Chapter 44 Chase
Chase
I’m so fucking high.
On the music, the lights, the fans, the strings beneath my fingers. I told Annie I was feeling better. It was a lie. But fuck if I’m going to ruin this just because there’s a semi plowing through my brain, day in and day out.
I push it aside. Drown it out with riffs that set the room on fire, raw and desperate and bigger than the pain. The crowd surges with every note, a living, breathing thing that feeds off the energy we’re bleeding out under the lights.
I’m a ghost in the static, a fire in the rain
Echoes in the dark still whisper out your name
Rock hammers the drums so hard the floor vibrates. Zach’s bass thrums deep in my chest. Tag’s guitar cuts through the air, sharp and clean.
And Annie…
Her voice rises like smoke and silver, spinning through the room, threading through the chaos, anchoring me to the stage when everything else tilts.
I stalk the edge of the platform, dragging the mic stand with me, grinning down at the sea of faces. They reach for us like we’re gods. Like we’re salvation.
I’m soaked in sweat, half delirious, veins pounding with sound.
And for ninety glorious minutes, nothing hurts.
Not my head.
Not my heart.
Not the fucking war raging inside me.
It’s just the music.
After we say good night to the swarms of people and make our way offstage, my phone buzzes in my back pocket. I pull it out, wiping sweat off my forehead.
Carter Vale’s name flashes across the screen.
Our agent.
I thumb the green button. “Carter. What’s up?”
“Chase.” His voice is crackling with excitement, not the usual cool, controlled tone he uses when he’s managing five things at once. “You sitting down?”
I glance around backstage at the peeling leather couches, half-downed beers, and haze of sweat and smoke hanging in the air. “Not exactly. We just finished the San Diego set.”
“Well, you should probably sit,” he says. “That guitar you’ve been using for ‘Night Song.’ The custom. The plasma ball one that lights up the entire goddamn stage.”
“Yeah?” I wipe my sweaty palm on my jeans.
“There’s a company based out of Nashville. Huge. They make high-end custom guitars for collectors, rock legends, hell, even museum installations. They were at the San Fran show two nights ago.”
I blink, my eyes catching with Annie’s across the room. “Okay…?”
“They want it.” There’s a sharp laugh in his voice, like even he can’t believe it. “Not just a one-off either. They want to buy the rights to the design. Reproduce it. Limited run, special line, your name attached.”
The room slants for a second. I hear the guys laughing in the corner, cracking beers, unwinding. But for me, everything zeros in on this moment.
“Jesus,” I manage to croak out. “How much are we talking?”
Carter chuckles, low and thrilled. “They’re starting the conversation at half a million. But I think I can negotiate.”
My hand tightens around the phone.
Half a million.
For a guitar I designed in my dark, shitty living room, half done and desperate, with my dog at my feet. For something I built out of insomnia and heartbreak and whatever stubborn pieces of me that refused to quit.
“Are you serious?” I rasp.
“Dead serious. I’m working on that number, but I’ll send over the details tonight. Check your email in a few hours.”
“Yeah. Okay. Yeah.” I’m in a daze, still blinking through the weight of it. “Thanks.”
“Congratulations, Chase. Hope you’re ready.”
I hang up, staring at the phone like he might call right back and tell me it was just a joke.
Holy shit.
My temples pound, my heart galloping between my ribs.
Annie watches me from the other side of the room, a towel draped over her shoulders, her lips parted like she’s about to ask if I’m okay.
I clear my throat, clinging to whatever breath I can conjure. “Hey…guys.”
Conversation falls away, and everyone turns to look at me.
“That was Carter.” Hesitating, I squeeze my eyes shut for half a beat to keep the room from spinning in and out of focus. “My guitar. A company wants it.”
Annie steps forward, setting down her bottled water. “What do you mean?”
“I mean they want to buy the design. Manufacture it. Sell it.”
Tag pushes off the wall, eyebrows lifting. “For real?”
I nod, still feeling like I’m dreaming. “Yeah. Carter said…half a million to start.”
For a second, no one moves. No one breathes. Four pairs of wide eyes stare in my direction, all of them blurring. I swallow hard. Wait for the phone to ring, for Carter to laugh and say, “Gotcha.” No one believes me. I don’t believe me.
But then Annie lets out a shriek that cuts through the silence like a blade.
Kenna does the same.
Tag, Zach, and Rock leap off the ground, whooping and hollering at the top of their lungs as beer sloshes from spouts and fists punch the air and lights streak across my vision.
