Page 8 of What They Say

He swallowed hard and kept playing, matching Benny’s rhythm even as his mind spun. Benny caught him staring and flashed that too-bright grin again. “You good, man?”

“Yeah,” Chase lied, looking down at his guitar. “Just vibing with the crowd. They’re insane tonight.”

Benny nodded, seemingly satisfied, and launched into the next song.

The set blurred after that. Chase watched every move, every missed beat, the way Benny’s energy frayed at the edges like old rope. By the final song, Benny was sweating hard, his face pale under the stage lights. The last chord rang out, and the crowd roared.

Benny stepped to the mic for the usual thanks—and froze.

His knees buckled.

The mic stand clattered as he went down hard, body convulsing once before going still. The amp feedback screamed. The crowd’s roar turned to gasps, then chaos.

Heart hammering against his ribs, Chase set his guitar in the stand and shoved through the small crowd that had immediately surrounded his friend. “Benny!”

Slate was already there, dropping to his knees beside his brother. “Call 911! Now!”

The medics arrived fast, so fast that Chase thought of how Mason was in town for the concert, and he must have made calls. Chase stood frozen just inside the doors as they wheeled Benny out on a stretcher. He looked small. Too small. Skin gray, lips cracked, the restless energy that defined him replaced by unnatural stillness. An oxygen mask covered half his face. Machines beeped steadily as they loaded him into the ambulance Mason had somehow arranged in the past twenty minutes.

***

Benny had almost died.

The words continually looped through Chase’s head like a broken record. Benny almost died. Right there, on the stage they’d played together just nights ago. If the medics hadn’t gotten to him when they did... If the hospital hadn’t been close by...

Everything could’ve gone so badly.

Chase’s throat closed. Guilt slammed into him so hard his knees nearly buckled.

And I knew.

He’d seen the tremor in Benny’s hands. The too-bright smiles. The way he’d disappear for long stretches and come back either wired or crashing. Chase had noticed it all and stayed quiet because... Because I didn’t want to be a snitch. Because he was scared of what Mason would think of him.

Right now, Benny was being rolled into an exclusive rehab facility eight states away, and Chase couldn’t stop thinking that maybe if he’d said something—anything—none of this would’ve happened.

Tears burned behind his eyes. He turned away sharply, sucking in a shaky breath, trying to get it together before anyone saw him falling apart like a little kid.

A heavy hand landed on his shoulder.

“Outside, kid,” Bear rumbled, steering him firmly towards the side door before Chase could protest.

The big man didn’t say anything until they reached the garage behind the clubhouse. The familiar smells of motor oil, metal, and fresh paint wrapped around Chase like a blanket. Bear flicked on the overhead lights and nodded towards the half-finished custom bike on the lift.

“Grab the impact and help me with these exhaust pipes.”

Chase moved on autopilot, picking up the tool even though his hands were still shaking. For several long minutes, the only sounds were metal on metal and the occasional grunt from Bear as they worked.

Finally Bear spoke, low and steady.

“Everyone saw something, Chase. Slate saw the mood swings. Mason saw the disappearing act. I saw how his playing got sloppy last month. Hell, even Lucia mentioned he was either sleeping too much or not at all. But Benny’s good at hiding shit when he wants to. He worked damn hard to make sure none of us saw the whole picture.”

Chase swallowed thickly, eyes fixed on the chrome pipe in his hands. “I saw his hands shaking. A few nights ago in the back room. I knew something was wrong, and I didn’t say anything.”

Bear nodded once, not surprised. “And now that silence is eating at you.”

“I should’ve told someone.” Chase’s voice cracked. “If I had, maybe he wouldn’t be—”

“Maybe,” Bear cut in gently. “Or maybe he would’ve just gotten better at hiding it. Addicts are slippery like that. You’re not responsible for his choices, kid. Not even close.”