Giving Chase (Incendiary Ink #1)

14. The Dam – Chase

The Dam

CHASE

The ticking of Dr. Hendricks' antique clock seems louder than usual today. I've been staring at it for the past five minutes, watching the second hand make its relentless journey, anything to avoid the question hanging in the air.

"Chase," Dr. Hendricks' voice is gentle but firm, "you mentioned that you've been feeling tempted lately. Can you elaborate on that?"

I drag my gaze away from the clock, forcing myself to meet his eyes. "It's not... I haven't..." I take a deep breath, start again. "I haven't slipped. But God, I've wanted to."

Dr. Hendricks nods, encouraging me to continue.

"It's all this Hall of Fame stuff," I say, the words tumbling out now. "Seeing Eliza again, rehearsing the old songs... it's bringing up a lot of memories. Good ones, sure, but the bad ones too. The ones I used to drink to forget."

"And how are you handling those memories now, without the alcohol?"

I laugh, but there's no humor in it. "Not great, doc. That's why I'm here, isn't it?"

He doesn't rise to my sarcasm. Instead, he asks, "Have you been using any of the coping mechanisms we've discussed?"

I shift uncomfortably. "Some. The breathing exercises help a bit. But it's hard to step away and do that in the middle of a rehearsal, you know?"

"What about reaching out to your support system? Friends, family?"

I wince. "You know I'm not great at that, doc. It feels... I don't know, weak somehow. Like I should be able to handle this on my own by now."

Dr. Hendricks leans forward slightly. "Chase, recovery isn't about doing it alone. It's about learning to lean on others when you need to. That's strength, not weakness."

I nod, not entirely convinced but not willing to argue the point.

"Let's talk about the letter to Eliza," Dr. Hendricks changes tack. "Have you made any progress on that?"

Another wince. "Not really. I've started it a dozen times, but... how do you apologize for years of hurt in a single letter?"

"Perhaps the letter isn't meant to encompass everything. It could be a starting point, an opening for a deeper conversation."

I consider this. "Maybe. But then there's the acceptance speech too. I'm supposed to sum up our entire career, our entire journey, in what? Five minutes?"

"It sounds like you're feeling overwhelmed," Dr. Hendricks observes. "Like you're trying to solve everything at once."

"Yeah," I admit. "I guess I am."

"Let's break this down," he suggests. "First, your recovery. What specific moments or memories have been triggering the urge to drink?"

I close my eyes, thinking. "There's this one part in Burning Bridges - we were rehearsing it the other day. I wrote it when I was at a real, just before one of my rehabs. Hearing it now... it's like I can taste the whiskey on my tongue again."

Dr. Hendricks nods. "And how did you handle that moment?"

"I pushed through," I say. "Finished the song. But afterwards, I had to step outside, just... breathe for a while."

"That's good, Chase. You recognized the trigger and took positive action. What else?"

I think for a moment. "Eliza's perfume," I admit quietly. "It's the same one she's always worn. One whiff and I'm back in all those moments - the good and the bad."

"And how does that make you feel?"

"Nostalgic. Sad. Angry, sometimes. At myself, mostly. For all the times I messed up, all the chances I wasted."

Dr. Hendricks is quiet for a moment, letting me sit with those emotions. Then he asks, "How do the letter and the speech tie into all of this?"

I hadn't considered this connection before. "I guess... they're both about taking responsibility, aren't they? Owning up to my past, my mistakes. But also acknowledging how far I've come."

"Exactly," Dr. Hendricks nods. "They're not separate from your recovery journey - they're part of it. So, let's start with the letter. Instead of trying to apologize for everything, what's the one thing you most want Eliza to know?"

I don't have to think long. "That I'm grateful. For her belief in me, even when I didn't believe in myself."

"That's a powerful starting point," Dr. Hendricks says. "For the speech, perhaps instead of trying to sum up everything, you could focus on the band's journey of growth - which mirrors your own personal journey."

As we continue to discuss strategies, I feel some of the overwhelming pressure start to lift. We talk about more specific coping mechanisms I can use during rehearsals, ways to ground myself when memories become overwhelming, and how to approach the letter and speech as part of my ongoing recovery rather than separate, daunting tasks.

"Remember, Chase," Dr. Hendricks says as our time winds down, "recovery isn't a destination - it's a journey. You're not failing if you struggle. The important thing is that you keep moving forward, and that you're willing to ask for help when you need it."

I nod, feeling more grounded than I have in weeks. "Thanks, doc. I... I'll try to remember that."

As I walk to my car, I pull out my phone and open a new note. At the top, I type:

Dear Eliza, I want to start by saying thank you...

