Page 52 of Giving Chase

"Why?"

"Because nothing's changed." His voice drops. "Twenty years, multiple rehabs, five years clean... and one look from you still stops my heart."

My fingers tighten around the mug. "Chase?—"

"Wait." He stands abruptly, goes to his desk. Comes back with the paper I'd noticed earlier. "I've been trying to write this for weeks. It's not... it's not perfect. But maybe it's time you read it."

His hands shake slightly as he holds it out. The same hands that used to shake from withdrawal now trembling for an entirely different reason.

"What is it?"

"Everything I couldn't say before... Everything I should have said after. Everything I'm still trying to say now."

I set down my mug and take the letter. His handwriting is steadier than it used to be. No more chaotic scrawl of addiction.

Dear Eliza, Twenty years ago, you saved my life by believing in our music. Five years ago, you saved it again by forcing me to face myself...

"Read it," he says softly. "Please. Even if it changes nothing. Even if you walk out that door and we go back to professional distance until Cleveland. Just... read it."

The paper trembles in my hands. The sun's almost gone now, painting the room in shades of blue and grey. Somewhere in the distance, waves crash against the shore.

I start to read.

September 2018

The security alert comes through during a label meeting. My phone buzzes with multiple notifications: motion detected, impact at entrance, unknown vehicle.

Then I see the video feed.

"I need to go," I say, already standing. Michelle catches my eye across the conference table – she's seen my face change. "Family emergency."

I'm halfway to my car when Justin calls.

"Mom?" His voice is tight. "There's a Porsche wrapped around the brick planter. Chase is passed out on the lawn."

Jesus Christ. It's 11:47 AM.

"Is he?—"

"Breathing. Seems okay, but he's a mess. What do you want me to do?"

Five weeks. He managed five weeks in Ojai before either walking out or getting kicked out – no one seems to know which. Five weeks after Chicago. After watching him seize in that ambulance. After sitting by his hospital bed for three days.

"Get him inside before someone calls the cops. I'm twenty minutes out."

"Mom—"

"Please, Justin. Just... keep him there. I'm coming."

I break every speed limit between Blackmore Records and home. My hands don't shake on the steering wheel. They should, but they don't. Fifteen years of crisis management with Chase has taught me how to function through the fear.

The Porsche is silver. Brand new. The passenger side is crumpled against the brick surround of my favorite maple tree. Glass glitters on the driveway like fallen stars.

I hear the shouting before I even get inside.

"—your mother's not your fucking responsibility!" Chase's voice, slurred but angry.

"No, but apparently you are!" Justin shouts back. "Always have been, right? Ever since I was eight years old, watching her piece you back together?—"

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