Page 49 of Giving Chase

But songs are what got us here in the first place.

My phone buzzes with another text from Will about travel arrangements for Cleveland. Two weeks. Two weeks until I have to performWhispered Truthsstone cold sober while she watches from the wings. Twenty years of hiding behind a chemical curtain, and now I have to lay myself bare in front of the entire industry.

A text from Michelle breaks my downward thought spiral.

MICHELLE: Looking good in those photos, Avery. Though maybe next time try not to look at my boss like you want to devour her in front of the photographer.

I scrub a hand over my face, feeling the neat edges of my beard. The undercut was an impulse decision last month – needed something to mark five years clean that wasn't another tattoo. But the way Eliza's eyes widened when she saw it, the way her fingers twitched like she wanted to touch it...

"Focus," I mutter, pushing away from my desk. The Malibu sunrise streams through the windows, painting everything gold. Five years ago, I'd have been coming down from something right about now, not watching the dawn.

My phone buzzes again. Will.

"Yeah?" I answer, heading for the kitchen.

"You see the proofs?" His voice has that careful tone he uses when he thinks I might break.

"Not yet." I grab a smoothie from the fridge. Kale and whatever else my nutritionist swears by these days. "That bad?"

"Depends on your definition of bad." A pause. "You two look like you're about three seconds from tearing each other's clothes off in half of them."

The smoothie turns to ash in my mouth. "Fuck."

"Pretty much what everyone who's seen them is thinking, yeah." He sighs. "You need to get your head straight before Cleveland. This limbo thing isn't working for anyone."

I lean against the counter, pressing my forehead to the cool granite. "You know what the last thing I said to her was? Before that failed rehab?"

"Chase—"

"I told her she was a coward. That she'd rather hide behind her desk than admit what was between us was real.” My laugh sounds hollow even to me. "Five years sober and I still haven't figured out how to apologize for that one, or the one after that. Shit there’s so much...”

"Maybe that's because you weren't entirely wrong." Will's voice softens. "You just picked the worst possible way to say it. And the worst possible times.”

The memory of that night threatens to surface – the chaos backstage, the pills in my pocket, the look in her eyes when security pulled me away. I push it back down where it belongs.

"The bands want to run through the arrangements one more time before Cleveland," Will says. "You gonna be okay with that?"

I stare at my hands. They're steady now. Five years steady.

"Yeah," I say, even though we both know it's more hope than certainty. "I'll be there."

I hang up and pull up the camera roll on my phone, thumb hovering over the folder marked "Hall of Fame Shoot." One click and I'll see what everyone else is talking about. See if the camera caught what I felt crackling between us every time our eyes met.

Instead, I turn back to the letter on my desk. Cross out another line. Start again.

Dear Eliza, Twenty years ago, you saved my life by believing in our music. Five years ago, you saved it again by forcing me to face myself...

My hands are shaking now, but not from withdrawal. Some addictions, it turns out, never really let you go.

August 2018

The lights are too bright. Everything's too bright. The bass line toBurning Bridgesthrums through my bones, but I can't remember if I'm playing the right notes. Doesn't matter. Nothing matters except the rage burning under my skin and the cocktail of chemicals trying to put it out.

Someone in the front row is filming. They're all always fucking filming, aren't they? Little rectangular lights in a sea of faces. Documenting every fucking moment of our farewell tour. Every mistake. Every missed cue. Every time Eliza watches from the wings with that look in her eyes.

Is she watching now?

The guy with the phone is shouting something. I can read his lips:fucking junkie.

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