Page 35 of Giving Chase

As I'm pulled away, I look back at Eliza. She gives me a small wave, a mix of emotions playing across her face.

Later that night, as I fall into bed, still in my rumpled suit with three Grammy awards on the nightstand, my phone buzzes. It's a text from Eliza:

ELIZA: I'm proud of you, Chase. Always have been, always will be.

I stare at the message, a bittersweet ache filling me. Three Grammy awards, and yet the thing I want most still feels just out of reach. I know I need to try to move on, to accept that what Eliza and I have might never be more than what it is now. But nights like this make it so damn hard.

ME: Couldn't have done it without you. Thank you for everything, Eliza.

As I hit send, I make a silent promise to myself. I'll keep trying to move forward, to find happiness beyond this complicated relationship. But a part of me will always hope that someday, somehow, Eliza and I will find our way to each other.

For now, though, I'll savor this moment. It's not everything I want, but it's pretty damn amazing all the same.

Better Days

ELIZA

The late afternoonsun beats down on us as I heave another box out of the moving truck. Justin's newly renovated house looms before me, a testament to my son's success and independence. A success that, I can't help but think, came in spite of his tumultuous upbringing.

"Easy there, Liz," a gravelly voice calls out. "Don't strain yourself. We wouldn't want the big-shot record exec to throw her back out."

I turn to see Jimmy sauntering towards me, a smirk playing on his lips. James Montague, my ex-husband and Justin's father, still carries himself with the swagger of the rockstar he always thought he'd be. The years haven't been particularly kind – his once-chiseled features are now weathered, lined with the evidence of hard living. But there's still a glimmer of that charm that once swept me off my feet.

"I can manage just fine, Jimmy," I retort, hefting the box higher. "Some of us actually stayed in shape past thirty."

Justin appears between us, his eyes darting nervously from me to his father. "Mom, Dad, please. Can we not do this today?"

Guilt washes over me. This is Justin's day, and here we are, falling into old patterns. "You're right, honey. I'm sorry."

Jimmy has the grace to look abashed. "Yeah, sorry, kid. Old habits, you know?"

We make our way into the house, depositing boxes in their designated rooms. As we work, I can't help but notice the way Jimmy's hands shake slightly as he sets down a stack of books. The telltale signs of a life lived hard and fast.

"So, Eliza," Jimmy says as we take a water break in the kitchen, "heard your boys are getting inducted into the Hall of Fame. Must be nice, having a success story under your belt."

There's an edge to his words that I choose to ignore. "They've worked hard for it. They deserve the recognition."

Jimmy snorts. "Yeah, I bet. Especially that lead singer of theirs. What's his name again? Chase?"

I stiffen involuntarily at the mention of Chase's name. Jimmy, ever observant despite his faults, doesn't miss it.

"Hit a nerve, did I?" he prods. "You always did have a soft spot for the pretty boy rockers."

"Dad," Justin interjects, his voice sharp. "That's enough."

I take a deep breath, forcing myself to relax. "Chase and the whole band have been incredible to work with. Their success is their own."

As I say it, I can't help but think of Chase – his dedication, his talent, the way he's grown not just as an artist but as a person. The contrast between him and Jimmy is stark, a before-and-after of two very different paths in the music industry.

Jimmy must see something in my expression because his next words are uncharacteristically soft. "You did good with them, Liz. Always knew you had it in you to be something special in this business."

The compliment, rare as it is, catches me off guard. "Thanks, Jimmy," I manage, a lump forming in my throat.

Justin looks between us, a mix of surprise and hope on his face. It's moments like these that remind me why I've tried to maintain a civil relationship with Jimmy all these years – for our son's sake.

As the day wears on, the bickering resurfaces occasionally, but there's less heat behind it. We order pizza for dinner, and as we sit on boxes in Justin's half-furnished living room, I find myself reflecting on the journey that brought us here.

Jimmy, for all his faults, did try in his own way. He might not have been the father Justin deserved, but he was the one who showed up, even if it was sporadically. And watching them now, sharing a laugh over some old family story, I feel a complicated mix of emotions – regret for what could have been, gratitude for what is, and a strange sort of peace with how things turned out.

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