Chapter 41 Chase
Chase
The music is the only thing louder than the migraine tunneling through me.
Four different pills. Three shots of whiskey. Two energy drinks.
It should have dulled the edges. It didn’t.
I’m blitzed out of my head, running on fumes, on noise, on the energy in the crowd as they scream and dance and sing our lyrics like gospel.
The stage shudders beneath my boots, vibrating with bass, electricity, adrenaline—a tonic of progressive rock. Undergarments fly past my mic stand. Someone flashes me. The lights spin like galaxies, but everything in my head narrows. Tightens.
Sweat pours down my back, my hands shaking as I strum. My voice is raw and blistered, but I don’t stop. I hold the key. Hit every note.
Submit to the beast.
Annie is fire beside me, owning her verses, hair soaked and sticking to her temples. She throws me a smile mid-chorus, and I give her one back, but it’s tight. Forced. My jaw is clenched so hard I’m afraid I’ll crack a molar.
Whatever’s been living inside me, whatever’s crawling through my veins and eating at my brain, it doesn’t feel so silent anymore.
It feels loud. Twisted.
And for the first time, I don’t want to tame it.
I want to let it burn.
The lights shift, strobe patterns exploding across the stage like gunfire. I stagger for half a second. No one notices.
When the final chord crashes over the room, the crowd goes feral. We hold the moment, arms and instruments raised in sweat-slick hands, grinning like lunatics under the glare of spotlights. Annie blows a kiss into the sea of screaming faces. Rock tosses his drumsticks into the crowd.
I stand there, soaking in the chaos, trying not to hurl. Then I lean forward with a final send-off, growling into the mic, “Thank you, San Francisco!”
The audience erupts.
A woman in the front row reaches for me with both hands, propped up on her friend’s shoulders. “I love you, Chase!”
Smirking, I send her a wink, then gaze out at the sweaty, still-moving crowd. “You showed up. We bled for it. See you on the next battlefield.”
I toss the mic behind me, letting it crash to the floor as the lights black out.
Backstage is a blur of back-pats and bottled water, our crew buzzing with postshow adrenaline. My hearing’s fuzzy. My vision’s off. But I plaster on a grin, hair stuck to my face, clothes glued to places I didn’t even know about.
Someone suggests a drink.
Someone else is already pouring.
***
The rooftop bar is carved into the skyline like it owns the night.
Glass panels line the edge, offering a cinematic view of the city below.
A gritty, endless sprawl. Amber lights hang from steel beams overhead, casting halos across plush couches and marble tables.
The music is low, a steady pulse threading through the clink of highball glasses and the hush of conversations.
Our section is roped off with a velvet cord.
Bottle service.
VIP.
We were schlepped over to the hotel in a limo after a few postshow drinks. I’ve downed enough whiskey at this point that I hardly hear the howling in my head. My vision is speckled with tiny stars, my blood pumping with aftershocks and adrenaline.
Annie comes into focus beside me, all light and laughter as she splays across the ice-blue velvet couch.
A tight violet dress barely holds in her breasts. Tall black heels cling to her feet, the straps winding up her ankles. Her makeup still looks perfect despite the glaze of sweat on her skin, and her hair is a mess of purple, brown, and blond, still dusted with glitter from her hairspray.
She laughs at something Zach says, smacking him on the knee, and my gaze dips to the contact in a lazy slide.
“Dude, are you stoned?”
I blink a few times, searching for the voice. Tag materializes on my left, hunched forward on the couch with a beer between his hands. “What?” I mutter.
“You look cooked. Did Rock give you the good stuff?”
“No, I…” Fuck. I need to snap out of it. “Just whiskey.”
“Mm.” He brings the nozzle to his lips, taking a sip. “Well, you were fire out there tonight. Best you ever played.”
Felt like my brain was trying to eat itself, but hey—rock and roll. “Thanks. You too.”
He nods at his sister. “It’s getting to you, isn’t it?”
I falter, glancing at Annie. Her head tips back in laughter as Zach FaceTimes his daughter, Marie, who’s explaining how she shoved a slice of cheese into the DVD player because Elmo was hungry.
Clearing my throat, I pull away. “No. I’m good.”
Tag sighs, taking another swig. “She’ll come around. It’s that soft heart of hers. Doesn’t know when to let go and let die. But she sees you. Give her a little more time.”
His words eat at me, every syllable drenching me in acid. “Said I’m good.” I lean forward and reach for a glass of champagne, swallowing it in one go. “Plenty of fish in the sea.”
