Page 34 of What They Say

They ran through an older track first, something simple from the early days. Benny’s voice started rough around the edges, but by the second chorus, it opened up—raw and honest, carrying the weight of everything he’d been through. When the last chord faded, the room went quiet for a beat.

Vic was the first to speak, drumsticks still in hand. “Damn, Benny. That sounded real.”

Benny let out a shaky laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Felt real too. First time I’ve sung that one sober in...hell, I don’t even know how long.”

Bonnie leaned forwards, eyes shining. “It shows. There’s a depth there now that wasn’t there before. Pain and hope all mixed together. It’s beautiful.”

Chase fought hard for words as he watched his friend. Benny looked vulnerable under the studio lights, but he also looked present—really here, not hiding behind the manic energy or the bottle. “You sound like you again,” Chase said quietly. “Better, even.”

Benny met his eyes, something grateful and a little scared flickering across his face. “Thanks, man. For sticking around. For not giving up on this even when I made it hard.”

The band shared a long look. They were four people who had been through chaos and had come out the other side still standing. Bonnie reached over and squeezed Vic’s knee, the quiet gesture speaking volumes about the kind of love and support they all leaned on.

“All right,” Benny said, straightening a little. “Let’s try something new. Chase, you got that melody you’ve been working on? The one inspired by...what’s her name again?”

Heat crept up Chase’s neck even as he grinned. “Kath.”

Benny’s grin turned knowing. “Yeah. Kath. Play it. I want to hear what’s got you all twisted up in the best way.”

Chase picked out the warm, rolling progression he’d first heard the night Kath read her lyrics to him. Vic joined in with a soft heartbeat rhythm. Bonnie added gentle accents, and Benny listened for a full pass before layering in a tentative vocal line—low and searching, full of the kind of ache that made the hairs on Chase’s arms stand up.

When they reached the bridge, Benny stopped and looked around the circle. “This one’s got legs. Real ones. Feels like starting over. Clean.”

The band played it again, tighter this time, the music swelling with hope and hard-won second chances.

Chapter Ten

Mason

Mason wandered into the dimly lit garage, the scent of oil and metal thick in the air. Most of the brothers had already turned in for the night, but for him, sleep felt miles away. He watched Bear methodically polishing the tank of a half-finished custom bike, the big man’s movements slow and deliberate, giving Mason the space he needed to talk without feeling rushed.

“I’m fucking this up,” Mason said finally, voice rough. “Willa’s been in our lives more than two years now, and Chase still feels like a guest in what should be his own home. He’s polite. Too polite. Calls her ‘ma’am’ sometimes when he’s distracted, like she’s one of the old ladies instead of my woman. I see the way he watches us—he gets all kinds of quiet, careful. Like he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

Bear didn’t look up right away. He ran the cloth over a curve of chrome, then finally straightened, fixing Mason with that steady, no-bullshit stare he was known for.

“You think the kid doesn’t like her.”

Mason let out a harsh breath. “Wouldn’t blame him. Willa’s nothing like what he’s used to. She laughs too loud, leaves her skateboards all over the damn porch, argues with me about everything from dinner to club business. After Carrie—” He stopped, jaw tightening at the name.

Bear nodded once, understanding. “Carrie Sosa.”

“Yeah.” Mason’s voice dropped. “You’ve heard the stories. How my kid grew up in pure chaos. Lies stacked on lies. People using him as leverage, forgetting him when it was convenient, or dragging him through whatever mess she cooked up next. Then he finally gets to me, and I bring another woman into his life. I keep wondering if he sees Willa as just one more person who’s gonna leave when things get hard.”

Bear set the rag down and leaned against the workbench, crossing his massive arms. “You’re wrong, brother. Dead wrong.”

Mason raised an eyebrow.

“Chase likes Willa,” Bear said flatly. “More than that—he respects the hell out of her. Kid looks up to her. I’ve seen it. The way he listens when she’s talking tech with Myron. The way he relaxes when she gives you shit for burning the burgers again. How she’s a gentle and patient mother to Garrett. She’s been through fire and come out stronger on the other side. Smart. Tough. Doesn’t take shit from anybody—not even the national president. That’s rare. Chase sees that strength. It means something to him after everything Carrie put him through.”

Mason rubbed a hand over his face, the tension in his chest shifting but not fully easing. “He barely talks to her unless I’m right there.”

“Because he’s figuring out where he fits now,” Bear replied. “Boy spent years surviving in Carrie’s world—watching her burn bridges, watching her use people up and toss them aside, plus knowing she died the way she did. That leaves scars. Deep ones. Then he lands here with you, finally has a father who gives a damn, and suddenly there’s a woman in the house who loves you openly. Who sticks. Who laughs in the kitchen like she belongs there. That’s new. That’s scary for him. Don’t force it.”

Mason was quiet for a long moment, letting the words sink in. He pictured Chase at the dinner table the other night—how his oldest son had actually smiled when Willa teased him about his terrible taste in music. How Chase had quietly asked her a question about one of her old hacking stories when he thought Mason wasn’t listening.

“Roll slow,” Bear continued, voice low and steady. “Let him come to her at his own pace. Kid’s got good instincts. He’ll get there. Just make sure the door stays open and you keep your ass in check. For the love of God, don’t try to shove him through it.”

Mason exhaled, some of the weight lifting from his shoulders. “Didn’t realize I was doing that.”