Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chase
Chase leaned against the doorway of Bear’s garage, watching the late-afternoon light slant across the concrete floor.
The place smelled like home. Strap over his shoulder, the acoustic rested against his hip, and he was idly picking out a soft, familiar melody with his fingers—the one he and Kath had finished together weeks ago.
Life had settled into something he could never have imagined, and truly barely recognized.
OY was thriving. The All the Way Back tour his Aunt Bethy set up as part of Iron Indian Records had been a success, and they were already talking about the next album. Mason had steadily been treating him like a man instead of just a son. And Kath...
He turned his head as she walked out of the house, a glass of sweet tea in each hand. She was wearing one of his old hoodies and a pair of cutoff shorts, hair still messy from their nap earlier. When she saw him, her whole face lit up.
God, I love her.
She handed him a glass and leaned into his side. “What are you thinking about?”
“Everything,” he said honestly. “How far we’ve come. How lucky I am.”
Kath smiled, resting her head on his shoulder. “We both are.”
They stood there in comfortable silence for a while, watching the sun dip lower.
Chase thought about the scared sixteen-year-old kid who’d once begged his father for a patch just to feel like he belonged somewhere.
That kid was gone. In his place was someone who knew exactly who he was: a musician, a son, a partner, a man building his own life.
He kissed the top of her head. “I love you.”
“I love you too,” she whispered. “Every damn day.”
***
Later that evening, the whole crew gathered at Marie’s for a low-key celebration. The band was there, along with several Rebels, Bear, and a few others who had become family. Sheri was running the merch table again, laughing at something Mitty said as he helped her restock.
Chase watched them for a moment, a slow grin spreading across his face.
Mitty had been different lately—lighter, more present.
Every time Sheri was around, the man lit up like a Christmas tree.
The two of them had been dancing around each other for months, stealing glances and finding excuses to work together.
Chase had a feeling it wouldn’t be long before Mitty stopped pretending he wasn’t completely gone for her.
Kath caught him staring and bumped his shoulder. “You plotting something?”
“Just thinking Mitty’s about to have his hands full,” Chase said with a quiet laugh. “Sheri doesn’t strike me as the type to let him get away with half measures.”
Kath followed his gaze and smiled. “Good. He deserves someone who’ll keep him on his toes.”
Chase pulled her closer, wrapping his arms around her from behind as they watched their friends. The music played, laughter filled the room, and for the first time in his life, everything felt exactly right.
He had the girl he loved. He had the band that had become his chosen family. He had a father who was finally learning how to be one.
And somewhere in the background, Mitty was blushing at something Sheri said, looking happier than Chase had ever seen him.
The future stretched out in front of them—full of tours, new songs, challenges, and quiet moments like this.
Chase pressed a kiss to Kath’s temple and held her a little tighter.
Whatever came next, they’d face it together.
And he couldn’t wait to see what kind of story they’d write.
***
Chase’s phone buzzed against the table, throwing his mind back to another night his dad had called.
The screen lit up with “Mason.” He stepped away from the group, thumbing Answer as he moved towards the quieter end of the hallway.
“Everything okay?” he asked immediately.
Mason’s voice came through, rough but warm. “More than okay, son. Willa just had him. Garrett Mason. Eight pounds, six ounces, loud as hell and healthy. Doc said it was textbook—quick, no complications. She’s tired but glowing. Both of ’em are perfect.”
Chase closed his eyes, remembering the wave of pure relief that had crashed over him. He hoped for the same outcome with this little one. Hoped for no blood, no fear, no more nightmare echoes of what had happened in the past.
His phone buzzed, and he saw “Dad” flash on the screen. Knowing he and Willa were at the hospital had Chase’s stomach pitching, because this call was hopefully about good news.
His dad’s voice was strong, ringing with pride and accomplishment. “Everyone’s good, son. Willa and Dolly are both healthy and doing well.”
He swallowed past the sudden thickness in his throat. “That’s...that’s great, Dad. Really great. Tell Willa I’m happy for her. For both of you.”
There was a pause on the other end, and then Mason cleared his throat.
Once. Twice. When he spoke again, his voice had gone gravelly, a rare crack showing through the iron control he usually kept wrapped tight around the club.