Around me, those fish blur into a sea of red lips and black dresses—blonds, brunettes, curves, legs, perfume. None of them her. None of them what I want.
But maybe that’s what I need.
Simple. Disposable.
A rebound from something I never even had the right to miss.
Tag watches me, his stare a needle threading straight through the bravado. “Don’t do it, man.”
My jaw tightens.
“Seriously,” he says. “Don’t. You’ll regret it.”
“Right.” I give a dry laugh. “Better to sit around like a lovesick fool.”
“Knock it off with the tragic hero bit. She kissed you because she wanted you. Still does. She just doesn’t know how to forgive herself for it.”
The burn in my chest isn’t the whiskey anymore.
It’s her.
Her laugh. Her eyes. The way she looked at me when she thought no one else could see. The way she saw me when I thought I was invisible.
I told her I’d wait.
Just hours ago, she was in my arms and I meant it. Every word.
But I already pushed her too far once. And now she’s the one paying for it.
Maybe we both are.
“Listen,” Tag says, resting the bottle on his knee.
“Don’t screw it up now by doing something you’ll hate yourself for tomorrow.
” He nods to where Annie is still laughing, face aglow under the bulb lights.
“She’s not just any girl. She’s my sister.
And if you break her heart, I’ll break your fucking face. ”
When I look at him, I can tell he’s dead serious.
But then a smile flickers on his mouth. “Cheers.”
He clinks my empty champagne glass just before Kenna saunters over from the bathrooms.
“What did I miss? Why aren’t we dancing?” She dips underneath the rope, tugging down her thigh-length dress. “Ooh. Champagne.”
Tag stands, snagging her by the hand as she reaches for a flute. “Good point. Let’s dance.”
“Ew.” She pulls her arm free. “I’d rather grind on the balding bartender.”
He smirks. “He charges extra for emotional damage.”
“That reminds me, you owe me for the batch of shirts that say ‘Honey Moons Made Me Cry and I Paid for It.’”
Tag squints. “We approved that?”
Kenna sips her bubbly. “Technically, no. But the internet did.”
“I swear, you’re more trouble than the whole band combined.”
A warm body appears on my right, pulling my attention away from the banter. Glittering purple stripes flutter in my periphery as Annie nudges my shoulder with hers.
“Kenna’s right. We should dance,” she says, a soft smile blooming. “You look miserable.”
She looks fucking gorgeous.
I gaze at her, those twinkling blue eyes a shade darker against the night, full lips parting the longer we stare.
Dancing with her is out of the question.
I’m buzzed on liquor, my willpower dangling by a thread, my blood singing for her.
She’s already too close. One more inch and I’ll haul her over my shoulder, carry her to my room, and strip her bare.
She’ll be underneath me before she can take her next breath.
“Not a good idea,” I murmur.
Annie reaches for a glass of champagne, her eyes glazed over. She’s tipsy too. I can tell by the giddy glow on her face.
“Come on. I hate seeing you look sad, especially after the way you played tonight. You deserve to let loose, have some fun.” She flashes me her teeth.
I stare at her mouth, throat rolling. Expression strained.
Another shoulder nudge. “I smile, you smile. Remember?”
Sighing, I glance away, down at the shiny concrete beneath my boots.
Her smile fades. “Just one dance,” she says. Swallowing the champagne in a few gulps, she springs to her feet, taking me by the hand. “I need an outlet for this adrenaline.”
Dammit.
My legs carry me forward before my brain catches up, following her to a corner of the room where bodies already sway in a fog of perfume and pulsing bass.
Annie’s arms lift above her head as she starts to move, her hips rolling in slow, lazy circles. She spins to face away from me, grabs my hands, and pulls them around her waist, fitting her body snug against my front.
I exhale sharply, my mouth dropping to the crown of her head, breathing her in. Flowers, watermelon, champagne, and something wild beneath it all.
My palms flatten across her stomach.
She laces our fingers together, lifting my arms overhead with hers, and it’s a slow, torturous drag that sends a full-body shudder through me. I lower my face to the curve of her neck, brushing my nose along her damp skin. Without thinking, I nip lightly at her earlobe.
A breathy gasp slips from her lips. She arches into me, pressing her ass against the hard line of my body.
I groan under my breath, clenching my jaw as my hands slide down the length of her arms, then trace her waist, her hips.
Instinct and madness have me tugging her closer, grinding her back into me.
My dick hardens. My blood pounds hot and reckless.