Page 58 of Giving Chase

The industry papers called me an ice queen. Married to my work. Unavailable.

They weren't wrong.

I kept tabs on Chase as much as I could through Will, though I pretended not to. Clean. Sober. Living quietly in Malibu. Writing songs I pretended not to wonder about.

"He asks about you," Will mentioned casually in 2023. "Never directly. But he does."

I changed the subject. Ignored how my heart clenched.

The days blurred together in a pleasant haze of success. Board meetings. Contract signings. Industry events where Isparkled and charmed and never let anyone too close. My life looked perfect on paper.

I threw myself into Justin's career instead of my personal life. Attended his shows when I could, but always checked the venue first. Some places held too many memories. The Viper Room. The studio at Blackmore. That little jazz club where Chase first played meBurning Bridgesat 3 AM.

"You should come to our show Friday," Justin said one night. "We're covering some classic rock."

"Any particular classic rock?"

His silence was answer enough.

The invitations kept coming. Music industry mixers. Label parties. Award shows. I attended them all, perfectly coiffed, perfectly professional. The rare times I ran into Will or Mark, we exchanged pleasant small talk. Pretended not to notice the empty space between us where someone else should be.

"Did you hear?" Michelle asked carefully one morning. "Chase is five years sober."

"That's wonderful," I said, and meant it. "Meeting in five?"

"It's seven AM."

"Did I mention it's important?"

My life was good. Was enough.

Really.

Some lies we tell ourselves because the truth is too loud to hear.

Even when it's played through stadium speakers.

Even when it's written in platinum records on our office walls.

Even when it's echoed in every bass line on the radio.

Alive Again

CHASE

Her hand fitsin mine exactly the same way it did twenty years ago. Some things, it seems, muscle memory never forgets.

"We were idiots," she says softly, thumb tracing patterns on my palm. "Thinking we could compartmentalize this. Draw neat little lines between personal and professional."

"The 'no strings' rule." I laugh, but there's no bitterness now. Just understanding. "Probably the biggest lie we ever told ourselves."

"We thought we were being smart. Well, I did." She looks up at me, steel grey eyes catching the last light of sunset. "Protecting the band. The label. Our careers."

"Instead we just made everything harder." I reach up, tuck a strand of platinum hair behind her ear. Her breath catches. "Every meeting. Every recording session. Every time I had to watch you leave."

"You think I didn't feel it too?" Her free hand comes up to rest against my chest, right over my heart. "Sitting in board meetings, defending your talent while trying not to let them see how much I loved you? Having to maintain professional distance when all I wanted..."

She trails off, but I feel the weight of twenty years in that unfinished sentence.

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