Giving Chase (Incendiary Ink #1)

11. Don’t Tell Me – Eliza

Don’t Tell Me

ELIZA

The musty scent of aged paper and dust tickles my nose as I push open the attic door. Shafts of late afternoon sunlight cut through the gloom, illuminating dancing motes in the air. I sneeze, the sound echoing in the cramped space.

"Get it together, Eliza," I mutter to myself. "You're the President of Blackmore Records, not some sentimental schoolgirl."

But as I pull down the box marked ‘Incendiary Ink - Early Years,’ my hands are trembling. I settle onto the dusty floor, realizing my white jeans were a bad idea as I look at the years of dust around me. Professional Eliza would be horrified. But right now, I can't bring myself to care.

The first item I pull out is a demo CD, its case cracked and label faded. I close my eyes, transported back to the first time I heard Chase's raw, powerful voice coming through my office speakers. I'd known then, in that moment, that I'd discovered something special.

Next comes a stack of contracts, my own neat handwriting in the margins. Notes like "Negotiate publishing rights" and "Discuss tour budget" remind me of late nights poring over legal documents, fighting to get the best deal for a band I believed in with every fiber of my being.

A small velvet pouch falls out as I move the contracts aside. I open it, and a guitar pick falls into my palm. It's worn and slightly chipped, with "CA" etched into one side. The memory hits me like a physical blow.

Austin, Texas. July 2005. Chase, high on the energy of a killer show, jumping off the stage and pressing the pick into my hand. His fingers lingering on mine, his eyes bright with something more than just post-performance adrenaline. "Couldn't have done it without you, Eliza," he'd said, his voice husky. It had taken every ounce of willpower not to kiss him right there.

I close my fist around the pick, the edges digging into my palm. Remembering another special guitar pick… This is dangerous territory, Eliza. Remember - professional boundaries.

But as I continue to sift through the box, those boundaries become increasingly blurred. Concert tickets and passes from shows I'd watched from the wings, my heart swelling with pride. Handwritten notes from Chase, usually scribbled on hotel stationery - some professional, some decidedly not.

I pull out a photo album, its edges worn from frequent handling. I flip it open, and there we are - the band and me, all impossibly young and full of hope. There's Will, grinning widely behind his drum kit. Mark, guitar slung low, trying to look cool but unable to hide his excitement. And Chase... God, Chase.

His eyes are bright with that fire I'd recognized from the first moment I saw him perform. I trace the line of his jaw with my finger, remembering how it felt under my lips in stolen moments on tour buses and in dimly lit hotel rooms. The ghost of his touch sends a shiver down my spine, and I snap the album shut.

"Focus, Eliza," I scold myself. "You're here to write a speech, not moon over ancient history."

But as I reach for my laptop, another item catches my eye. A small, leather-bound journal, tucked away at the bottom of the box. With trembling hands, I open it to a random page:

September 3, 2007 - Board meeting today about Incendiary Ink's third album budget. Had to fight tooth and nail for the resources they need. Sometimes I wonder if the other execs see what I see in them. In him. Chase played me a new song after the meeting. Said it was a thank you for always having their backs. There's a line in the chorus that keeps repeating in my head: 'In the silence between words, there's a truth we've never heard.' I can't help but wonder if he's trying to tell me something. Or am I just projecting my own feelings? This is dangerous territory, Eliza. The band needs you as a manager, not a lovesick groupie.

I close my eyes, remembering that day vividly. The frustration of the meeting, the triumph of winning the budget battle, and then... Chase. The way his voice had softened on certain lines, the intensity in his gaze as he watched for my reaction. That song eventually became Whispered Truths , and hearing it at the rehearsal had nearly broken me.

As I sit there, surrounded by the physical evidence of a lifetime of almosts and not-quites, I realize something. This speech isn't just about inducting Incendiary Ink into the Hall of Fame. It's about acknowledging a fundamental truth I've been running from for years.

