Chapter 62 Chase
Chase
The crunch of rubber against gravel pulls me from a moody guitar riff and sends my heart into overdrive.
Annie.
Pulse revving, I toss the instrument aside and launch to my feet, a cacophony of voices seeping in from the back deck as my friends scarf down burgers and beer, twilight turning the sky a blurry coppery hue.
It’s been days since I felt her cocooned against me, her heat and joy and love the only antidote to this constant state of disrepair.
Toaster follows me to the front of the house, leaping and prancing, his tail thumping my leg as I dart out the door.
The silhouette of her black sedan comes vaguely into focus, squashing the remnants of my fear.
Fear that she wouldn’t come back. That she’d have a change of heart once she left this nightmarish bubble of inevitable tragedy and realized how free and burdenless she could be out on her own.
I hear a car door clap shut, followed by footsteps kicking up rocks and pebbles.
And then her voice, hoarse and sweet and beautiful.
“Chase!”
I zigzag down the walkway, nearly tripping over divots and weed patches. Her outline inches into my periphery, my favorite shape. Then the colors register. Her hair, her hot-pink sweater, even the flush on her cheeks.
The moment she’s within reach, I grab her, folding her in my arms until she’s off her feet, legs swinging up behind her. I whirl her around in a clumsy circle. She clings to me, face buried against my neck, hair tickling my jaw. Emotion squeezes my throat as relief balloons my heart.
“You’re here,” I murmur.
She nods frantically against my shoulder. “Of course I’m here.”
When I set her back down, I keep her close, hands bracketing her hips, lips dusting over her mound of sweet-smelling hair. The scent of watermelon and flower gardens wafts around me, mingling with nature and crisp air and last night’s rain.
“Are you okay?” she breathes, holding my face in two hands. “Let me look at you.”
My eyelids flutter as the pads of her fingertips trail my jawline. “I’m okay.”
“I’m sorry I was gone so long. I had to…” Her voice trembles as she skims a thumb over my bottom lip. “Chase, I met with someone. Parvati.”
The name ripples through my chest with a pang of familiarity.
I go still, scanning through memory.
Parvati.
The gas station clerk’s daughter?
“I-I told her everything,” Annie continues, her voice gaining strength. “She remembered you, of course. I explained what was going on. The tumor, the prognosis, the vision loss…”
My jaw shifts, a frown bending.
“She’s still in her residency, but she has connections. Mentors. Surgeons who’ve worked on tumors like yours. She said it’s risky, but not impossible. Not entirely.”
I don’t realize I’ve taken a step back until I feel her hands drop from my face.
“Chase,” she says carefully.
I shake my head, the fear creeping in before I can stop it. “Annie…”
“I know what that doctor told you. I know how final it sounded. But this wasn’t the same conversation. This isn’t just more bad news dressed up in different words.”
“My parents searched for answers too. Something better. Something more hopeful. And every time it felt like they were handing me a rope and pulling me back up, but then it always ended in the same place. I just fell harder.”
“No…no, listen to me, this isn’t the same.” She reaches for me again, linking our hands together. “I have a good feeling. This could work. This could—”
“I’m tired,” I whisper brokenly. “Not of living. Just of hoping when it’s already so dark I can barely see anything left.”
“Then let me be the light.” Her words crumble around the edges.
“I’m not asking you to believe in some grand cure.
I just need you to hang on. To try. To let me try.
Even if it’s only more time, it’s still something.
Whatever keeps you here longer. Whatever it takes.
It’s worth it, Chase. This life you’ve built—that we’ve built—it’s so worth it. ”
A single tear slips down my cheek.
But for the first time in months, the terror doesn’t feel so paralyzing.
It just feels…human.
Annie pulls back and shoves a hand inside her pocket until something is pressed to my chest.
A paper square. A napkin.
“It’s not lyrics or haikus. But it’s still music. Poetry. Words filled with hope.” Her voice buckles with emotion. “And maybe that’s what we’ve been doing all along. Writing songs out of broken things. Spinning sadness into meaning.”
I stare down at the napkin, the handwriting skewed and blurred. Letters, numbers, maybe an email address. Maybe a map to something better.
More time, more moments.
I hold it in both hands like it might disintegrate if I blink wrong, just like I did with all her other napkin notes, wrinkled and inked with magic.
“She said to send the scans,” Annie whispers. “All of them. She’ll get them in front of someone who knows what to do.”
My throat burns. My legs feel unsteady even though I haven’t taken a step.
“Chase,” she says gently, stepping closer, pulling my forehead down to hers. “Please let this be something. Let this be ours to fight.”
I nod once. Then again, harder, faster, because if I speak, I’ll lose it completely. “I’m terrified,” I finally manage.
“So am I,” she says. “But scared people still move forward. One step. That’s all I’m asking.”
I slide the napkin into my pocket and cup the back of her neck, tucking her against my chest. The smell of her shampoo, the warmth of her body, the steady beat of her heart…
It’s everything that’s still mine to hold.
She brushes a kiss to my lips. “Remember what I said to you that night at the café? About cards?”
I nod again, those early days flickering through my mind: Annie with spring flowers in her crown of braids, vanilla lattes, curious glances, and acoustics that sounded like a fresh start.
Fleeting moments. Fragile beginnings. Building blocks.
More tears spill down my cheeks. “Everyone has cards.”
A choppy exhale escapes her, and it sounds like relief and love and exhaustion all wrapped in one breath. “Even the worst hands can still be played.”
The thread between us pulls taut again—not as a rescue rope, but as a lifeline.
And not for climbing out. But for climbing through.
Toaster circles my ankles, paws at my legs.
Annie begs me with just a touch. A kiss. A silent plea.
Keep going. Keep fighting.
So I do the only thing I know how to do.
I reach for the strings and start writing the next verse.
“This world is full of conflicts and things that cannot be reconciled. But there are moments when we can reconcile and embrace the whole mess, and that’s what I mean by ‘Hallelujah.’”
—Leonard Cohen