Giving Chase (Incendiary Ink #1)

7. Anybody – Eliza

Anybody

ELIZA

The waiter clears away our plates, the clink of silverware against china punctuating the awkward silence that's fallen between us. Chase and I have exhausted all talk of the Hall of Fame ceremony, having dissected every detail from the seating arrangements to the setlist for the performance.

Now, with our professional obligations discussed, we're left with... what, exactly?

I take a sip of my wine, using the moment to study Chase over the rim of my glass. He looks good – sober suits him. The lines around his eyes speak of the years that have passed, but there's a clarity in his emerald gaze that I don't remember from before. It makes something twist in my chest, a mixture of pride and pain that I'm not ready to examine too closely.

"So," Chase says, breaking the silence and reading my mind. As always. "I guess we've covered everything about the ceremony."

I nod, setting down my glass, trying desperately to keep my hand steady. "I think so. Unless you have any other questions?"

He shakes his head, and we lapse into silence again. I can feel the weight of unasked questions, of unspoken words, hanging heavy between us. There's so much I want to know, so much I need to understand if I'm going to get through the next few weeks of working with him.

But the pain of seeing him, of being reminded of everything we were and everything we lost, is still raw. It would be easier to call for the check, to walk away and keep things strictly professional.

Easier, but not better.

I take a deep breath, steeling myself. "Chase," I begin, my voice steadier than I feel, but still a little shaky. "I think we need to talk. About... everything."

He looks up, surprise and something like fear flickering in his eyes. "Yeah," he says softly. "I think we do."

I nod, gathering my courage. "Why didn't you respond when I reached out?" The question comes out before I can stop it, all the hurt and confusion of the past five years condensed into seven words.

Chase winces, guilt flashing across his face. "You tried to reach out?"

"Of course I did," I say, unable to keep the hurt out of my voice. "For months after you got out of rehab. Calls, texts, emails. I even tried to contact you through your sponsor at the time. And Will and Mark. But you never replied. Not even through them. And what news I did get about you was vague and generic. It was like you'd disappeared. Like you didn’t want me to even know you were okay."

He closes his eyes, pain etched across his features. "God, Eliza, I'm so sorry. I... I blocked your number. And the guys, and my sponsor... I made him promise not to pass on any messages."

"Why?" I ask, the old hurt bubbling up again, and now I can’t seem to hide it. It’s too powerful. "After everything we'd been through, why would you shut me out like that?"

Chase opens his eyes, and the raw anguish I see there takes my breath away. "Because I couldn't face you," he says, his voice barely above a whisper. "After the way I treated you at the end, the things I said, how I showed up that night... The guilt was too much. I thought... I thought you'd be better off without me in your life."

The memory of that night flashes through my mind – Chase, drunk and high, spewing venom and accusations, his words designed to cut deep. The pain of it, still fresh after all these years, makes me flinch.

"That wasn't your decision to make," I say, my voice tight with emotion. I said it on the phone before to him as well; he made that choice for me, effectively cutting me out completely.

"I know that now," Chase says, running a hand through his hair. "But back then, freshly sober, the guilt was overwhelming. And then... time just kept passing. Weeks turned into months, months into years. The longer I waited, the harder it became to reach out. I convinced myself it was too late, that you'd moved on and wouldn't want to hear from me anyway."

I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself. "I would have wanted to know you were okay," I say softly. "That you were staying sober, that you were healing. Do you have any idea what it was like, not knowing if you were even alive? There were months that even Will and Mark wouldn’t get back to me."

Chase nods, understanding dawning in his eyes. "I never meant to hurt you like that. I was so caught up in my own guilt and shame that I couldn't see past it. I'm sorry, Eliza. I'm so fucking sorry."

His words hang in the air between us, heavy with regret and unspoken feelings. Part of me wants to accept his apology, to let go of the hurt I've been carrying for five years. But another part, the part that's been wounded too many times, holds back.

"I appreciate your apology, Chase," I say carefully. "But understanding why you did something doesn't automatically make it okay. You hurt me. Deeply. And that's not something I can just get over in one dinner conversation." And to be honest, even though he apologized, and I accept his words, I still don’t fully understand it. I thought our connection back then was stronger than that. I don’t know if I’ll ever truly get over the hurt his shutting me out like that caused.