It's not much, but it's a start. And right now, that feels like enough.

On the drive home, I make a decision. I pull over and dial a number I haven't used in a while.

"Hey, Will? Yeah, it's me. Listen, I was wondering... do you have some time to grab a coffee? There's some stuff I could use a friend's ear for."

It's a small step, but as I merge back into traffic, I feel a weight lift off my shoulders. Maybe Dr. Hendricks is right. Maybe asking for help isn't weakness after all.

September 16, 2017

The pounding in my head matches the insistent knocking at the door. I groan, trying to piece together where I am and how I got here. My living room, I realize, as the world slowly comes into focus. Empty bottles litter the coffee table, and there's a guitar - my favorite Gibson - lying haphazardly on the floor.

The knocking continues, now accompanied by a familiar voice. "Chase! Open up, man. We're worried about you."

Will. Shit. The band meeting. What time is it?

I try to sit up, but a wave of nausea hits me. That's when I notice the woman sprawled on the other end of the couch, her mascara smeared, clothes disheveled. I have no memory of how she got here.

"Coming," I croak out, my voice barely recognizable. I stumble to the door, nearly tripping over an overturned amp.

When I open the door, Will's worried expression quickly turns to one of shock and disappointment. "Jesus, Chase. What the hell?"

I lean against the doorframe, trying to muster some semblance of composure. "Lost track of time. Sorry about the meeting."

Will pushes past me into the house, then stops short at the scene before him. His eyes dart from the bottles to the passed-out woman on the couch, then back to me. "Lost track of time?" he repeats, his voice a mix of anger and concern. "You've gone off the deep end, man. What's going on with you?"

The events of the past couple days come rushing back, and with them, a fresh wave of pain and anger. "Eliza," I mutter, reaching for a half-empty bottle on the nearby table. "She's leaving us."

Will snatches the bottle away, his brow furrowing. "What are you talking about? Eliza's not going anywhere."

I blink at him, confused. "But... her promotion. She said..."

"If you'd been at the meeting, you'd know," Will says, his tone softening slightly. "She fought the board, Chase. Told them she wouldn't take the promotion unless she could keep managing us. She's staying on."

The news hits me like a bucket of cold water. "She... what?"

Will nods, then looks pointedly at the woman on the couch. "Who's she?"

I shrug, the movement making my head spin. "No idea. Met her at... a bar? I think?"

Will runs a hand over his face, looking suddenly tired. "Okay, here's what's going to happen. I'm going to call this woman a cab. You're going to take a shower and try to sober up. Then we're going to talk. Really talk."

I want to argue, to tell him to leave me alone, that I'm fine. But the look in his eyes - concern mixed with a steely determination - tells me it's not up for debate.

As Will helps the disoriented woman out of the house and into a cab, I drag myself to the shower. The hot water helps clear my head a little, but with clarity comes shame. What the hell am I doing?

By the time I emerge, Will has cleared away the bottles and opened some windows, letting in fresh air. He's sitting on the couch, two cups of coffee on the table in front of him.

"Sit," he says, pushing one of the mugs towards me.

I obey, the caffeine helping to further cut through the fog in my brain.

"Talk to me, Chase," Will says softly. "This isn't just about Eliza, is it?"

I bristle slightly. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Will sighs. "Come on, man. This isn't the first time you've gone on a bender. Remember after the Grammys? Or when your dad showed up out of the blue last year?"

"So I like to party sometimes," I say defensively. "We're rockstars. It's what we do."

"No," Will says firmly. "It's what you do. And it's getting worse, Chase. I'm worried about you."

I laugh, but there's no humor in it. "Worried? About what? I'm fine. This was just... a misunderstanding. I thought we were losing Eliza. I overreacted. It won't happen again."

Will looks at me for a long moment, like he's trying to decide whether to believe me. Finally, he nods. "Okay. But Chase? You need to talk to Eliza. She was pretty upset when you didn't show up to the meeting. She thinks you're angry with her."

Guilt washes over me. "I'll call her," I promise. "Explain everything."

"Good," Will says, standing up. "And maybe... take it easy on the drinking for a while? For all our sakes?"

I nod, even as a part of me bristles at the suggestion. I don't have a problem. I don't. This was a one-time thing.

As Will leaves, I'm left alone with my thoughts. Relief that Eliza's staying on mixes with shame over my behavior. But underneath it all, there's a nagging feeling I can't quite shake. A whisper in the back of my mind that maybe, just maybe, Will's concern isn't entirely misplaced.

I push the thought away. I'm fine. Everything's fine. And now that I know Eliza's not leaving, it will all go back to normal.

It has to.