Page 115 of Deacon

My heart was blown open again, consumed by her beauty, her scent, her smile.

Hell, we were playing with fire, yet I found it hard to pull back from her allure.

However, with her divorce pending, we were caught in a weird limbo.

One I dared not label because I’d no clue what we were: complicated, a situationship, more than friends?

‘We’re getting closer,’ I now murmured to Raff, flipping the meat. ‘However, your mum’s going through a hella lot of changes now. Until things have calmed down, she and I won’t discuss anything more.’

Raff dropped his pencil and pursed his lips. ‘Why?’

‘We don’t want to get your hopes up, kid. That said, we’re best pals, we’re friends, and that’s it. We’ve forgiven each other for the past. If the universe allows it, we might talk more later. For now, this works, right?’

‘As long as you never fight again,’ Raff declared, his face solemn.

A pang of guilt hit me.

‘We’re more mature now, so let’s hope we don’t,’ I said, leaning in to pull him into a brief hug. ‘However, conflict is real in all relationships, so never expect perfection, OK? You just have to own your mess in why things are messed up. Now finish that page of fractions. Then it’s dinner, bath, and bed.’

After Raff was asleep, I dialed in to a call with Jude and the rest of the band.

We were deep in the final planning phases for the next Six Sinners tour, built around our newest album, Storm Born.

Our vision was to turn every stadium into an immersive, tempest-themed experience from start to finish.

We’d even commissioned what we called ‘The Eye of The Storm’, a stage with metallic cloud ribs, wind turbines, and a 360-degree water curtain with billowing mist to simulate a thunderstorm.

Each fan would receive custom wrist devices that fired lightning beams synced to the beats of our songs, and our exclusive merch included windbreakers, heat-reactive tees, and bespoke VIP gear.

A percentage of the money raised from ticket sales and merchandise was going to charitable giving for front-line disaster relief and environmental projects across the globe.

I was pumped for the tour; however, I also wasn’t keen on being separated from Ana and Raff again.

The night before my flight to Europe for our first set of ‘Storm Born’ shows, the three of us hit our favorite local Mexican joint.

We ordered sizzling chicken fajitas and loaded carne asada nachos, laughing until our ribs ached as Raff detailed some wild stories from his soccer tryouts.

Afterward, I drove them back to Ana’s place and lifted Raff’s suitcase out of the trunk.

I handed it to him at the threshold of Ana’s house when Raff turned to us both.

‘So, Dad, when are we going to stop the to-and-fro and just choose one house for the three of us?’ Raff asked.

A glint of pure mischief lit his eyes as he rolled his bag across the entrance.

The little rascal was staging an ambush.

Ana snapped her eyes to mine, her jaw dropping before she shook her head at the kid’s boldness.

‘Son, not a topic for right now, OK?’ I cautioned, though hope tightened my chest at the way Ana’s eyes danced.

She smiled as she gently pushed Raff toward me.

‘Tell your dad bye, then you need to take your bags and get ready for bed, kiddo.’

Raff hugged me long and hard, his arms locking around my waist, then we traded a final fist bump.

‘I’ll call and message as always,’ I promised.