Page 65 of Giving Chase

Jude Lockwood, Indigo King's bassist, laughs from where he's slouched against his amp. "That's setting the bar pretty low, man."

It's all surreal – watching other singers take on my songs, while actual rock legends mill around the arena. I just passedRobert Plant in the hallway. Jimmy Page is supposedly around here somewhere. And tomorrow night, we join their ranks.

"Alright," Ryan says, adjusting his mic. "From the top?"

The opening notes ofOff the Recordfill the space. Ryan's voice brings something new to the lyrics – a softness I never managed when I was writing about that night in the studio, about a black dress with a broken zipper and possibilities I was too scared to grab.

The transition hits and Jake takes over, his rougher edge perfect forBurning Bridges. The song I wrote when I thought I'd lost her for good. When I was too drunk and stupid to see what I was throwing away.

Then it's my turn.

Caught between silence and screaming...

Whispered Truthsfeels different now. No more hiding its meaning. No more pretending it isn't about steel grey eyes and purple-tipped hair and twenty years of almost.

I spot Eliza in the wings, watching. No need to hide her presence anymore. No need to pretend these aren't all her songs. Every word, every note, every memory laid bare for everyone to hear.

When we finish, there's a moment of pure silence before the scattered crew burst into applause.

"Damn," Jake says softly. "That's gonna kill tomorrow night."

Will catches my eye across the stage.You good?his look asks. I nod. Better than good.

"That's a wrap for now," our stage manager calls out. "Final rehearsal's at seven. Get some rest, get some food, be ready to run the whole show tonight."

Eliza materializes beside me as I'm setting down my bass. "That sounded incredible."

"Yeah?" I can't help grinning. "Not too weird hearing other people sing our stuff?"

"Perfect choices, actually." She glances at her watch. "We've got several hours until final rehearsal. Want to get out of here for a bit?"

Ten minutes later, we're driving through Rocky River Reservation, autumn colors blazing against a perfect blue sky. Eliza's at the wheel – some habits die hard – while I watch gold and crimson leaves dance in our wake. The valley spreads out below us, the river catching late afternoon sun.

"You know what's crazy?" I say, rolling down the window to breathe in October air. "Tomorrow night, we're being inducted into the actual Hall of Fame. Us. That same band you found at the Viper Room."

"The same band that sold out stadiums," she reminds me. "The same band that changed rock music for a decade."

"Still." I shake my head. "Robert Plant is going to be there.Robert fucking Plant. And we're one of the youngest bands ever inducted. With all original members."

She laughs. "I saw you nearly walk into a wall when you passed him earlier."

"I maintained my dignity."

"You absolutely did not."

We pull over at Huntington Reservation, Cleveland spread out below us, Lake Erie stretching endless and blue beyond. Urban architecture meets autumn trees meets infinite horizon. Eliza kills the engine but makes no move to get out.

"What are you thinking?" I ask softly.

"I'm thinking about hearing those songs in order like that. Our whole story laid out in three acts." She turns to face me. "The beginning, the middle, and now... now we finally get the ending right."

"Not an ending," I say, taking her hand. "Just a better beginning."

Her fingers lace with mine. "I like the sound of that."

The sun starts to set, painting everything in shades of gold and crimson. Tomorrow, we'll join rock's immortals. Tomorrow, I'll hear other voices tell parts of our story before I finally tell the end myself. Tomorrow, everything changes.

But right now, watching autumn leaves dance past our windshield, holding the hand of the woman who believed in me before I believed in myself, I realize something:

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