Page 5 of Giving Chase

"Dude, have you seen the news?" Will's voice crackles with a mixture of excitement and anxiety that immediately sets me on edge.

"What news?"

"It's everywhere. Eliza was officially announced as our inductee for the Hall of Fame ceremony."

The world tilts on its axis.Eliza. The name alone sends a tidal wave of memories crashing over me. Stolen kisses in studio booths. Screaming matches in hotel rooms. Her steady hand on my back as I retched into toilet bowls in cities I can't even remember.

Eliza Kerr. The woman who saw something in us – in me – when we were nothing but a bunch of kids with more attitudethan talent. The one who fought tooth and nail for our success, who weathered every storm with us. The person I called at 3 AM when the demons got too loud, knowing she'd always answer.

The woman I loved but could never commit to, no matter how much I wanted to.

"Chase? You still there?" Will's voice cuts through the fog of memories.

"Yeah, I'm here," I manage, my throat suddenly dry. "That's... that's good, right? It's what we wanted."

"You sure you're okay with this? I mean, it was your idea, but if you're having second thoughts..."

I close my eyes, and I'm instantly transported back to that night. The last time I saw her. It wasn't at our farewell tour like I'd told the guys. No, it was worse. Much worse.

I'd shown up at her place, higher than the notes I could no longer hit, a whirlwind of paranoia and misplaced anger. The look in her eyes – not fear, but a bone-deep weariness – haunts me still. I'd spewed venom, accusing her of things that made no sense even in my drug-addled mind.

And yet, the next morning, there she was. Calm and composed, but with a sadness in her eyes that cut through even my chemical haze. "Chase," she'd said, her voice gentle but firm, "it's time. You need help. Real help. And I can't be the one to give it to you anymore."

That was the moment I knew. The moment I realized how much I'd hurt her, how much I'd taken her for granted. It was also the moment I knew I loved her more than anything in this world. And that I didn't deserve her.

"No," I say finally, coming back to the present. "No, it has to be Eliza. There's no one else who knows us – knows me – like she does."

"If you're sure," Will says, skepticism clear in his voice.

"I'm sure." And I am. Because despite everything, despite the years and the hurt and the regrets, there's a part of me that never stopped hoping for a reason to see her again. To make things right.

After I hang up, I sit on the deck for a long time, watching the waves crash against the shore. The Hall of Fame. Eliza. It's like the universe is conspiring to bring my past crashing into my present.

I consider reaching out to her. My thumb hovers over her contact in my phone – I've never had the heart to delete it. But what would I say?'Hey, long time no see. Thanks for agreeing to induct us into the Hall of Fame. Sorry for being a colossal asshole and breaking your heart. Oh, and thanks for saving my life. Want to grab coffee?'

Yeah, that'll go over well.

Instead, I do what I've always done when emotions get too big to handle. I grab my guitar – the same beat-up acoustic Eliza gifted me for my 30th birthday. As my fingers find the familiar chords, a melody starts to form. It's bittersweet and a little raw, like an old wound that's never quite healed.

For the first time in years, I let myself really remember Eliza. The way her eyes shined when she laughed at my bad jokes. How she'd absentmindedly twirl her hair when deep in thought, poring over contracts. The fierce glint in her eye when she went to bat for us with record execs. The gentle way she'd tend to me after I'd pushed myself too hard, on stage or off.

I think about how far I've come since those days. The battles I've fought, the demons I've faced. I'm not that reckless rockstar anymore, drowning my feelings in booze and drugs. I'm sober now, thanks to her. But seeing Eliza again? That might be the biggest test of my strength yet.

As the sun climbs higher in the sky, I write a song about second chances and the ones that got away. About love andregrets. About the long, hard road to redemption and the hope that maybe, just maybe, it's not too late to make things right.

I write a song about Eliza and the man I've become because of her, and in spite of her.

And as the final notes fade away, carried off by the ocean breeze, I realize something. I'm terrified of seeing her again, of facing our past. But I'm even more terrified of letting this chance slip away.

This time, I'm not going to run. This time, I'm going to face the music.

Because Eliza Kerr didn't just save my career all those years ago. She saved my life. And it's about damn time I thanked her for it.

I pick up my phone again, this time with purpose. I don't call Eliza – I'm not quite there yet. Instead, I dial my therapist’s number. If I'm going to do this, if I'm going to face Eliza and all the emotions that come with her, I need to be prepared. I need to be strong.

As the phone rings, I look at my reflection in the window. The man staring back at me isn't perfect. He's scarred, he's flawed, but he's trying. He's sober. He's alive.

And for the first time in a long time, he's ready to stop running from his past and start fighting for his future.

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