Page 138 of Deacon

‘Total coincidence, right?’ Mason added, nudging Deacon’s shoulder.

Deacon and I laughed off the band’s support of our growing relationship, one we were terrible at hiding.

We shared a quiet first-night dinner in the room, discussing the upcoming shows and set list.

The conversation helped me map out my shoot before we retreated to our rooms.

I tossed and turned beneath the sheets for an hour, Manhattan glittering through the expansive windows.

At eleven p.m., the click of the connecting door broke the silence.

Deacon slipped through the doorway barefoot and crossed the floor.

He wore shorts and nothing else.

‘Can’t sleep without you, De Stella,’ he mumbled as he climbed under the covers.

I shifted to make room for him.

Our limbs tangled as he buried his face in my neck, his heat sending a shiver through me.

I loved the feel of him, his muscular arm cradling my waist.

Desire and longing surged through me as his breath brushed my cheek.

Still, we held back.

Perhaps we both knew that once we crossed into the physical side of our relationship, we would be bound to each other for good.

Eventually, the throbbing between my thighs eased, and peace washed over me.

I fell asleep with a smile on my face.

The next morning was a frantic rush.

We woke at six, ate breakfast in the suite, and headed to the venue.

My camera captured the chaos of the crew setting up, from the load-in to the construction of the stage.

The venue filled wall to wall, thousands of voices rising as the lights dropped and darkness fell.

I slipped past security and made my way into the photo pit as the opening chords shook the concrete beneath my feet.

At the first show inside Madison Square Garden, I watched Deacon in his element, a musician’s musician.

The spectacle reminded me of his staggering, otherworldly gift.

During his saxophone and vocal solo on ‘Heartbreak Valley’, I stood in awe as he commanded a crowd of eighty thousand.

His deep, growled vocals and soaring sax solos gave millions of people a way to express the pain they couldn’t articulate.

With a jolt, I realized I’d taken his genius for granted in the past.

During our difficult years and separation, I’d pushed his craft into the background, as though it were a side show element about him I could overlook.

How wrong I was; his music was his foundation, his being and his holistic expression.

Now, seeing through a different lens, I was floored by the way his talent had matured and the magic he wove with it.