Page 36 of Giving Chase

As I'm leaving for the night, Justin pulls me into a tight hug. "Thanks, Mom. For everything."

I hold him close, marveling at the man he's become. "Always, sweetheart. I'm so proud of you."

Jimmy, hovering awkwardly nearby, clears his throat. "You did good with him too, Liz. He's a great kid."

"We did okay," I concede, offering Jimmy a small smile.

Driving home, I find my thoughts drifting to Chase, to the upcoming induction ceremony. I think about the man he is now compared to the young rocker I first met. I think about Jimmy, about the paths not taken and the choices that shape a life.

My phone buzzes with a text from Chase.

CHASE: How's the moving day going? Need any help?

I smile, warmth spreading through me at his thoughtfulness.

ME: All done. Thanks for offering. See you at rehearsal tomorrow?

His reply is almost instant.

CHASE: Wouldn't miss it. Goodnight, Eliza.

As I pull into my driveway, I'm struck by a realization. Life rarely turns out the way we expect. Jimmy and I crashed and burned, but we created Justin. Chase and I... well, that story is still being written.

And for the first time in a long time, I find myself looking forward to the next chapter.

September 15, 2017

The setting sun paints Chase's Malibu home in hues of gold and orange as I pull into the driveway. My hands tremble as I turn off the engine, the weight of the impending conversation sitting like lead in my stomach. The folder on the passenger seat seems to mock me – filled with corporate jargon that can't begin to encompass what this decision really means.

I've rehearsed this a thousand times, but now, staring at the front door, all my carefully prepared words evaporate. How do you tell someone who's been the cornerstone of your career, your life, for over a decade that you're stepping away?

Before I can knock, the door swings open. Chase stands there, backlit by the warm glow of his home, a broad smile on his face that makes my heart fracture just a little more.

"Eliza!" he exclaims, genuine joy in his voice. "I wasn't expecting you. Come in, come in."

I follow him into the living room, trying to ignore how at home I feel here. The air is thick with the scent of coffee and that distinctive Chase smell – a mix of sandalwood and something uniquely him. Guitars are propped against walls, notebooks filled with his messy scrawl litter every surface. It's organized chaos, just like the man himself.

"Can I get you something to drink?" he asks, already heading towards the kitchen. "I've got that pinot noir you like."

The casual intimacy of knowing my favorite wine hits me hard. "No, I'm fine," I manage, my voice strained. "Chase, we need to talk."

He turns, his brow furrowing at my tone. "Okay... that sounds ominous. What's up?"

I take a deep breath, steeling myself. "I've been offered a promotion. Vice President of Blackmore Records."

For a moment, his face lights up, pride and excitement shining in his eyes. "Eliza, that's amazing! Congratulations! We should celebrate, I'll open that champagne we've been saving-"

"Chase," I interrupt, each word feeling like glass in my throat. "There's more."

He stops, the bottle halfway out of the wine fridge. I watch as understanding dawns on his face, followed quickly by hurt, then a flash of anger he tries to mask.

"They want you to stop managing us," he says flatly. It's not a question.

I nod, unable to form the words. The silence stretches between us, heavy with unspoken history.

Chase sets the bottle down with deliberate care. When he looks at me again, his eyes are guarded. "So, after everything, you're just... walking away?"

"It's not like that," I argue, even as a voice in my head whispers that maybe it is. "This is a huge opportunity, Chase. For me, for the label... it could mean big things for the band too."

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