Chapter Twelve
Chase
Chase stood near the back of the rehearsal space, guitar slung low, watching the rest of the band run through the setlist for their upcoming show in Michigan.
The venue was bigger than most of the places they’d played lately—a real step up thanks to the Iron Indian push.
Everyone else seemed excited. Focused. Ready.
He felt like he might throw up.
It wasn’t stage fright exactly. He knew the songs. He knew his parts. But the idea of stepping onto a bigger stage, with more eyes on him—Mason’s kid trying to prove he belongs—made his skin feel too tight.
He slipped away while the others were tweaking the bridge of the new track and found a quiet corner with just his acoustic. His fingers found the strings almost on their own, picking out that same rolling melody that had been living in his head since the night on the tailgate with Kath.
The notes came easy. Warm. A little hopeful. A little aching. Playing it settled something deep in his chest. The nerves didn’t disappear, but they quieted enough for him to breathe.
He pulled out his phone and opened a video call before he could overthink it.
Kath answered on the third ring. Her face filled the screen—hair messy, wearing an old band tee, looking like she’d just gotten off work.
“Hey,” she said, a small smile tugging at her lips. “You look like you’re thinking too hard.”
Chase let out a short laugh. “We’re heading to Michigan in a couple days. Bigger stage. I’m...nervous. Been playing that melody you inspired the other night just to keep from losing my mind.”
Kath’s expression softened. “The one you said fit my lyrics?”
“Yeah. That one.”
She was quiet for a second, then tilted her head. “Bring your guitar and come over. We can try working on it together. If you want.”
Chase didn’t even hesitate. “I’ll be there in twenty.”
Kath laughed. “I kinda think you’ll need to know where you’re going.”
One address later, the call disconnected, and Chase was on his way.
***
When he pulled up to her place, Kath was waiting on the small front porch, notebook in her lap. She looked nervous too, but in a different way—like she was stepping into something new and wasn’t sure if she should.
They settled on the couch inside, close but not touching. Chase started playing the melody softly. Kath listened for a while, then flipped open her notebook and began reading lines that matched the feeling perfectly.
They worked like that for nearly an hour—him playing, her reading and adjusting lyrics, both of them feeding off each other in a way that felt electric and natural at the same time. The song started taking real shape. Something raw and hopeful.
During a break, Chase set his guitar down and looked at her.
“I can’t get over how great it feels to be hearing the words that go with the music.
” Chase smiled gently. “I’m serious about it.
I talked to one of the band members, and they said having music show up like this is something special.
That doesn’t happen often. I can’t wait to hear the lyrics sung aloud. ”
Kath looked down at her notebook, thumb tracing the edge of a page. When she looked back up, there was something vulnerable and wondering in her eyes.
“I don’t know what to say to that,” she admitted. “Part of me wants to run. The other part...” She let out a shaky breath. “The other part really wants to see what happens if I stop running.”
Chase reached over and brushed his fingers lightly over the back of her hand. Not grabbing. Just there.
“You don’t have to decide anything tonight,” he said softly. “We can just keep doing this. Writing. Riding. Whatever feels right.”
Kath turned her hand over and laced her fingers with his.
For the first time since he’d met her, she didn’t look like she was waiting for the axe to fall.
She looked like she was starting to believe it might not.
***
Kath
Kath sat cross-legged on the couch, notebook open on her lap, heart beating way too fast for something as simple as writing lyrics with a boy.
But this wasn’t just any boy.
This was Chase, sitting close enough that she could smell the faint scent of his soap and the leather from his guitar strap.
His fingers moved over the strings with quiet confidence, pulling out that warm, rolling melody he’d been hearing in his head.
Every time he played a new variation, her words seemed to fit even better.
It felt like a dream.
A dangerous, beautiful dream.
She hadn’t told him yet that she couldn’t leave the house.
Maudie still hadn’t woken up from whatever bender she’d been on last night.
Kath had checked on her twice already—her sister was breathing, just dead to the world and pale.
The worry sat like a stone in her stomach, but she kept pushing it down.
She didn’t want to ruin this moment. Not when it felt this good.
“You okay?” Chase asked softly, pausing mid-phrase.
“Yeah,” she lied, offering a small smile. “Keep playing. That bridge part...it’s perfect.”
He nodded and started again. His voice wasn’t polished, but it was warm and honest, and when he sang a rough harmony under her latest lines, something clicked so perfectly that it made her chest ache.
This was what she’d always wanted. Someone who heard her words and gave them music. Someone who made the scary parts feel less lonely.
She was so caught up in it that she almost missed what he said next.
“Bonnie heard me playing this,” Chase said casually, still strumming. “She asked about it. When I told her the lyrics were yours, she said she’d love to hear them sometime. Offered to help put music to anything you wanted to share. No pressure.”
Kath froze.
Bonnie.
As in Bonnie Dupont.
Vic Montrose’s fiancée.
The same Bonnie who played with Occupy Yourself.
The same band that included Benny Jones.
And Victor Montrose.
And Chase.
Her brain short-circuited.
She was sitting here writing songs with Chase Mason—the guy whose father ran the Rebel Wayfarers MC, the guy who played rhythm guitar in one of the hottest up-and-coming bands in the region—and now Bonnie Dupont wanted to hear her lyrics?
Kath felt her face go hot, then cold. Her pulse thundered in her ears. She tried to keep her expression neutral, but she knew she was failing miserably. Her hands tightened around her notebook until the pages crinkled.
“You...you mean the Bonnie?” she asked, voice coming out higher than she intended. “Bonnie Dupont? From Blazeborn and Occupy Yourself?”
Chase looked up, eyebrows raised slightly. “Yeah. She’s awesome. Really down-to-earth.”
Kath’s mind spun. She was suddenly hyperaware of everything—the modest living room, the faint smell of last night’s takeout, the fact that her hungover sister was passed out down the hall, and that she was just a coffee shop girl with a notebook full of messy lyrics and a bike she’d bought with money she probably shouldn’t have spent.
Of course he knew Bonnie Dupont.
Of course his world was that big.
She forced a laugh that sounded brittle even to her own ears. “That’s...wow. I didn’t put things together before, you know? Didn’t know you were that connected.”
Chase set his guitar down, concern flickering across his face. “Hey. It’s not a big deal. She just thought your words had to be strong if they were still echoing after so many days. You don’t have to do anything with it if you don’t want to.”
Kath nodded too quickly. The dream was cracking.
Not because of him—he was still looking at her like she mattered—but because her brain wouldn’t stop screaming that she was out of her depth.
That girls like her didn’t get to write songs with people like Bonnie Dupont.
That this kind of thing always ended with her getting hurt.
“I should check on Maudie,” she said suddenly, standing up. “She wasn’t feeling great earlier.”
Chase stood too, worry clear in his eyes. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah. Just...sister stuff.” She offered him a weak smile. “Thanks for coming over. This was really nice.”
He studied her for a long moment, like he could see straight through the panic she was trying to hide. Then he nodded gently.
“Anytime,” he said. “Text me later if you want. Or if you need anything.”
Kath walked him to the door, heart still racing. As she watched his truck pull away, she leaned her forehead against the doorframe and let out a shaky breath.
She wanted this—the music, the connection. Him.
But the fear was loud tonight.
Louder than it had been in a long time.