Page 29 of Giving Chase

"Thought you could use some company," she says, brushing past me into the room. The scent of her perfume lingers, and it instantly transports me back to late-night recording sessions and stolen moments on tour buses.

I can't help but smile as I close the door, grateful for the distraction from my darker thoughts. "You're a mind reader, Kerr."

She sets the beer on the desk and turns to face me, her steel-grey eyes searching my face. Her gaze flicks to the untouched mini-bar, then back to me. There's no judgment in her eyes, just understanding. "Rough night?"

I shrug, trying to play it cool even as relief washes over me at her presence. "Just the usual tour jitters. Nothing I can't handle."

Eliza raises an eyebrow, not buying it for a second. "Right. That's why you look like you're about to crawl out of your skin. Vegas bringing up some memories?"

I wince. Of course she'd know. Eliza always knows. "Yeah, you could say that."

She hands me a beer, her fingers brushing mine in a way that sends a jolt through my system. We've been doing this dance for years now, maintaining a professional relationship that's always on the edge of something more. Ever since our respectivemarriages imploded, there's been this unspoken thing between us, a tension that never quite goes away.

I take a long swig of beer, grateful for the familiar burn. It's not the hard stuff from the mini-bar, but it takes the edge off. "It's just... being back here, you know? Everywhere I look, I'm reminded of that night. Of how spectacularly I fucked up."

Eliza's expression softens. She moves to sit on the edge of the bed, patting the space next to her. I hesitate for a moment before joining her, acutely aware of how close we are, of the heat radiating from her body.

"Chase," she says softly, "we all make mistakes. What matters is what we do after."

Her words wash over me, a balm to my frayed nerves. This is why I've always been drawn to Eliza. She sees me, really sees me, in a way no one else does. Not the rockstar, not the screw-up, just... me.

"I just... I don't want to let anyone down," I admit, staring at the bottle in my hands. "The band, the fans... you."

Eliza's hand comes to rest on my arm, her touch sending sparks across my skin. "The only person you need to worry about letting down is yourself. And from where I'm sitting, you're doing a pretty damn good job of being Chase Avery."

I look up, meeting her gaze. The air between us feels charged, heavy with unspoken words and suppressed desire. For a moment, I let myself remember all the times we've been here before – the almost-kisses, the lingering touches, the moments where we came so close to crossing that line.

"Eliza," I breathe, her name a prayer on my lips.

She leans in, just slightly, her eyes never leaving mine. "Chase..."

And then we're kissing, and it's like coming home and jumping off a cliff all at once. Her lips are soft against mine, tasting of beer and promises we can never quite make. My handsfind her waist, pulling her closer as she threads her fingers through my hair.

For a few blissful moments, the world narrows to just this: the softness of Eliza's skin, the quiet sounds she makes as I trail kisses down her neck, the way her body fits perfectly against mine. It's familiar and new all at once, years of pent-up longing pouring out in every touch.

But reality crashes back in all too soon. We break apart, both breathing heavily. Eliza's cheeks are flushed, her hair mussed, and it takes every ounce of willpower I have not to pull her back in.

"We shouldn't," she says, but there's no conviction in her voice.

"I know," I reply, even as my body screams at me to disagree.

We sit there for a moment, the silence heavy between us. I can see the conflict in Eliza's eyes, the same war between want and responsibility that I'm fighting.

Finally, Eliza stands, smoothing down her clothes. "This doesn't have to mean anything," she says, not quite meeting my eyes. "No strings, right? Just... comfort between friends."

I nod, ignoring the ache in my chest. "Right. No strings."

As she leaves, closing the door softly behind her, I fall back on the bed, staring at the ceiling.No strings, we say, but I can feel them wrapping around my heart, binding me to her in ways I can't even begin to understand.

The room feels colder without her, emptier. I reach for my guitar, needing to channel this whirlwind of emotions into something tangible. As I start to play, a melody forms – bittersweet and yearning, just like us.

I know this can't last. That someday, the tightrope we're walking will snap. But for now, I'll take what I can get. Because a moment with Eliza, strings or no strings, is better than a lifetime without her.

Even if it's slowly breaking my heart.

As the notes of the new song fill the room, I can't help but wonder: how long can we keep pretending that what's between us is anything less than everything?

Don’t Tell Me