Page 67 of What They Say

Whatever came next—the road, the club, the music, the life they were building—they would face it together.

And he couldn’t wait.

***

Maudie

Maudie sat on the front steps of Stewart’s apartment, the evening air cool against her skin as she nursed a cup of cheap coffee. The door behind her creaked open and Stewart stepped out, two plates balanced in his big hands—simple grilled cheese and tomato soup, nothing fancy.

“You didn’t have to cook,” she said, but she took the plate anyway, scooting over so he could sit beside her.

Stewart shrugged, his shoulder brushing hers. “You had a long shift. Figured you shouldn’t have to think about dinner too.” He kept his voice low and steady, the same calm tone he’d used the night he’d pulled her back from lunging at Chase. No pressure. No demands. Just there.

They ate in comfortable silence for a while, the distant rumble of bikes from the clubhouse a few blocks away a familiar soundtrack now. Maudie glanced sideways at him. “You know I’m still a mess, right? Mom’s debt, the drinking. I mean, I’m working on it, but I’m not fixed. Might never be.”

Stewart set his empty plate aside and looked at her, eyes serious but kind. “I’m not looking for perfect, Maudie. Just real. You’ve been showing up for your sister even when it’s hard. That says a lot.” He hesitated, then added softly, “I’d like to be the guy you come home to after a bad day. If you’ll let me.”

Maudie felt something loosen in her chest. She leaned her head against his shoulder, the leather of his cut warm from the day. “Yeah,” she whispered. “I think I’d like that too.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Kath

The bank teller slid the final receipt across the counter with a polite smile.

“Paid in full,” she said. “Congratulations.”

Kath stared at the piece of paper for a long second, the number at the bottom finally reading zero. Nine thousand dollars of their mother’s mess—gone. She and Maudie had done it. Together.

She folded the receipt carefully and slipped it into her bag, her fingers lingering on the edge like she needed to make sure it was real. The weight that had pressed on her chest for months felt suddenly, impossibly lighter. All those double shifts at The Grindhouse, coming home with aching feet and the smell of burnt espresso in her hair, only to turn around and do it again the next day. All the nights Maudie had worked late at the bar, coming home exhausted, counting tips at the kitchen table while Kath pretended not to notice the dark circles under her eyes. The careful balancing act of trying to save for the debt without letting the fridge go empty, choosing between groceries and the electric bill, skipping meals so the other could eat.

They’d fought over every extra dollar. They’d cried in separate rooms so the other wouldn’t hear. They’d held each other together through the worst of it, even when it felt like they were barely surviving.

When she stepped outside, Maudie was waiting on the sidewalk, arms wrapped around herself even though the day wasn’t cold.

“It’s really done?” Maudie asked, voice small and wondering.

“It’s done,” Kath confirmed, the words catching in her throat.

They looked at each other for a beat, then both let out shaky, disbelieving laughs that quickly turned into something deeper. Maudie pulled her into a tight hug right there on the sidewalk, and for once, Kath didn’t tense up. She hugged her sister back just as hard, burying her face in Maudie’s shoulder as years of exhaustion, fear, and quiet desperation finally broke.

“Come on,” Maudie said, wiping at her eyes as they pulled apart. “Let’s go home. I’ll make coffee.”

Kath nodded, linking her arm through her sister’s as they started down the sidewalk. Now, right here, she got the feeling that the future wasn’t something they had to survive but could finally live.

***

Back at the house, they sat at the kitchen table with steaming mugs of coffee between them. The rich, dark aroma mixed with the faint sweetness of the vanilla creamer Kath had splurged on last week, filling the small space with something warm and almost luxurious. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable—it felt like the first real quiet they’d had in years. Late-afternoon light slanted through the blinds, striping the worn tabletop in soft gold and catching on the faint scratches and water rings that told the story of too many tense meals. For once, there was no thump of music from the living room, no scent of stale cigarettes or cheap vodka hanging in the air like a ghost. Just coffee, sunlight, and the gentle creak of the old wooden chairs as they shifted.

Kath wrapped both hands around her mug, letting the warmth seep into her palms. She could still feel the ghost of all those double shifts—the ache in her feet from standing for hours, the burn of hot steam on her arms, the way she and Maudie had carefully counted every extra dollar while deciding between rice and ramen or fresh vegetables. The quiet sacrifices. The nights they’d gone to bed hungry, feeling despair. It had been exhausting, but they’d done it. Together.

Maudie spoke first, tracing the rim of her mug with one finger, the quiet scrape of skin against ceramic the only sound for a moment.

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something.”

Kath’s stomach flipped, a nervous flutter mixing with the warmth of the coffee. She’d been meaning to talk to Maudie too—about Chase, about the future that suddenly felt possible instead of terrifying.

“Me too,” she said, her voice softer than she’d intended.