I don’t even see her coming.
A black leather blur flies at me, arms and legs winding around my body as tears drench my neck and hair whips around me in a vibrant curtain. I teeter backward before catching my balance, spinning Annie in a circle, and pressing her up against the wall.
She grips my face, teeth glowing white, lipstick smeared. “Oh my God. Oh my God.”
“Holy fuck. This isn’t real. It can’t be real.”
“It’s real, Chase. It’s so real.”
My forehead falls to hers.
I cling to her. Hold her.
And this time, I kiss her.
I crash my mouth to hers. Hot, wet, voracious. My hand plants against the wall, the other holding her up by the thigh. Our tongues twist, aching, starving, and I don’t care who’s watching, don’t care about my head, or the show, or even the goddamn guitar.
My blood is singing. The beast is howling.
I need her. Have to have her.
I don’t want to talk.
I pull away, drawing in a breath, watching as her lashes flutter with want. Then I drop her to the floor and take her by the hand, dragging her away. “Come on.”
The guys call out to me. Want details. Want to know everything.
I hardly hear them.
The only thing pounding louder than my head is the sound of my boots scuffing the concrete as I haul her through the back hallway.
Past the green room.
Past the vending machines and flickering fluorescent lights.
I find a door marked “Storage” and yank it open. It’s nothing but a dark, narrow closet stacked with amps and road cases, reeking of dust and rubber.
I shove us inside and kick the door shut, flipping the lock with a click.
Before she can say a word, my mouth finds hers again, rougher this time. Annie gasps into the kiss, grabbing at my shirt, fisting the fabric like she’s afraid I’ll disappear.
I lift her, not gently, not slowly, planting her on top of an empty amp case. Her legs part instinctively, wrapping around my hips, yanking me closer.
She tastes like citrus beer and salt, and when I grind against her, she moans into my mouth, the sound ripping the last shred of restraint out of me.
This isn’t careful.
This isn’t sweet.
This is everything we’ve been fighting for and against, slamming together at full force in a forgotten corner of a building we just conquered.
And God help me—
I never want it to end.
A string hits me in the side of the face, and I reach for it, tugging hard. The single bulb brightens, illuminating the space in a dull yellow light. I need to see her. Every inch of her.
Annie’s cheeks are flushed pink, her eyes glazed over. “Chase—”
I dive back in. Tug her head back by the hair, tearing down the side of her throat with lips and teeth.
She mewls. Moans. My fingers shake, working the buttons of her pants, yanking down the zipper as she shimmies out of them, trying to kick them free.
I rip off a heel and pull the fabric off until her legs part wide, the leather hanging by an ankle.
A slip of lacy black underwear comes into view.
I tug it aside and launch forward, plunging my tongue inside her, longing to taste her again.
She collapses back on her elbows with a gasp-like scream, squeezing my hair by the roots.
I link her legs around my neck, driving deeper, letting her soak my face as my dick throbs against tight denim, hard and painful.
“Chase, Chase, Chase…” She pants my name like her favorite song. “Oh God…”
I suck her clit. Swirl my tongue. Growl and groan, clasping her hips in a death grip as I eat her out like a savage.
“Need you inside me,” she pleads.
My eyes roll up, imagining sinking inside her velvet heat. A groan leaves me, and I pull to a stand, roughly unlatching my belt. Annie’s fingers tremble as she bends forward, undoing the button, sliding the zipper down.
Before my jeans tumble to my feet, I reach into my back pocket and pull out a condom.
Her breath hitches when she spots it.
We’re doing this.
Hard, dirty, fast. In a fucking storage closet.
I wait for her to stop me. To tap the brakes, ask for something better. A bed. A hotel room. Even the goddamn tour bus. But she doesn’t. Heat flickers in her eyes as she drags my jeans down my legs, yanks off my boxers, and takes my dick in her hand.
My jaw falls open on a pornographic moan.
I’m pulsing in her hand, hard as steel, a thrust away from blowing my load. The last time her mouth was on me, I hardly lasted two minutes, so fucking pent up it took all my willpower just to make it that long.
I bring the condom wrapper to my mouth and tear it open with my teeth. Annie kicks off her other heel, pulls her pants all the way off, then removes her underwear and tosses it to the floor. She leans back and props her feet up on the amp, spreading her knees apart.
Her pussy glistens under the low light.
My vision blurs. Mind spins out of control.
Fuck.