Page 26 of Giving Chase

The scratch of pen on paper seems unnaturally loud in the sterile conference room. I sign my name with a flourish - ElizaKerr, not Baxter - officially ending my second marriage after just over a year.

"Congratulations, Ms. Kerr," my lawyer says, her voice tinged with the awkward cheer of someone who's not sure if congratulations are appropriate. "You're officially divorced."

I nod, not trusting my voice. Relief mingles with a profound sense of failure as I gather my things. Another marriage, another mistake. As I step out into the bright Los Angeles sunshine, I can't help but wonder: why do I keep making the wrong choices?

Little do I know, at that very moment, 270 miles away in Las Vegas, Chase Avery is making a choice of his own - one that will send shockwaves through both our lives.

Days pass in a blur of work and carefully constructed avoidance of anything personal. I throw myself into contracts, marketing plans, anything to keep my mind off the empty house I return to each night.

It's nearly a week later when I finally allow myself a moment to breathe. I'm curled up on my couch, a glass of wine in hand, mindlessly flipping through a stack of industry magazines when a headline catches my eye, and my world tilts on its axis:

"INCENDIARY INK FRONTMAN CHASE AVERY'S SURPRISE VEGAS WEDDING!"

The wine glass slips from my suddenly numb fingers, spilling red across my white carpet. I barely notice. My eyes are glued to the page, drinking in the grainy paparazzi shot of Chase stumbling out of a chapel, a blonde in a mini dress clinging to his arm.

The article is a blur of sensationalized details - a whirlwind romance, a drunken ceremony, speculation about the band's future. But all I can focus on is the date: March 13th. The exactsame day my divorce was finalized. While I was signing away one failed marriage, Chase was stumbling into his own.

A laugh bubbles up in my throat, bitter and bordering on hysterical. Of course. Of course this would happen on the same day. Our timing has always been spectacularly, cosmically bad.

Unbidden, a memory surfaces: Chase and I, late night in the studio, just a month ago. The band was on a break, and I was already knee-deep in divorce proceedings that I’d kept to myself. Chase was playing a new song, something raw and beautiful that never made it onto an album.

"What do you think?" he'd asked, his eyes seeking mine in that way that always made my heart skip.

"It's beautiful," I'd said, meaning it. "But sad."

He'd shrugged, a half-smile playing on his lips. "Sometimes the best songs come from the saddest places."

I'd felt it then, the pull between us that had always been there. For a moment, I'd let myself imagine what it would be like to give in, to let myself fall. But then my wedding ring had caught the light, and I'd remembered why I couldn't.Not yet. Soon, maybe – if I was brave enough.

Now, staring at the news of Chase's impulsive marriage, performed at the exact moment I was freeing myself from my own, I wonder if that moment had meant as much to him as it had to me. Or if, perhaps, it had scared him into this rash decision.

The next few weeks are a whirlwind of rumors and speculation. The industry gossip mill is working overtime, and despite my best efforts to stay professional, bits and pieces reach my ears. Chase's new wife is a cocktail waitress he met the night of the wedding. He was on a bender when it happened. He's already talking to lawyers about an annulment.

Each new piece of information is a knife to my heart. I try to tell myself it's just concern for the band, for the brand we'vebuilt. But in the quiet moments, I can't deny the truth: it hurts because it's Chase.

Before I know it, it's time for the band's reunion meeting. As I step into the conference room at Blackmore Records, the tension is palpable. Will and Mark are already there, greeting me with awkward smiles. And then Chase walks in.

He looks... rough. Like he hasn't slept in weeks. But still, damn him, unfairly handsome. Our eyes meet, and for a moment, it's like no time has passed at all.

"Eliza," he says, his voice soft, almost reverent. "It's good to see you."

"You too," I manage, proud of how steady my voice sounds. "Congratulations on your marriage."

Pain flashes across his face, quickly replaced by shame. "Thanks," he says, the word sounding forced. "I heard about your divorce. I'm sorry."

The meeting passes in a haze of contract discussions and tour planning. I'm hyperaware of Chase's presence, of every move he makes, every word he speaks. The chemistry between us, that spark that's always been there, feels stronger than ever.

As the meeting wraps up, I head to the kitchenette for a much-needed coffee. I'm reaching for the pot when a familiar presence appears beside me.

"Still mainlining caffeine, I see," Chase says, a hint of his old teasing tone in his voice.

I turn, and suddenly we're too close. I can smell his cologne, see the flecks of gold in his green eyes. "Some things never change," I say, aiming for lightness but hearing the tremor in my voice.

"And some things do," he murmurs, his eyes searching mine. "Eliza, I... I made a mistake. A huge mistake."

My heart races. Is he talking about the wedding? About us? Before I can ask, he continues.

"I'm talking to lawyers. About an annulment. It... it never should have happened."

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