Page 69 of Giving Chase

"Save some chemistry for the after-party," Michelle teases as she passes in her own edgy designer wear.

But I can't help it. Can't stop looking at Eliza. Can't believe I get to do this – really do this – hold her hand in public, kissher cheek for the cameras, show the world what I've known for twenty years:

She's the best thing that ever happened to me. To any of us.

"Speech ready?" she asks as we near the end of the carpet.

"Better be. I've only had twenty years to write it."

Her laugh is everything. The cameras catch it, that perfect moment of joy. Of us. Offinally.

"Let's go make history," Will says, chains jingling as he claps my shoulder.

Eliza squeezes my hand. The band surrounds us. The doors to rock immortality wait ahead.

Time to show the world what we're made of.

All of us.

Together.

Heaven’s Got a Back Door

ELIZA

The podium feelselectric under my fingers. Two thousand people in the audience, but I only see three. Will, steady as his own drumbeat. Mark, fingers probably itching for his guitar. And Chase.

"Twenty years ago," I begin, my voice steady despite my racing heart, "I walked into the Viper Room on a Tuesday night. Rock music was at a crossroads. Grunge had faded, leaving a vacuum no one knew how to fill. The industry was drowning in manufactured pop, boy bands were ruling the charts, and everyone was searching for the next big sound, the next movement, the next revolution. I wasn't supposed to be there that night – had an early meeting the next day. But something made me stay. Something in the air. Something in the sound."

The room is silent, waiting.

"What I heard that night wasn't just music. It wasn't grunge, wasn't pop-punk, wasn’t emo, wasn't anything that had come before. It was revolution. It was evolution. It was three guys from nowhere who were about to change everything."

I find Will's eyes. "A drummer who could make your heart beat in time with his." Mark's turn. "A guitarist who paintedcolors with sound." Finally, Chase. "And a frontman who wrote poetry like punch lines and played bass like warfare."

Scattered applause, quickly hushed.

"Incendiary Ink didn't just make music. They made magic. They made history. When everyone else was trying to replicate what had come before, they created something entirely new. Nine platinum albums. Sixteen sold-out world tours. Over fifty million records sold. But numbers don't tell the real story."

I gesture to where Murderous Crows and Indigo King sit. "The real story is in every band they inspired. Every artist who heard them and thought 'I want to do that.' Every kid who picked up a guitar because of Mark's solos. Every drummer who tried to match Will's rhythms. Every songwriter who studied Chase's lyrics like scripture."

Movement catches my eye – Chase shifting in his seat, and my heart stutters momentarily.

"The real story is in their survival. Three original members, twenty years, one vision. Through every up and down. Every triumph and tragedy. Every almost and finally."

The industry crowd stirs at that last word. They know what it means now.

"I've watched this band grow from dive bar darlings to stadium gods. I've seen them fight and fall and rise and soar. I've seen them break records and break hearts. I've seen them define an entire era of rock music, creating a sound that became the blueprint for a generation of bands that followed."

My voice softens. "And through it all, they've remained exactly who they are: three guys from nowhere who changed everything."

Chase's eyes lock with mine. Twenty years of history passes between us in a heartbeat.

"Tonight, Incendiary Ink joins the immortals. Their names will be written in rock history forever. But for those of us whowere there... for those of us who heard that first chord in that dim club on a Tuesday night, when rock music was searching for its future... they've been immortal all along."

I grip the podium tighter and smile directly at Chase as the lights dim for a video showing the band’s history on the big screen behind me. I turn to watch the package the label put together, letting myself get caught up in the past for a moment before I have to continue my speech. Once the video ends, I have to wipe at my eyes as the nostalgia of it all gets to me. I clear my throat, and the crowd chuckles softly with me as I gather myself enough to go on.

"They say every great band has a secret weapon. Something that sets them apart. Incendiary Ink's wasn't their sound, though that was revolutionary. Wasn't their style, though that was iconic. It wasn't even their talent, though that was undeniable."

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