Page 70 of What They Say

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.