Chase Avery didn't just change the face of rock music. He changed me. And maybe it's finally time I admitted that - to myself, to him, and to the world.

But as I reach for my laptop, ready to pour my heart out, my phone buzzes. It's an email from the board, reminding me of the need for "professionalism and objectivity" in the induction speech. The real world comes crashing back in, and I'm suddenly very aware of the dust on my clothes and the lateness of the hour.

I stand, brushing myself off, trying to shake away the lingering emotions. I have a responsibility to the company, to the band, to maintain professional boundaries.

But as I descend from the attic, the guitar pick clutched tightly in my hand, I can't help but wonder: At what cost?

I sit at my desk, open a new document, and type:

Ladies and gentlemen, let me tell you about the band that didn't just make music - they made history. Let me tell you about Incendiary Ink.

The words begin to flow, professional and polished. But underneath each carefully crafted sentence lurks the truth I can't fully express. The story of a woman who found herself while shepherding a band to stardom. The story of a love that never quite was, but never quite wasn't.

As I write deep into the night, I realize that this speech, like my relationship with Chase, will be an exercise in walking a tightrope. Professional, but personal. Revealing, but restrained.

Just like always.

June 15, 2014

The champagne flows freely, the sound of laughter and clinking glasses filling the opulent ballroom of the Beverly Hills Hotel. Incendiary Ink's 10th anniversary with Blackmore Records is in full swing, and I can't help but feel a surge of pride as I watch the band mingle with industry bigwigs.

My eyes, as always, are drawn to Chase. He's holding court near the bar, his charisma palpable even from across the room. Our eyes meet, and he gives me a subtle wink that sends a shiver down my spine. Eight months of secret rendezvous, stolen kisses, and nights that leave me breathless flash through my mind.

I excuse myself from a conversation with some executives and weave my way towards a quiet balcony, knowing Chase will follow. Sure enough, moments later, I hear his familiar footsteps behind me.

"Quite a party, Ms. Kerr," he says, his voice low and playful. "You really know how to celebrate a decade of putting up with us."

I turn to face him, unable to suppress my smile. "Well, Mr. Avery, you've made it worth my while."

The double meaning hangs in the air between us, filled with the electricity that's always there. Chase steps closer, his fingers brushing mine in a touch that's both innocent and deeply intimate.

"I have something for you," I say, reaching into my clutch. "A little token of appreciation."

I pull out a small velvet box and hand it to him. Chase's eyebrows raise in surprise as he opens it, revealing a stainless steel guitar pick. On one side, our initials "CA" and "EK" are engraved. He flips it over, reading aloud the words on the other side:

Through every chord and silence, I'm here.

Chase looks up at me, his green eyes intense with an emotion I'm afraid to name. "Eliza," he breathes, "this is... thank you."

Before I can respond, he's pulling me into a secluded corner of the balcony, his lips crashing into mine with a hunger that matches my own. I melt into him, propriety forgotten as his hands roam my body, familiar yet thrilling.

"My room," I gasp between kisses. "Now."

The elevator ride is torturous, the need to maintain appearances at odds with our desperate desire

As soon as my suite door closes behind us, the air changes. The playful tension from earlier crystallizes into something more intense, more urgent. Chase's eyes darken as they roam over me, and I feel my breath catch in my throat.

"Eliza," he breathes, my name a plea on his lips. He closes the distance between us in two long strides, his hands cradling my face as if I'm something precious, breakable.

The first kiss is soft, almost reverent. But as I thread my fingers through his hair, pulling him closer, the dam breaks. Suddenly, we're a tangle of limbs and half-removed clothing, desperation fueling our movements.

Chase presses me against the wall, his lips blazing a trail down my neck. Each touch, each kiss feels like he's trying to memorize me, to burn this moment into his memory. "God, Eliza," he murmurs against my skin, "what you do to me... I've never felt this way with anyone else."

