Page 22 of Giving Chase

"Seeing Eliza again has stirred up a lot of old feelings, Chase. That's natural. The question is, what are you going to do with those feelings?"

I drum my fingers on the steering wheel, the rhythm matching the tumult in my head. What am I going to do? Hell if I know.

Five years of sobriety, of working on myself, of trying to become someone I could be proud of. And one dinner with Eliza has me feeling like that lost, confused kid all over again.

I've always preferred these one-on-one sessions with Dr. Hendricks. AA meetings in LA are about as anonymous as a billboard on Sunset Boulevard. But today, part of me wishes for the simplicity of those meetings. "Hi, I'm Chase, and I'm an alcoholic" is a hell of a lot easier than "Hi, I'm Chase, and I'm still in love with the woman I hurt beyond measure five years ago."

My phone buzzes with a text from Will.

WILL: You close? Mark's already here, threatening to start without us.

I smile despite myself. Some things never change.

Twenty minutes later, I'm pulling into the driveway of Will's Malibu home. It's been a few months since we've all been together like this. Sure, we've seen each other over the past five years - birthdays, holidays, the occasional jam session. But this feels different. This feels like it matters.

Mark's cherry-red vintage Mustang is already in the driveway, parked next to Will's sleek Tesla. The contrast makes me chuckle. We may be older, but some dynamics remain the same.

I find them in Will's home studio, Mark already coaxing a melody from his Gibson, while Will absently taps a rhythm on his thighs. Even after all these years, they're both unfairly handsome. Will's dark hair is artfully tousled, not a trace of gray despite being in our forties. Mark, ever the rebel, still sports a shock of electric blue running through his otherwise golden locks.

"Look what the cat dragged in," Will grins, unfolding his tall frame from behind his drum kit to pull me into a quick hug. His arms, still muscled from years of drumming, nearly squeeze the breath out of me.

"How ya been, man?" Mark asks, setting his guitar aside. He's kept himself fit too, his lean physique a testament to clean living and probably way too much yoga.

"Can't complain," I shrug, clapping them both on the shoulder. It's surreal sometimes, how we've all grown up but somehow stayed the same. "How about you guys?"

Mark fixes me with a knowing look. "Better than you, I'd guess. Heard you had dinner with Eliza."

I freeze, caught off guard. "How did you-"

"Dude," Will laughs, running a hand through his thick hair, "it's us. Did you really think we wouldn't know?"

I sigh, sinking into the worn leather couch. "It was... intense. Good, I think. But complicated."

They exchange a look I can't quite decipher. "You okay?" Will asks, his tone softer.

I nod, not quite meeting their eyes. "Yeah, I'm good. It's just... a lot, you know?"

Mark nods sagely, idly strumming a chord. "We know, man. We were there for most of it, remember?"

The weight of our shared history hangs in the air for a moment before Will claps his hands, breaking the tension.

"Alright, enough of this sappy shit. We've got work to do. Hall of Fame, boys! Can you believe it?"

I can't help but grin. His excitement is infectious. "Still feels fucking surreal," I admit, my fingers instinctively moving to form bass chords even without my instrument.

"Well, believe it," Mark says, tossing his blue-streaked hair out of his eyes. "Now we just need to decide what to play. We get three songs, right?"

I nod, grateful for the change of subject. "Yeah, three songs to sum up our entire career. No pressure or anything."

Will grabs his bass, strumming absently. "Well, we gotta doOff the Record,right? It was our first big hit."

"Agreed," Mark nods. "AndBurning Bridgeshas to be in there. It was huge, and it kinda defined our sound for our third album."

I swallow hard, memories flooding back. That song, written when I was teetering on the edge, pouring all my pain and confusion into the lyrics. Eliza's face when she first heard it, worry and sadness warring in her eyes.

"Yeah," I say, my voice rougher than I intend. "Yeah, let's doBurning Bridges."

Will eyes me carefully. "You sure, man? We can pick something else if it's too much."

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