Page 41 of What They Say

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.”