His words send a shiver through me, equal parts exhilaration and fear. I pull him closer, trying to lose myself in the feel of his body against mine. "Show me," I challenge, my voice husky with desire and something deeper, something I'm afraid to name.

What follows is a symphony of passion, our bodies moving together in perfect harmony. But it's more than just physical; there's an emotional intimacy that terrifies and exhilarates me in equal measure.

As Chase moves above me, his eyes never leaving mine, I feel exposed in a way that has nothing to do with our lack of clothing. It's as if he can see right through me, past all my carefully constructed walls, to the part of me that's always been his.

"Chase," I gasp, overwhelmed by the intensity of it all. He seems to understand without words, his movements becoming more purposeful, more focused.

"I've got you," he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. "Let go, Eliza. I've got you."

And I do. For a moment, I let myself believe that this could be more than what it is, that we could have more than stolen moments and secret rendezvous. As we fall over the edge together, Chase's name on my lips and mine on his, I feel a sense of completeness I've never experienced before.

Afterwards, we lie tangled in the sheets, our breathing slowly returning to normal. Chase idly traces patterns on my skin, and I fight the urge to purr like a contented cat. The guitar pick glints on the nightstand, a tangible reminder of the unspoken thing between us.

"Eliza," Chase says softly, breaking the comfortable silence. "What are we doing?"

And just like that, reality comes crashing back in.

I tense, knowing this conversation was inevitable but dreading it, nonetheless. "We're celebrating a successful decade," I deflect weakly.

Chase props himself up on an elbow, looking down at me with those piercing eyes. "You know that's not what I mean. This... us. It's more than just our 'no strings' arrangement, isn't it?"

I sit up, clutching the sheet to my chest like a shield. "Chase, we can't... I can't..."

"Why not?" he presses gently. "Eliza, what we have... it's special. You have to feel it too."

I close my eyes, fighting back tears. Of course I feel it. How could I not? But the memory of two failed marriages looms large, and the thought of risking my heart – and potentially my son's stability – terrifies me.

"I do feel it," I admit quietly. "But Chase, I'm not... I can't be ready for that. Not even with you. Especially not with you."

The words hang in the air for a moment, and I can almost hear something snap inside Chase. His eyes flash with a sudden, fierce anger that makes me flinch.

"Especially not me?" he repeats, his voice low and dangerous. He pulls away from me, standing up abruptly. "What the hell is that supposed to mean, Eliza?"

I sit up, clutching the sheet to my chest, suddenly feeling very exposed. "Chase, I didn't mean?—"

"No, let's hear it," he cuts me off, pacing the room like a caged animal. "Am I not good enough for you? After everything we've been through, everything we've shared, I'm still just the screwed-up rockstar you need to keep at arm's length?"

His words sting, but I can hear the hurt beneath the anger. "That's not fair, Chase. You know that's not what I meant."

He whirls to face me, his eyes blazing. "Then what did you mean? Because from where I'm standing, it sounds like you're saying I'm good enough to fuck, but not good enough to love."

I gasp, shocked by his crudeness. "Chase!"

"No, Eliza," he says, his voice cracking with desperation now. "I need to understand. What is it about me that makes me so unworthy of taking a chance on? Is it the drinking? Because I'm working on that. The commitment issues? I'm here, aren't I? Trying to have this conversation?"

He drops to his knees beside the bed, grabbing my hands in his. "Tell me what I need to do, Eliza. Tell me how to be the man you can trust with your heart. Because I'm drowning here, trying to figure out how to be enough for you."

The raw vulnerability in his voice makes my heart ache. I cup his face in my hands, forcing him to look at me. "Chase, listen to me. You are enough. You've always been enough. That's what scares me."

He looks confused, so I continue, "I've built my whole life around being strong, independent. But with you... God, Chase, with you, I feel like I could lose myself completely. And I'm terrified of what that would mean for me, for my career, for Justin. And then there’s the band, and my responsibility there… There’s too many other factors to consider here, and you know it."

