Page 60 of Giving Chase

He takes his time, relearning me with lips and hands, finding old sensitive spots and discovering new ones. I remember how to make him groan – that spot on his hip, the way he loves having his hair pulled. When he finally moves above me, the weight of him familiar and new all at once, tears slip from my eyes.

"Hey." He catches them with his thumbs, his own eyes bright with emotion. "You okay?"

"Better than okay." I pull him down to me, kiss him deep and slow. "Just... overwhelmed. It's been so long. And you're so present. So here. No substances, no barriers..."

"Just us," he whispers. "Finally just us." His forehead presses to mine. "I'm done wasting time. No more hiding in addiction.No more professional distance. No more pretending you're not the love of my life."

When we move together, it's with twenty years of knowledge and fresh discovery. He still arches the same way when I drag my nails down his back. I still gasp his name the same way when he hits just the right spot, the sound he once said was better than any melody he'd ever written. But there's something different now – a depth, an understanding, a certainty we never had before.

"Look at me," he whispers as we near the edge. "Please, baby, look at me. I want to really see you this time. No haze, no blur, just you."

I do. Green eyes lock with grey, and everything we've never said passes between us. Every missed chance. Every almost. Every finally. Every lyric he wrote about this exact shade of grey.

We fall together, his name on my lips, mine on his, moonlight turning us both to silver. No rushing apart this time. No hurried redressing for emergency meetings. No walk of shame. No regrets.

After, he gathers me close, pressing soft kisses to my hair, my temples, my shoulder. His hand finds mine, fingers intertwining like they did that first night in the studio whenOff the Recordwas just beginning to form in his mind.

"I love you," he murmurs against my skin. "Twenty years, and that's never changed. Not in rehab, not in success, not in failure. You're in every song because you're in every heartbeat."

I trace the familiar lines of his face, the new ones earned in sobriety, memorizing him all over again. "I love you too. Through everything. Every up, every down. Always have."

He catches my hand, kisses my palm like he used to do before every show. "Stay?"

The question holds twenty years of weight. Of times I couldn't stay. Wouldn't stay. Had to walk away. Of earlymorning meetings and industry appearances. Of maintaining professional distance.

"Yes," I whisper, and feel him smile against my fingers. "I'm done walking away."

The moon crosses the sky as we drift off tangled together, his heartbeat steady under my palm. Some strings, once tied, can never really break.

They just wait to be acknowledged.

"Eliza?" His voice is soft with approaching sleep.

"Hmm?"

"That black dress? I still have the zipper that broke that night in the studio. Kept it all these years."

I laugh against his chest, the sound pure joy. "Of course you did."

Some memories are meant to be kept forever.

Black Butterfly

CHASE

The lights are too bright.They've always been too bright at these things. But for the first time in twenty years, I'm facing them sober. No pills to dull the edge. No whiskey to smooth the way. Just me, Will, and Mark at the conference table, fielding questions about the Hall of Fame ceremony.

My fingers find the silver guitar pick in my pocket – a habit so ingrained I barely notice anymore. For years I've carried it. Through hell and back. Through losing everything, including her.

Eliza stands at the back of the room with Michelle, both of them in their usual power suits. Every time I look at her, I remember last night. This morning. The way she smiled when she borrowed one of my t-shirts for breakfast.

Focus, Avery.

"Chase." A reporter in the front row –Rolling Stone, I think. "How does it feel preparing to performWhispered Truthssober for the first time? Especially given the... personal nature of the lyrics?"

My fingers curl around the pick. Steady. Present. "Terrifying." The honesty gets a laugh. "But right. That song deserves to be performed with clear eyes. It always has."

"Speaking of that song," another reporter jumps in. "You've never officially confirmed who it's about, but the Grammy performance in 2015?—"

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