Page 161 of Deacon

The agony that lanced through me as I stared at the cream-and-pale-emerald set was unimaginable.

Fuck heartbreak pain.

I left them in the cabinet, unable to bring myself to get rid of them.

However, the thought of Massimo and her on that rooftop was still enough to make me want to rip both their throats.

A few days later, Angel swung by to drop off our latest album art for my approval.

He found me making dinner and made himself at home, grabbed a green apple from the fruit bowl, and took a bite.

‘You’re still ghosting her, bro?’ Angel asked, chewing with gusto. ‘That’s wild. You’re making major assumptions you haven’t verified.’

‘She broke a pact we made,’ I said, rubbing my stubble. ‘It might seem like small potatoes to some, but given our history, I don’t play games anymore with trust issues.’

‘Yeah, but you’re fumbling the most badass woman, heck, the love of your life, over your pride,’ Angel said, leaning against the fridge. ‘I don’t believe Ana was capable of such a fumble, brother; she adored you. You need to hear her out. Stop sulking and handle your business before you lose her.’

His words stuck with me long after he left.

I picked up my phone several times that evening to call her, but my damaged dignity kept my fingers still, dragging out the misery for both of us.

The saxophone track I was working on blared through the studio monitors.

The brass tone was flat, missing the soul it needed for the bridge of a new song I was working on.

I leaned over the mixing console, adjusting the equalization dials while the loop repeated for the tenth time.

Raff was due back any moment from his week with his mother.

I was keen to lock down this sax riff, so he and I could get a swim in before dinner.

Hell, I was irritable; the room was hot, making my T-shirt stick to my back.

I was also distracted and impatient, so the chances of meeting my self-imposed deadline were fading fast, which made me even more testy.

I’d listened to the track way too many times and needed a break.

As if the universe was listening, my phone vibrated on the monitor’s surface.

I picked it up and hit speaker.

‘Yeah?’

‘Deke, checking in,’ Bishop said, his voice coming through crisp over the line. ‘How’s that ‘Unsacred Temptation’ bridge treating you?’

I stood up from the leather chair, rolling my shoulders to work out a knot, and headed out the studio door into the hallway.

‘It’s brawlin’. I’m trying to dial in the sax, and it keeps going flat, brother, but it’ll get its shine soon enough.’

‘Keep up the good fight, my man,’ he said. ‘Angel and I are wrapping up the guitar tracks at my place. Should be heading back your way by Friday.’

‘Why don’t you two drop by in person and I can fire up the grill when you get in?’

‘Sounds like a plan, brother.’

I paced down the oak floorboards, passing the quiet dining room.

At the front entrance, I pulled the iron handle and swung the door open, letting the cooler afternoon breeze circulate through the foyer.