover paranoia from years of living with Mom’s drama and unpredictable boyfriends.
But this felt different. More focused. More wrong.
Her pulse hammered. Enough. She wasn’t going to spend her whole life shrinking and hiding.
Kath took a step towards the sedan, chin lifted, mouth already opening to call out. “Hey! Can I help you with something?”
For a split second, nothing happened. Then the engine roared to life with a guttural growl.
Tires screeched against the pavement as the car reversed sharply, fishtailing once before shooting forwards and speeding out of the lot.
She caught only a glimpse of the rear plate, mud-splattered and unreadable, before it disappeared around the corner.
Kath stood frozen, helmet dangling from her fingers, adrenaline surging through her veins.
Her breath came shallow and fast. She wanted to believe it was nothing.
Just some creep who got spooked. But the fear lingered, thick and bitter, wrapping around the warm memory of Chase until it felt tainted.
She walked a little faster to the back door, keys already in hand, and didn’t breathe easily until she was inside the coffee shop’s familiar bustle, surrounded by the clatter of cups and the hiss of the espresso machine.