Page 19 of Giving Chase

Anybody

ELIZA

The waiter clears awayour plates, the clink of silverware against china punctuating the awkward silence that's fallen between us. Chase and I have exhausted all talk of the Hall of Fame ceremony, having dissected every detail from the seating arrangements to the setlist for the performance.

Now, with our professional obligations discussed, we're left with... what, exactly?

I take a sip of my wine, using the moment to study Chase over the rim of my glass. He looks good – sober suits him. The lines around his eyes speak of the years that have passed, but there's a clarity in his emerald gaze that I don't remember from before. It makes something twist in my chest, a mixture of pride and pain that I'm not ready to examine too closely.

"So," Chase says, breaking the silence and reading my mind. As always. "I guess we've covered everything about the ceremony."

I nod, setting down my glass, trying desperately to keep my hand steady. "I think so. Unless you have any other questions?"

He shakes his head, and we lapse into silence again. I can feel the weight of unasked questions, of unspoken words, hangingheavy between us. There's so much I want to know, so much I need to understand if I'm going to get through the next few weeks of working with him.

But the pain of seeing him, of being reminded of everything we were and everything we lost, is still raw. It would be easier to call for the check, to walk away and keep things strictly professional.

Easier, but not better.

I take a deep breath, steeling myself. "Chase," I begin, my voice steadier than I feel, but still a little shaky. "I think we need to talk. About... everything."

He looks up, surprise and something like fear flickering in his eyes. "Yeah," he says softly. "I think we do."

I nod, gathering my courage. "Why didn't you respond when I reached out?" The question comes out before I can stop it, all the hurt and confusion of the past five years condensed into seven words.

Chase winces, guilt flashing across his face. "You tried to reach out?"

"Of course I did," I say, unable to keep the hurt out of my voice. "For months after you got out of rehab. Calls, texts, emails. I even tried to contact you through your sponsor at the time. And Will and Mark. But you never replied. Not even through them. And what news I did get about you was vague and generic. It was like you'd disappeared. Like you didn’t want me to even know you were okay."

He closes his eyes, pain etched across his features. "God, Eliza, I'm so sorry. I... I blocked your number. And the guys, and my sponsor... I made him promise not to pass on any messages."

"Why?" I ask, the old hurt bubbling up again, and now I can’t seem to hide it. It’s too powerful. "After everything we'd been through, why would you shut me out like that?"

Chase opens his eyes, and the raw anguish I see there takes my breath away. "Because I couldn't face you," he says, his voice barely above a whisper. "After the way I treated you at the end, the things I said, how I showed up that night... The guilt was too much. I thought... I thought you'd be better off without me in your life."

The memory of that night flashes through my mind – Chase, drunk and high, spewing venom and accusations, his words designed to cut deep. The pain of it, still fresh after all these years, makes me flinch.

"That wasn't your decision to make," I say, my voice tight with emotion. I said it on the phone before to him as well; he made that choice for me, effectively cutting me out completely.

"I know that now," Chase says, running a hand through his hair. "But back then, freshly sober, the guilt was overwhelming. And then... time just kept passing. Weeks turned into months, months into years. The longer I waited, the harder it became to reach out. I convinced myself it was too late, that you'd moved on and wouldn't want to hear from me anyway."

I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself. "I would have wanted to know you were okay," I say softly. "That you were staying sober, that you were healing. Do you have any idea what it was like, not knowing if you were even alive? There were months that even Will and Mark wouldn’t get back to me."

Chase nods, understanding dawning in his eyes. "I never meant to hurt you like that. I was so caught up in my own guilt and shame that I couldn't see past it. I'm sorry, Eliza. I'm so fucking sorry."

His words hang in the air between us, heavy with regret and unspoken feelings. Part of me wants to accept his apology, to let go of the hurt I've been carrying for five years. But another part, the part that's been wounded too many times, holds back.

"I appreciate your apology, Chase," I say carefully. "But understanding why you did something doesn't automatically make it okay. You hurt me. Deeply. And that's not something I can just get over in one dinner conversation." And to be honest, even though he apologized, and I accept his words, I still don’t fully understand it. I thought our connection back then was stronger than that. I don’t know if I’ll ever truly get over the hurt his shutting me out like that caused.

Chase nods, a mix of sadness and resignation in his eyes. "I understand. I don't expect forgiveness, Eliza. I just... I needed you to know how sorry I am."

I nod, acknowledging his words. "Are you... are you okay now?" I ask, changing the subject slightly.

A small smile tugs at the corner of Chase's mouth. "I'm sober," he says. "Five years, two months, and eleven days. It's not always easy, but... I'm doing okay."

Despite everything, I feel a surge of pride. "I'm glad," I say softly. "I always knew you could do it."

Something flashes in Chase's eyes at that – gratitude, maybe, or something deeper. "I couldn't have done it without you," he says. "Your support, even when I was at my worst... it meant everything, Eliza."

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