Page 71 of What They Say

“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.

“These things are a scourge on the world,” he muttered, kicking a rogue piece of packing material.

Kath laughed from the other side of the room, where she was attempting to wrangle a bookshelf into the corner. Her platinum hair was piled messily on top of her head with a pencil stuck through it, and she had a smudge of dust across one cheek. She looked ridiculously happy, cheeks flushed from effort, eyes bright every time she glanced his way. “We’ve been at this for two hours, and we still don’t have a single piece of functional furniture. This is why people pay professionals.”

Chase grinned despite himself. “Yeah, well, we’re building character. Or a very wobbly future.”

The knock on the door came like salvation.

Bear filled the doorway when Chase opened it, toolbox in one massive hand and a six-pack of cold beer in the other. Eddie had sent him with a container of her famous cookies too, judging by the smell.

“Heard you two were drowning in Swedish hell,” Bear rumbled, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. His eyes swept the disaster zone with amused pity. “Figured I’d save you from yourselves before you hurt each other with those itty-bitty wrenches.”

Chase exhaled in pure relief. “You’re a lifesaver, man.”

Bear took one look at the carnage, shook his head, and immediately rolled up his sleeves. “Step aside, kids.” Within minutes, he had the couch frame behaving, his deep, steady voice calmly directing them like he was overseeing a bike build. Kath handed him pieces with a grin, and Chase held things still, the three of them falling into an easy rhythm. The big man moved with the same unflappable confidence he brought to every engine rebuild, turning utter chaos into something that actually resembled furniture.

Half an hour later, Myron showed up unannounced, laptop under one arm and a coil of cables over his shoulder. “Bear said something about ‘those kids are gonna try to stream on public Wi-Fi like heathens.’ Figured I’d save you from terrible buffering.”

Chase grinned as he let the tech wizard in. “Guilty as charged.”

While Bear and Kath tackled the bed frame in the bedroom—Bear’s low chuckles mixing with Kath’s laughter—Myron took over a corner of the living room, muttering about signal strength, mesh networks, and “proper infrastructure” like it was a tactical operation. The apartment slowly started to feel less like a temporary storage unit and more like home.

Then Hurley rolled up.

The deep rumble of a heavy-duty truck announced him before he even knocked. When Chase opened the door, Hurley was already unhitching a shiny new grill from the trailer behind his truck—top-of-the-line, complete with smoker attachment and more knobs than Chase knew what to do with.

“Housewarming gift,” Hurley announced, clapping Chase on the shoulder hard enough to jolt him. “Can’t have my favorite almost-prospect living off takeout. Lit the charcoal before I left the house, so the ribs are already seasoned and on. Low and slow. Set a timer. They’ll be ready in a few hours.”

Before Chase could properly thank him, more bikes started pulling in. Brothers showed up in ones and twos—some with six-packs and tool kits, others with nothing but big grins and loud opinions about where the bookshelf should go. Gifts appeared: a set of heavy cast-iron pans from a group of the old ladies, a framed photo of the band onstage from Slate, a ridiculously large box of condoms and lube from a smirking Ruger (which earned him a swat from Bear and laughter from everyone else).

The small apartment filled fast. Voices boomed off the walls, deep laughter rolled through the rooms, and the mouthwatering smell of Hurley’s ribs drifted through the open windows. It was beautiful, overwhelming chaos. Found family at its loudest and most loving.

Chase caught Kath’s eye across the crowded living room. She tilted her head towards the bedroom with a mischievous little smile that made his heart flip. He followed her without hesitation, weaving through the crowd of leather cuts and good-natured ribbing until they slipped into the bedroom and quietly closed the door behind them.

They didn’t stop there.

Kath grabbed his hand and pulled him into the nearly empty walk-in closet, sliding the door shut. The space was tight, dark, and still smelled faintly of fresh paint and new carpet. Perfect.