Giving Chase (Incendiary Ink #1)

26. Can’t Quench the Fire – Eliza

Can’t Quench the Fire

ELIZA

The private dining room at Giovanni's overlooks downtown Cleveland, city lights twinkling like earthbound stars. Chase fidgets with his water glass, that tell I've known for twenty years. He wants to say something but isn't sure how.

"Out with it," I say, smiling. "You've been sitting on something all day."

He laughs softly. "That obvious?"

"Only to me."

He reaches for his jacket, pulls out a small notebook – the kind he always used for lyrics. My heart skips.

"I've been writing again," he says quietly. "Real writing, not just... not like before. Different stuff. Clearer." He pauses. "Better."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." His fingers trace the notebook's edges. "Will and Mark have been coming by the house. Playing around with some arrangements. It feels... it feels right. For the first time in years."

The implications hover between us like smoke. I take a sip of water, choosing my words carefully.

"Have you talked to them? About making it official?"

"Not yet. Wanted to talk to you first." His green eyes meet mine. "For obvious reasons."

A waiter appears with our appetizers. We wait until he's gone before continuing.

"The industry's changed," I say. "Streaming, social media, virtual concerts. It's not the same landscape you left."

"Good thing I know the President of a major label." His smile is tentative. "One who's pretty good at navigating changing landscapes."

And there it is.

"Chase..."

"I know." He reaches for my hand. "I know it's complicated. But hear me out? Please?"

I nod.

"What if... what if we did it differently this time? Same label, different management team. Michelle's been grooming that new guy – James? He's got a good track record. And you've got other artists to focus on. Bigger picture stuff."

"You've thought about this."

"Haven't stopped thinking about it." He squeezes my fingers. "The music's different now. I'm different. No more addiction metaphors or pain songs or... or loving you from a distance. This is..." He smiles. "This is what happy sounds like."

"And Will and Mark? They're ready for this?"

"They've been ready. Just waiting for me to get my shit together." He pulls his hand back, runs it through his hair. "Look, I know it's asking a lot. The band signing with Blackmore again while we're together. But maybe that's exactly why it could work. No more pretending. No more blurred lines. Everything professional stays professional. Everything personal stays personal."

"Like we did such a good job of that before," I can't help teasing.

"But that's just it – we did. For fifteen years, through all our... our mess, the band never suffered from it. The label never suffered. If anything, any suffering was caused by me . We kept those lines clear even when everything else was chaos." He leans forward. "We're better at this now. Smarter. More mature."

"Says the man who just announced our relationship to the entire industry without warning."

His laugh is warm. "Okay, slightly more mature."

I study him in the candlelight. The clarity in his eyes. The steady hands. The man I always knew he could be.

"James is good," I say slowly. "One of our best up-and-coming managers. But he's never handled a band of your caliber."

"Perfect time to learn, then." His smile widens. "While we're learning too. How to do this right. All of it."

"The board will have opinions."

"The board always has opinions. But they also like profits. And an Incendiary Ink comeback? Sober, stable, with fresh material?" He raises an eyebrow. "That's profit waiting to happen."

He's right. Of course, he's right.

"You're really ready for this?" I ask softly. "All of it? The pressure, the publicity, the scrutiny? Especially now that we're public?"

"I'm ready for anything." His hand finds mine again. "As long as I get to come home to you at the end of it."

The city lights shimmer beyond the window. Twenty years of history pulse between us. But for the first time, the future feels brighter than the past.

"Play me something?" I ask. "Just a taste?"

He pulls out his phone, hands me an earbud. "Rough demo. Will recorded it last week."

The opening notes fill my ear – something new, something bright. Something that sounds like hope and healing and love finally getting it right.

"It's beautiful," I whisper.

"It's yours." He smiles. "They all are. They always were."

Tomorrow brings the ceremony, the induction, the weight of history. But right now, sharing earbuds in a candlelit room while new music plays between us, we're just Chase and Eliza.

Finally figuring out how to be both.