Page 147 of Chasing Lyric
His hands find mine. Warm and steady with a strength that keeps me grounded. His fingers thread through mine with the kind of intent that carries weight, the type that doesn’t allow escape.
Then I see it, behind the fire of his confidence, behind the smooth edges he usually wears like armor, something raw and vulnerable flickers in his gaze.
Fear.
Not the kind that makes you run. The kind that makes you leap, even though the ground might not be there to catch you.
And that’s when my breath snags in my throat.
Because if Chase is scared, then this is real.
This is big.
“Chase, what’s wrong?” The words barely leave my lips, a whisper caught somewhere between confusion and the sharp sting of dread. My throat tightens as I search his face for answers, already bracing for something I don’t want to hear.
His chest rises with a heavy inhale. He doesn’t look at me. Just shakes his head slightly, the way someone does when they’re holding something too big, too important. “Just let me get through this, okay, Starlight?”
Starlight.
God, the way he says it, soft and pleading, not teasing the way he usually does, makes my pulse jump into a sprint, and a sliver of panic slices through me.
I take a step in, breath caught in my lungs. “Jesus Christ, Chase…” my voice cracks, “… a-are you sick?”
He flinches, closing his eyes for a second too long. His jaw clenches, as if the question physically hurts to hear. That alone sends alarm bells ringing through every inch of me.
No.No, no, no!
I press the back of my hand to his forehead. He’s warm.Too warm.Damp with sweat at his hairline, and my stomach turns. My heart starts pounding erratic and wild.
I have a baby growing inside me. A future is finally unfolding. And this man, this beautiful, infuriating, loyal man, is the center of it all. The idea of anything happening to him is too much. It’s unthinkable.
“Chase…” I reach up to grip his shirt, needing to anchor myself to something, to him. “You’re scaring me.”
He still hasn’t said anything.
And the silence is louder than any answer he could have given me.
“Man up, CJ,” his father calls out from somewhere behind us, a teasing bark that slices through the tension.
Chase’s eyes lift to meet mine.
And everything in me stills.
There’s no fear in them now. Just raw, unfiltered emotion, hope, love, and a kind of quiet reverence. That single look is a promise, a map of the life we’ve built and the future he wants for us.
He squeezes my hand, then suddenly lets go.
Before I can question it, he lowers himself to the ground, dropping to one knee.
A sharp gasp rips from my lungs as my hand flies to my chest. For a heartbeat, I forget how to breathe. The world spins, narrows down to this man on the ground in front of me, and the weight of what’s happening finally lands.
Oh.
Oh God.
He’s not sick.
He’s not dying.
