Page 54 of Giving Chase

"I couldn't..." He takes a shaky sip of coffee. "I couldn't stop thinking about you. About us. About everything we've never?—"

"Stop." I take the mug from his trembling hands, set it down. "We made that 'no strings' rule for a reason, Chase. And I've never lied to you about how I feel. Never pretended I didn't love you. But I've also been clear about why we couldn't be more. The band, the label, our careers... they were too intertwined. One wrong move and it all would have collapsed."

He starts to protest but I press on. "I've respected your life choices. Never interfered with your relationships, your decisions. I didn't say a word about that Vegas wedding, or any of the girlfriends, or the partying. When other labels started circling after your third album went platinum, I supported you exploring your options. I've loved you enough to let you live your own life, to keep our professional relationship solid. Do you know how many board meetings I've sat through defending you? How many times I've put my reputation on the line to protect you from your own mistakes?"

I run a hand through my hair, dislodging pins. "Remember the Grammy incident? When you kissed me on the way to the stage? I'm the one who spun it to the press as a theatrical moment. I'm the one who convinced the board it was good publicity. Every time you've pushed those boundaries, I've been there to maintain them. Because that was our agreement. Because it was the only way this could work."

His hands are shaking worse now. "I never asked you to protect me."

"No, you just expected it. And I did it, because I believed in your talent. In the band. In you." I gesture at him, at the wreckage outside. "But this? This isn't about us. This isn't about some great star-crossed love story. This is about you using the idea of us as an excuse. You're trying to make me responsible for your choices, and I won't do it anymore."

He stares into his coffee like it holds answers. "The tour... I really thought I could stay clean. For you. For us."

"That's exactly the problem. It was never supposed to be for me, Chase. You can't hang your sobriety on someone else. Not me, not the band, not some perfect future you've imagined." I take a breath, soften my voice. "Listen to me.Reallylisten. There can't be an us until you're healthy. Not because I don't love you.Not because I don't want it. But because I cannot watch you die again. I won't survive it this time."

He snickers sarcastically. “Oh, is that the new excuse now?”

“What?”

He glares at me sideways, his mood shifting dark yet again. “There’s always an excuse, isn’t there? Some made up fucking reason about why we’d never work. The carrot at the end of the stick dangling right in front of my fucking face. Do you fucking get off on it or something?”

I stiffen at the change in him. “You know damn well that’s not what this is.”

“Do I?” he snorts, putting his coffee mug down to face me. When our eyes meet, I see a hatred there that I’ve never seen him direct at me before, and I feel myself shrink back. “I don’t know fucking shit when it comes to you. I never fucking have. And you…you’re a god damned coward. Using every excuse in the book, and even making up more as you go to push me away. Well, I’m fucking gone now, Eliza, okay? You did it! You win! I fucking hate you. How’s that?”

I’m stunned as he jolts up from the couch and starts pacing again. His words cutting deeper than anything could. I don’t know if it’s the alcohol talking, or if he means it. Don’t people tell the truth when they’re drunk? I don’t know what’s happening now.

“Maybe I should have died in that ambulance,” he mutters, trying to pace but staggering.

“Don’t say that,” I jump up to steady him but he waves me off, and pushes me away.

“Don’t touch me,” he warns angrily. “You don’t get to fucking touch me anymore. Never again you fucking coward.” He leans over the back of the couch unsteadily pointing a finger at me. “You fucking did this to me, you selfish bitch.”

I lean back as if he’s slapped me, and I’m flooded with guilt. Is what he’s saying right? Did I do this to him? Drive him to this madness? Could I really be the reason for his downward spiral?

Tears spring from my eyes unbidden as I feel the sheer hatred directed at me – where it belongs. I did do this, didn’t I? This is all my fault.

“Chase, I…” My words of admission and regret don’t come fast enough as he rounds the couch and pulls me into a hug. The emotional whiplash is overwhelming.

“I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry, Eliza. I didn’t mean that. I didn’t mean any of that, I swear.” He rocks me back and forth, and I can’t seem to make head or tails of what’s happening. “I don’t know what I’m saying anymore. I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m so fucking confused all the time…I just…I swear I didn’t mean that.”

I rub his back, trying to piece together what’s real and what isn’t. What’s true and what’s not. But I can’t shake the hurt his angry words caused that is still reverberating in my bones. I think that’s going to be permanent.

Hating to let him go, I pull away slowly, trying to gather myself again into the strong friend I’m supposed to be right now. Not the broken woman with guilt the size of Mount Rushmore, and pain deeper than the ocean.

The silence stretches between us, broken only by the tick of the kitchen clock. Finally, he looks at me, really looks at me, and I see the man I love fighting his way through the chaos.

"I'm scared," he whispers.

"I know." I take his hand, feel it shaking in mine. "But you're stronger than this. You're stronger than the drugs and the drinking and all the ways you try to numb yourself. I've seen that strength. I believe in it. I need you to believe in it too."

He squeezes my hand, and for a moment, I let myself remember every other time we've sat like this, on the edge of change that never quite happened.

"What do I do?" he asks, voice small.

"You get real help. Not five weeks. Not surface-level rehab. Real, deep, hard work on yourself. And this time..." I take a breath. "This time, I can't be your reason. You have to do it for you."

The sun's moved across the sky while we've been talking. The broken glass in the driveway throws rainbow prisms on the walls.

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