Chase nods, a mix of sadness and resignation in his eyes. "I understand. I don't expect forgiveness, Eliza. I just... I needed you to know how sorry I am."

I nod, acknowledging his words. "Are you... are you okay now?" I ask, changing the subject slightly.

A small smile tugs at the corner of Chase's mouth. "I'm sober," he says. "Five years, two months, and eleven days. It's not always easy, but... I'm doing okay."

Despite everything, I feel a surge of pride. "I'm glad," I say softly. "I always knew you could do it."

Something flashes in Chase's eyes at that – gratitude, maybe, or something deeper. "I couldn't have done it without you," he says. "Your support, even when I was at my worst... it meant everything, Eliza."

I feel tears pricking at the corners of my eyes and blink them back. This isn't how I expected this dinner to go, but I realize that this is what I needed – not closure, exactly, but a start. A chance to see the man Chase has become, to begin to reconcile him with the man I knew.

"Where do we go from here?" I ask, the question encompassing so much more than just the upcoming ceremony.

Chase looks at me for a long moment, his gaze intense. "I don't know," he admits. "But I'd like to find out. If you're willing."

I take a deep breath, weighing his words. There's still so much unsaid between us, so much to work through. And despite the feelings I know I still have for him, I can't ignore the years of pain and the breach of trust.

"I think," I say slowly, "that we need to take this one step at a time. We have a couple of months of working together ahead of us with this Hall of Fame induction. Let's see how that goes first."

Chase nods, a mix of hope and understanding in his eyes. "That sounds fair. I know I have a lot to prove, Eliza. And I'm willing to do whatever it takes."

"It's not about proving anything, Chase," I say, surprising myself with my candor. "It's about rebuilding trust. And that takes time."

"Time," he repeats softly. "Yeah, I can do that."

As we call for the check, I feel a strange mix of emotions. There's still hurt, still anger at what happened between us. But there's also a glimmer of something else. Not forgiveness, not yet. But maybe... possibility.

We step out into the cool night air, and for a moment, we just stand there, neither quite ready to say goodbye.

"Thank you," Chase says finally. "For giving me a chance to explain. For... for everything, really."

I nod, offering a small smile. "Thank you for being honest. It's a start."

The valet approaches with my car keys, and I feel a sudden reluctance to leave. Chase seems to sense it, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

"So, I guess this is goodnight," he says, his voice soft.

"I guess it is," I reply, equally quiet.

We stand there for another moment, the air between us charged with lingering emotions. Finally, I take a deep breath and turn to the valet.

"Thank you," I say, accepting my keys.

As I settle into my car, I watch Chase in the rearview mirror as he waits for his own vehicle. He looks lost in thought, his brow furrowed in that way I remember so well.

I start the engine, but before I pull away, I allow myself one last look at him. Our eyes meet briefly, and he offers a small, tentative wave. I return it, feeling a mix of emotions I can't quite name.

As I drive away, I realize that this dinner hasn't given me the closure I thought I wanted. Instead, it's opened a door I thought was long closed. And while I'm not ready to step through it just yet, I find myself, for the first time in five years, not wanting to slam it shut either.

The next couple of months are going to be interesting, to say the least. But as I navigate the familiar streets of Los Angeles, I realize I'm looking forward to seeing what happens next. And that, in itself, feels like progress.

September 15, 2006

The diamond on my left hand catches the morning sunlight as I reach for my latte, sending little prisms dancing across the coffee shop wall. I still can't quite believe it's there – three weeks engaged, and it still feels surreal.

I glance at my watch. Twenty minutes until the first Incendiary Ink band meeting since their break began six months ago. Plenty of time to savor my coffee and gather my thoughts. It's been a whirlwind half-year – the band's break, throwing myself into other projects at Blackmore, and then meeting Clive.

Clive. My fiancé. Successful music promoter, charming, stable. Everything I should want. Everything I do want. Right? The speed of our relationship sometimes makes my head spin, but isn't that what love is supposed to do?

