Chapter 63 Chase
Chase
The ceiling is white.
Too white.
Too quiet.
Except for the steady beep-beep-beep of the monitor beside me, measuring something I’m supposed to trust.
Hands move around me like shadow. Gloved, fast, impersonal. A nurse asks me to confirm my name, birthdate, what side the tumor’s on. For the fifth time.
I answer on autopilot. My mouth is dry, my arms strapped loosely at my sides. An IV is taped into my hand, the blood pressure cuff tightening with a hiss.
The smell of antiseptic and latex curls under my nose.
This is real.
This is happening.
They said no before. Every doctor. Every chart. Too deep, too dangerous, too tangled.
But Annie found someone who said maybe.
And that was enough.
A heart monitor chirps louder as my breathing quickens.
The anesthesiologist leans in. Calm. Rehearsed. “You’ll feel a little sting. Then nothing.”
I nod, barely.
Because what the hell do you say when your brain is about to be poked and gouged?
One of the nurses adjusts a warm blanket over my legs.
A mask lowers over my face. “Oxygen,” someone says. “Just relax.”
I can’t see faces. Everything’s gone soft at the edges.
A hand brushes mine.
But it’s not Annie. She’s gone. Forced to stay behind.
Her voice was solemn, thick with emotion as she said her goodbyes in the pre-op holding area. “Come back to me, Chase. I’ll be here when you wake up.”
Tears. So many tears.
I froze.
I wanted to say something. That I’ll come back. That we’ll write more music together beneath the honey moon. That we’ll kiss and dance and live.
That I’m going to marry her one day.
She’ll wear my ring, and I’ll sing her songs, and we’ll build something that doesn’t feel like an ending.
Now I’m floating somewhere between the warmth of Annie’s goodbye and the cold fluorescent lights above me.
Plastic. Rubber. Oxygen.
My eyes sting. Maybe I’m crying. Maybe I’m dying.
I try to picture her.
Annie in her pink sweater, hair swinging in front of her face, hands cradled in mine.
But the lights blur. The voices fade. The borders of the room distort and shift as the beeping grows distant.
And then—
Water.
The splash of it. Chlorine thick in the air. Light refracted on the bottom of a pool. Bare feet on concrete.
My name echoing faintly through summer heat.
Stella?
I’m not in the hospital anymore.
I’m somewhere else. Somewhere I haven’t dared to return to in years.
And she’s here.
The water is warm. It laps at my ankles as I stand at the edge of the pool, sunlight flickering across the surface like broken stars. Somewhere, cicadas hum. A song plays.
Our favorite song.
The sun pulses, gentle and golden and strange.
“Chase.”
Her voice floats toward me, familiar and distant, like it’s being pulled through time.
I turn, and she’s there.
My sister.
Older than I remember, not a girl anymore. Hair tucked behind her ears, freckles faded, towel slung over one shoulder, and skin glowing like summer never ended.
I try to speak, but nothing comes out. Only air.
She kneels by the water, dipping her hand into it. Ripples bloom around her fingers. “I’ve missed you,” she says softly.
My throat doesn’t work right. My voice isn’t mine. “I’m dreaming. You’re not—”
“I know.”
My feet are rooted to the concrete. If I step in, I’ll shatter. I’ll drown. “I tried to save you.”
She doesn’t respond right away, just trails her fingers through the water until gentle ripples reach toward me but never touch.
Tears burn behind my eyes. “I didn’t get to you in time.”
“No,” she says. “But you tried. And I want you to try again. This time, for you.”
I stare at her. She’s wearing the teal swimsuit she cried about the summer Mom bought it too small.
Stella sits at the edge of the pool, knees pulled up, one arm hugging her legs.
I can’t move. Can’t speak.
“They didn’t take it all,” she says, not looking at me. “That wasn’t the point.”
I shake my head. “Take what?”
“The weight,” she whispers, tapping her temple. “The ugly thing. The part wrapped too tightly around you.”
She lifts her eyes to mine, and they’re not sad.
They’re steady. Kind.
I miss them so much. Those eyes.
The way she’d look at me like I was her greatest protector.
“We couldn’t touch the center. It’s still there. But we carved out space. Enough to stay. Enough to keep the music going.”
I feel like I’m splitting open.
And then my vision blurs. Fogs. Slips away.
No.
I was only allowed a glimpse.
“My eyes… Stella, I can’t—”
Her hand reaches out, brushes just beneath mine in the water. “It’s okay,” she says softly. “That part’s gone. But you don’t need eyes to see. Not really.”
I squint hard, but I can’t see her anymore. She’s a mirage.
All I can make out is the water glowing around her as she stands, the pool casting reflections that dance across her skin like candlelight.
A warm hand presses over my eyes. “You won’t get this back,” she whispers. “But you’ll get other things. Things that matter more. If you let yourself stay.”
“What happens next?” I rasp, melting beneath her touch.
The shape of her head tilts like it used to when I’d ask her questions. “You’ll find out. Bit by bit. There’ll be scans. Time. Careful watching. But the story’s not over, Chase.”
She steps back, water dripping from her fingers, each drop catching a shimmer of that fading, dream-spun sun. It’s all I can make out.
“Live loud,” she says. “Louder than the loss. Louder than the fear. Loud enough for both of us.”
The cicadas quiet.
The light bends. Dims.
“And when it hurts…” she finishes, voice fading into ash. “Sing anyway. Even if it’s off-key. Even if all you’ve got left is the broken hallelujah.”
I reach for her.
But the ripples swallow her first.
Stella slips into the light, into memory, into silence.
Gone.
All that remains is the echo.
Fractured. Holy.
And then…
I come to.
Noise returns. Monitors beep. Faces blur overhead.
A hand squeezes mine.
I blink into the light, catching pale skin and purple stripes.
A sob punches the air.
Warm tears hit my knuckles, and relief crashes over me like surf.
I swallow hard, choked and shaking.
I’m here. She’s here.
It’s not over.
And the only thing dancing through my mind is:
Halle-fucking-lujah.