Understanding dawns in his eyes, the anger melting away. "Eliza," he says softly, "loving someone doesn't mean losing yourself. It means finding a partner to face life with."

I feel tears sliding down my cheeks. "I want to believe that. I do. But I've been burned before, Chase. We both have."

He nods, pressing his forehead to mine. "I know. And I know I've given you plenty of reasons to doubt me in the past. But Eliza, I'm here now. Really here. And I'm not going anywhere."

For a moment, I let myself imagine it. A life with Chase, navigating the complexities of our careers and my role as a mother, but doing it together. It's a beautiful vision, but the fear still gnaws at me.

“And what about the band?” I ask, trying my best to paint the full picture for him. Trying to make him understand how complicated this truly is. “What if we get together, and it ruins everything we’ve all worked so hard for?”

He jumps up again, his emotions a whirlwind. “Then I’ll quit the fucking band. Some things are more important--”

“No,” I interrupt, sitting up and grabbing his arm to get his full attention. The fears I’ve ignored are now on plain view to him. “That’s exactly what I’m talking about. Exactly what I’m afraid of.”

“But, Eliza…”

“No, Chase. We have so many other things to consider. So many other people to consider. People depending on us to keep things afloat. We can’t risk all of that on a maybe. And that’s what we are, Chase. We’re an unknown. An unknown we can’t gamble on. Not with so much at stake.” My voice is hoarse with emotion. I know this is the right thing to do, but it’s killing me to say it so bluntly like this. And the hurt on his face is like a mirror to my own, as he nods his defeat.

God, what I would give to let myself go with him. Just ignore responsibility for a change and let myself be truly happy. Because I would be. I know I would be happy. But I also know that the two of us together would have ripple effects that we don’t even know about, and I can’t take that chance. Not now.

Maybe not ever.

He comes back to bed, his chilled skin setting mine ablaze as he runs his fingers down my spine, making me shiver against him.

“Okay. I get it,” he concedes, searching my eyes with so much hope it hurts my heart. “But don’t take it completely off the table, okay? Can you promise me that much?”

"I need time," I whisper, giving what truth I can in the moment. "I can't promise you anything right now, Chase. Can you understand that?"

He's quiet for a long moment, and I can see him wrestling with his emotions. Finally, he nods. "I don't like it," he admits. "But I understand. And Eliza? I'll wait. As long as it takes."

“Don’t say that,” I say sadly, half choking on the words as I push the hair out of his brilliant eyes. The idea of him waiting for me is almost as painful as everything else. This isn’t fair to him. And it’s not fair to me either. We’re both losers in this. I’m okay with being alone. I can live with hard decisions like this, but Chase? I don’t think he can, and it scares the shit out of me what this could do to him. “Just, please don’t.”

He studies me closely, and he must finally realize what I’m truly saying. I can’t hold back my tears that slowly fall down my cheeks. Tears that I’ve shed in private for so long, now on full display. Tears for a life together we’ll never have. For the dream that keeps me up at night, knowing it will never be real. For the hard choices I continually have to make.

I’m tired of being the strong one. The one who sacrifices everything for everyone else. It’s soul exhausting, and I’m barely hanging on by a thread. The dam breaks, and I curl up into sobs, barely catching my breath.

Chase pulls me into his strong arms, not saying a word, just holding me close as I release every emotion. He softly kisses my cheeks, my forehead, my hair, pulling me tighter to him as I fight the war within myself. Internally raging at the world for being so unfair, and shrinking in defeat from the battle between my heart and my head that I’ve lost miserably. Logical me has won again, and I hate it. I fucking loathe it.

I eventually fall asleep in his arms, but when I awake in the middle of the night with Chase asleep beside me, I find myself staring at the guitar pick on the nightstand. Through every chord and silence, I'm here , I'd promised him. But as I lie awake, I wonder if being here, like this, is enough. Or if it's slowly breaking both our hearts.

Because mine is absolutely shattered.