“Yeah. I’m—” He paused a moment, voice trembling.
“I’m real glad it went smooth, Chase. Real glad.
” He trailed off, the silence heavy with things neither of them needed to name.
“Didn’t realize how much I was holding my breath till she was here. ”
The admission landed soft and vulnerable in a way Mason almost never allowed himself—even with his brothers. But this was his son. Chase felt the weight of that trust settle warmly in his chest.
“Me too,” Chase said quietly. “A little girl. She’s gonna be spoiled rotten. I’m already thinking...maybe I can get her a little guitar when she’s big enough to hold one. Or at least some drums—something noisy. Kid’s gotta have music in her blood with you and Willa for parents.”
Mason let out a low chuckle, the choked-up edge easing into familiar wry humor. “Lord help us if she turns out half as stubborn as you were about it. But yeah...music sounds right. You come by when you can. She needs to meet her big brother.”
“I will. Soon as we wrap this stretch.”
They said their goodbyes, and the call ended.
A new life, safe and whole. His little sister. Dolly Jane was a great name. There were eighteen years between them—almost a full generation—and yet the protectiveness hit him hard and immediate.
Chase stood there a moment longer, phone still in his hand, a quiet smile tugging at his mouth.
He had a little brother who was just old enough to get into trouble at every turn, and now a little sister.
A healthy birth. Another piece of the future falling into place without the shadows that had haunted so much of their past.
He exhaled, lighter than he’d felt in days, and headed back towards the others.
***
Mitty
Mitty stood at the merch table long after the last fan had left, the arena lights dimmed to a soft glow overhead.
The familiar post-show chaos had quieted—roadies breaking down gear in the distance, the low hum of the bus generator outside—but none of it mattered.
His attention stayed fixed on Sheri as she worked the table with that focused precision he’d come to love.
Her hands moved with quiet efficiency, folding the remaining hoodies into crisp, even stacks, the fabric whispering under her fingers.
A strand of hair had slipped free from her ponytail, brushing her cheek, and she tucked it back without breaking rhythm.
She looked up and caught him staring. A slow, knowing smile curved her lips. “What?”
Mitty rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly nervous in a way that had nothing to do with stage lights or screaming crowds.
His heart beat heavy against his ribs, the kind of steady thump that came before jumping off a high dive.
He’d been thinking about this for weeks—through late-night bus rides, quiet hotel rooms, and every stolen moment they managed between cities.
“Just thinking...” He stepped around the edge of the table, voice low. “After this tour wraps, maybe we don’t have to keep doing the long-distance thing. Maybe I find a place here in Fort Wayne. Or...you could come on the road with us full-time.”
Sheri’s hands stilled on the hoodie she was folding. For a heartbeat, the arena felt impossibly quiet. Then her eyes softened, warm hazel catching the low lights, but there was that familiar spark of mischief dancing there too—the one that always made his chest feel too full.
“You asking me to move in with you, Mitty?” she asked, tilting her head, the smile playing at the corners of her mouth.
He closed the last bit of distance between them, heart pounding so hard he was sure she could hear it. “Yeah. I am.”
Sheri reached up, fingers curling into the front of his shirt, and tugged him down to her.
The kiss was slow and sure, tasting like the cherry lip balm she always wore and the quiet certainty they’d been building for months.
When she pulled back just enough to speak, her forehead rested against his.
“Then my answer’s yes,” she whispered against his lips, voice soft but steady. “But only if you promise to let me run the merch table my way. No arguments.”
Mitty laughed, the sound rumbling up from deep in his chest as he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close. She fit perfectly against him, warm and solid and real. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
They stood like that for a long moment, the empty arena stretching out around them, the distant sounds of the crew fading into background noise. He grinned widely, liking how this felt, how the road ahead didn’t feel lonely. It felt like home—wherever Sheri was.
***
Chase
Chase wiped sweat from his forehead and stepped back from the half-assembled couch frame, glaring at the instructions like they’d personally betrayed him.
The new apartment was small—“cozy,” Kath kept calling it with that soft, hopeful smile—but right now it felt like a battlefield of cardboard boxes, scattered Allen wrenches, orphaned screws, and one very stubborn particleboard shelf that refused to line up no matter how hard he cursed at it.