Giving Chase (Incendiary Ink #1)

23. Black Butterfly – Chase

Black Butterfly

CHASE

The lights are too bright. They've always been too bright at these things. But for the first time in twenty years, I'm facing them sober. No pills to dull the edge. No whiskey to smooth the way. Just me, Will, and Mark at the conference table, fielding questions about the Hall of Fame ceremony.

My fingers find the silver guitar pick in my pocket – a habit so ingrained I barely notice anymore. For years I've carried it. Through hell and back. Through losing everything, including her.

Eliza stands at the back of the room with Michelle, both of them in their usual power suits. Every time I look at her, I remember last night. This morning. The way she smiled when she borrowed one of my t-shirts for breakfast.

Focus, Avery.

"Chase." A reporter in the front row – Rolling Stone , I think. "How does it feel preparing to perform Whispered Truths sober for the first time? Especially given the... personal nature of the lyrics?"

My fingers curl around the pick. Steady. Present. "Terrifying." The honesty gets a laugh. "But right. That song deserves to be performed with clear eyes. It always has."

"Speaking of that song," another reporter jumps in. "You've never officially confirmed who it's about, but the Grammy performance in 2015?—"

"The one where I kissed Eliza on the way to the stage?" I can't help smiling at the memory. "Yeah, I guess that wasn't exactly subtle."

Soft laughter ripples through the room. Eliza maintains her professional mask, but I see the slight color in her cheeks. She remembers too.

The questions continue – about the ceremony, about the bands joining us, about our legacy. Mark fields questions about our early days, Will handles the technical aspects of the performance. It's almost like old times, except I'm actually present for it. No haze, no blur, no chemical buffer between me and reality.

"And what about Burning Bridges ?" A music blogger this time. "The whole third album seemed to chart the progression of a complicated relationship. One that coincided with Blackmore Records taking a chance on an unknown band..."

I grip the pick tighter, its edges biting into my palm.

"Those songs speak for themselves," Will interjects smoothly, following the PR script we'd prepared. But before he can continue?—

"These photos were leaked online this morning."

The screen behind us flickers to life. Suddenly we're all staring at images from the photo shoot. Me and Eliza, caught in moments we didn’t realize revealed everything between us. The way she looked at me. The way I couldn't look away from her. Chemistry radiating from every frame.

My heart stops. We haven't talked about going public. Haven't discussed what this means for her position at the label, for the band's legacy, for any of it. Five days of bliss in our private bubble, and now...

"The rumors about your relationship with Eliza Kerr have circulated for years." The reporter leans forward. "The industry whispers, the songs clearly about her, the infamous Grammy kiss. Care to comment on these photos? On your current relationship status? And how does this affect the professional dynamics at play?"

The room goes silent. I can feel every eye on me. Will's hand finds my shoulder – steady support, like always. Mark gives me the smallest nod.

Don't look. Don't look. Don't ? —

I look.

She's standing perfectly still, face unreadable behind her professional mask. The one she perfected over twenty years of keeping our secrets.

I pull out the silver guitar pick, hold it up to catch the light. Her eyes widen – she probably thought I'd lost it years ago. Lost it like I'd lost myself.

"See this?" My voice is steady. "Eliza gave me this at our ten-year anniversary party. A private moment during a public celebration. I've carried it every day since. Through addiction. Through recovery. Through five years of silence when I was too ashamed to face her."

The pick gleams under the lights as I turn it, showing the worn edges, the barely visible engraving.

"Those rumors have always been complicated by our professional relationship. By my addiction. By timing and circumstance and my own demons."

I watch her hand press against her stomach, that tell I've known for twenty years.

"The truth is, I've loved Eliza Kerr for twenty years." The words feel like freedom. Like finally singing the right note after years of being sharp. "Through every up and down. Through addiction and recovery. Through her rise to President and my fall to rock bottom. She saved my life more times than I can count, and then saved it one final time by being brave enough to give me space until I got clean."

Will squeezes my shoulder. Mark coughs to hide what might be a laugh or a sob.

"Every song – yes, including Whispered Truths – every Grammy performance, every moment of our success is tied to her. Not just because she believed in our music, but because she believed in me when I couldn't believe in myself. She maintained professional boundaries when I kept trying to blur them. She put her career on the line multiple times to protect me from myself."

The room erupts with questions. Cameras flash. I ignore them all, finding her eyes again across the space.

She's smiling, tears threatening to ruin her perfect makeup.

"And now?" The same reporter, voice cutting through the chaos. "What's your relationship status now? What about the conflict of interest?"

I don't look away from Eliza as I answer. "Now I think I might finally be worthy of her. Now I'm finally the man she always believed I could be. As for the professional concerns..." I smile, closing my fingers around her gift. "I think twenty years of maintaining boundaries proves we can handle it."

Her smile widens. Michelle elbows her, whispering something that makes Eliza actually laugh out loud – a sound so rare in professional settings that several heads turn.

"Jesus," Will mutters beside me, but he's smiling too. "Guess we're doing this."

"Guess we are."

The rest of the conference passes in a blur. I answer questions on autopilot, professional enough to stay on topic, but my eyes keep finding her. The way she's relaxed now, mask dropped. The way she keeps touching the collar of her blazer – where a mark from my mouth this morning hides just underneath.

When it's over, when the reporters file out and the cameras power down, she crosses the room to me. Everyone pretends not to watch.

"So," she says softly. "Worthy of me, huh?"

"Too much?" My hands itch to touch her, but we're still in public. Still navigating this new reality.

"No." She straightens my collar, fingers lingering. "Just right. Like everything else lately."

"Even though I didn't ask first? About going public?"

"Chase." Her smile is soft, private. Just for me. "You just told the world you love me. In front of cameras. Completely sober. That's... that's everything I never let myself hope for."

"I do love you." The words still feel like freedom. "Figured it was time everyone knew."

"Good." She steps back, professional mask sliding back into place, but her eyes are dancing. "Because Page Six is going to have a field day with this, and I'd hate to have to deny it."

"Does this mean I can finally kiss you at the ceremony?"

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves." But she's still smiling as she walks away.

Will claps my shoulder. "You know the board's going to have opinions about this."

"Let them." I watch her go, the swing of her platinum hair, the confidence in her stride. "Some things are worth the hassle."

"Yeah?" He grins. "Like what?"

"Like finally getting to write happy love songs."

His laugh follows me out of the room. For the first time in twenty years, I'm leaving a press conference steady on my feet, clear in my head, and absolutely certain about where I'm going.

Right where I've always been heading.

Right to her.

Later, when it's just us in her office, I show her how worn the engraving has become on the stainless steel guitar pick from ten years of worrying it between my fingers.

"You kept it." Her voice is soft with wonder. "Through everything?"

"My good luck charm. My reminder. My..." I laugh softly. "My sobriety chip before I earned the real ones."

"Chase..." She traces the worn edges. "All those years, even when..."

"Even when I was at my worst. Even in rehab. Even when I thought I'd lost you forever." I fold her fingers around it. "Some things you just know you have to hold onto."

Her laugh is everything I've ever tried to capture in melody.

Some songs don't need to be written. They just need to be lived.