The bell over the door chimes, and I look up out of habit. My heart stops.

Chase.

He's let his hair grow out again, and there's a scruffy beard shadowing his jaw. But those green eyes are the same, lighting up with recognition as they land on me. For a moment, I forget how to breathe.

"Well, well, well," he drawls, a slow smile spreading across his face as he approaches my table. "If it isn't the elusive Eliza Kerr. I was starting to think you were just a figment of my imagination."

I stand, a mix of emotions swirling in my chest. It's been six months since we've seen each other, not since that disastrous night after their last show. "Chase. Hi. It's... it's good to see you."

He nods, his eyes roaming my face as if relearning it. "You too. You look great. Time off from babysitting us clearly agrees with you."

I can't help but laugh. "Funny, I was just thinking how relaxed you look. The break seems to be working wonders."

Chase shrugs, that familiar half-smile tugging at his lips. "Well, you know what they say. Absence makes the heart grow fonder and the liver recover."

"Chase," I admonish, but there's no heat in it. I've missed this easy banter between us.

His eyes drop to my hand, and I see the exact moment he notices the diamond. His expression flickers – surprise, then something that looks almost like pain before he schools his features into a teasing grin.

"Wow," he says, his voice light but with an undercurrent I can't quite place. "That's some rock. Did you find a sugar daddy while we were away, or did you rob a jewelry store?"

I roll my eyes, fighting the urge to hide my hand. "Very funny. His name is Clive. Clive Baxter. He's a music promoter. We met at the Summer Sonic Festival in Tokyo."

Recognition flashes in Chase's eyes. "Clive Baxter? Tall guy, always wears those ugly paisley ties?"

I nod, surprised, purposely ignoring the tie comment. "You know him?"

Chase's grin turns a bit forced and my heart lurches. "Yeah, we've crossed paths a few times. Small world, huh? Well, congrats, Eliza. I'm happy for you. Really."

There's an awkward pause, filled with all the things we're not saying. I find myself searching his face, trying to read what he's really thinking. Is he upset? Jealous? Or am I just projecting, wanting to see something that isn't there?

"So," Chase says, breaking the silence. "Six months, huh? Feels like a lifetime. The guys are pretty excited about getting back in the studio. Think you can still handle us, or has your new romance made you soft?"

I arch an eyebrow at him. "Please. I could manage you boys in my sleep. In fact, I'm pretty sure I have."

Chase laughs, a genuine sound that makes something in my chest ache. "There's the Eliza we know and fear. God, I've missed this. Missed you."

The words hit me like a physical blow. I look up at him, and for a moment, I see everything we used to be, everything we could have been. And suddenly, I'm not sure of anything anymore.

"I've missed you too," I admit softly, the words slipping out before I can stop them.

We stand there for a moment, the air between us charged with unspoken feelings and missed opportunities. Then Chase clears his throat, breaking the spell.

"We should probably head over," he says, gesturing towards the door. "Don't want to be late for our own resurrection, right?"

I nod, gathering my things. As we walk towards the Blackmore offices, I'm acutely aware of the space between us – close enough to touch, but separated by choices and circumstances and the glittering diamond on my finger.

I think about Clive, probably already at work, planning his next big event. Steady, reliable Clive, who swept me off my feet in a whirlwind romance. Then I look at Chase, wild and unpredictable and so achingly familiar, and I feel my carefully constructed world start to tilt on its axis.

What am I doing? Is Clive just another project, something to distract me from the complicated mess of feelings I have for Chase?

As we step into the elevator, I catch our reflection in the mirrored walls, something I’m so used to doing with us. Chase and Eliza, together again. It looks right in a way I'm not prepared to examine too closely.

"So," Chase says as the doors close, his tone deceptively casual. "You and Clive, huh? Must be pretty serious if there's a ring involved."

I nod, twisting the diamond absently. "It is. It's... fast, but when you know, you know. Right?"

Chase's smile doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Right. Of course."

The elevator starts to move, and I take a deep breath. Two months until the wedding – a fact I'm grateful I haven't shared with Chase. Two months to figure out if I'm making the biggest mistake of my life, or finally doing something right.

God help me.