Page 77 of Giving Chase

"What he means is," Will translates, "people really want to see these two make heart eyes at each other on stage now that they're allowed."

"Some of us still pine," Mark protests. "Keep the brand consistent. Though maybe fewer songs about grey eyes in this album?"

"Meeting," James reminds them. "We're having a meeting. About actual business. Publishing rights? International distribution? Anyone?"

I leave them to it, heart full. Twenty years of separating personal and professional, and now...

"They're going to be incredible," Michelle says, falling into step beside me yet again.

“Are you stalking me or something?” I glare at her sideways.

She ignores me. "The comeback album of the decade. Also, Justin says he's writing a song calledMy Mom's Dating a RockStar. Says he'll premiere it at Janet's retirement party."

"He wouldn't dare. That’s a joke, right?"

"He absolutely would... but unfortunately, yeah, I think it’s a joke. Oh, and TMZ wants to know if you're wearing an engagement ring in those Cleveland photos."

“Jesus Christ,” I sigh, already worn out from everything hitting me all at once. "I'm not."

"Yet," she sing-songs.

I roll my eyes at her as we reach my office just as Chase's laugh echoes down the hall. The sound fits here now. Belongs here.

Just like we finally belong to each other.

Properly. Publicly. Professionally. Personally.

In broad fucking daylight.

The Best

CHASE

"Let'stake it from the second verse," Raphael's voice comes through the intercom. "Chase, try pulling back on that bass line just a touch. Let Mark's guitar breathe there."

We're four hours into today's session, working on what might be our first single. Joe adjusts something on the board while Raphael leans forward, that intense focus I remember from our last three albums.

"Rolling," Joe announces. "Take seventeen."

The new songs feel different. Cleaner. Not just because I'm sober, but because I'm finally writing from a place of peace instead of pain. No more hiding meanings in metaphors. No more disguising love songs as ballads about nameless muses.

"Cut." Raphael again. "Will, that fill in the bridge - do it again, but think about what you did in take twelve. That pocket was perfect."

“Take twelve? Really?” Will laughs, wiping his sweaty hands on a towel. “You expect me to remember that far back?”

Mark and I both turn to him in unison, smirks on our faces. “Yes. We do.”

The studio door opens and Eliza appears with bags of takeout. Still in her work suit, obviously between meetings. The sight of her here, openly bringing lunch to her boyfriend's recording session, still feels like a small miracle.

"Perfect timing," Raphael says. "I need fresh ears on this bridge anyway. Thirty minutes?"

The control room fills with the rustle of takeout bags and appreciation for the break. Even James is here today, between meetings about marketing strategies and distribution deals.

"How's it going?" Eliza asks, settling beside me on the studio couch.

"Your boyfriend's being disgustingly happy in all the new songs," Will informs her, already reaching for the food. "It's terrible for our rock credibility."

"Horrible," Mark agrees around a mouthful of sandwich. "People might actually realize we're good musicians instead of just tortured artists."

---