Page 44 of Giving Chase

I shake my head. "It's complicated."

"It's really not." Will leans forward. "Look, we all knew about you two. The stolen moments, the lingering looks, the tension you could cut with a knife. Hell, Mark and I used to have a bet going about when you'd finally get your shit together."

"Really?" I can't help but ask. "Who won?"

"Neither of us. We never thought you'd both be so damn stubborn for so long." Will sighs. "You're sober now. Really sober, not just playing at it. You've done the work. She's not your manager anymore, not really - that's just a title she keeps because she can't let go either. So, what's stopping you?"

"Fear," I admit after a long moment. "Not just of messing things up with her again. But of doing this - performing, feeling, living - without any cushion. Without anything to take the edge off. Some days I wake up and I'm not sure I know how to be Chase Avery without chemical assistance."

"You're doing it right now," Will points out. "Have been for five years."

"Yeah, but this is different. That song... it's everything I never had the courage to say to her face. And now I have to say it in front of thousands of people, stone cold sober."

Will's expression turns serious. "Maybe that's exactly why you need to do it. Show her - and yourself - that you can feel it all and still stay standing."

I let his words sink in, feeling their weight. "When did you get so wise?"

"Probably around the same time you got your head out of your ass," he grins. Then his expression softens. "The song's always been about Eliza, Chase. But maybe this time, it needs to be about you too. About who you are now, not who you were then."

As we say goodbye outside the coffee shop, I feel lighter somehow. Maybe it's having finally voiced my fears. Maybeit's Will's unwavering support. Or maybe it's just knowing that someone else understands the magnitude of what I'm facing.

I pull out my phone and open a blank document.

Dear Eliza,

I type, then pause. After a moment, I delete it and start again.

Eliza, I remember the night you saved me in Chicago...

The words start to flow, and this time, I let them come without trying to blur their edges.

November 15, 2018

Will's new house in the Hills still feels strange. Too clean, too organized. Nothing like the chaotic crash pad we shared in our twenties, with its perpetually sticky floors and walls plastered in band posters. But the view of the city is killer, I'll give him that.

I pace the length of his deck, fingers drumming an anxious rhythm against my thigh as I wait for Mark to arrive.Band meeting. The words leave a sour taste in my mouth, or maybe that's just the remnants of last night's binge. My hands shake slightly as I light a cigarette, and I tell myself it's just the wind.

"That's your fourth one since you got here," Will says from behind me. I turn to find him leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed. He looks tired. We all do these days.

"You counting my smokes now?" I try for levity, but it falls flat. "What are you, my mother?"

Will doesn't smile. "No, but I am counting the empty bottles in your recycling bin. And the missed rehearsals. And the times you've shown up too wasted to play."

Something hot and defensive rises in my chest. "I've never missed a show."

"No," Will agrees quietly. "But how long until you do?"

Before I can respond, the glass door slides open and Mark steps out. His blue hair is more grey than electric these days, but he still moves with that languid grace that made him our resident heartbreaker back in the day.

"Sorry I'm late," he says, though his tone suggests he's anything but. "Traffic was a bitch."

We settle into the outdoor furniture - expensive teak that probably cost more than our first tour van. For a moment, none of us speaks. Countless years of history hangs in the air between us, heavy with things unsaid.

"So," I break the silence, aiming for casual. "What's so important it couldn't wait until rehearsal?"

Will and Mark exchange a look that makes my stomach clench.

"We think it's time," Will says finally. "To end it. Go out while we're still on top."

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