I’m here, Easton’s here, and somewhere in the very near future, I’ll be surrounded by him, privately. That knowledge has my smile growing substantially as Easton steals another glance my way, and I mouth, “I’m sorry.”
He gently shakes his head, his answering smile breathtaking as I drink him in. He’s dressed in all black, including his jeans and boots, along with the leather cuffs I bit into, leaving an indentation on them the last time he took me roughly. The sight of them has me reliving it briefly as I squeeze my thighs together.
Easton grabs a water bottle from nearby, gulping it back as pandemonium ensues in the auditorium. He glances back at the band, his expression slightly bewildered as Tack, LL, and Syd all give him a nod as if they can’t believe this is their reality as well.
It’s clear he’s having the time of his life, and they’re feeling the same. Whatever differences he’s having with LL seems to have been cast aside to enjoy this. Easton saunters over to the mic, his natural swagger in effect as he grips it. “Thank you so fucking much, Salt Lake,” he gestures toward the band. “Give it up for REVERB.”
The reply sends a wave of pride through me. I shake my head, amazed at the path they’ve traveled thus far, along with the change in the conflicted man I met versus the heart-seizing performer oozing confidence feet away from me. My admiration for him grows as he speaks up again.
“I know you guys have busy lives to get back to, but we were wondering if you’ve got time for one more?”
Easton grins at the response, eyeing the crowd humbly. The budding emotion clear in his face, only magnified by the view of him on the large screen which sits on stage behind the band. The perspective then shifts to Easton’s as the cameraman scans the stadium, and I gape as I get a glimpse of his view.
“How about we set the mood first?” In an instant, the auditorium is cloaked in darkness. Anticipation thickens the air, and it takes a few minutes for the noise to die down before Easton’s velvet voice circulates throughout. “Pretty dark in here. Can I get some help from you, Salt Lake?”
The darkened stadium roars in response, the screen no longer giving access to the audience view. Unable to help myself, I edge the stage and peek out into the crowd. The sight of thousands of floating lights steals my breath as they continue to pop up, hundreds at a time.
“Perfect. Thank you,” Easton says, just before a lone spotlight shines down on him, where he now sits at his piano, facing me. I light up at the fact he’s far closer now than when he sang on the mic. From where I’m standing, I can see him clearly—the set of his jaw, even the light in his eyes. Easton adjusts himself behind the piano while the rest of us wait with bated breath for whatever cover he has planned. Try as I might, Easton consistently refuses to reveal which cover song he’ll perform at his next show, no matter how I bribe him. Even when I’ve gotten sexually creative, I’ve gotten no dice.
Settling in, Easton leans in and addresses us while trickling his fingers along the keys of the piano.
“I’m going to attempt something tonight, so bear with me.”
Another worshipful rumble reverberates in reply, which gains them one of his signature half-smiles. A flirtation, though he’s already got everyone in the palm of his hand. Adjusting himself one last time, he sweeps his soaked hair away from his forehead, giving me a clear view of his flawless face. He’s never looked more beautiful to me, my supernova, shining so brightly in his element. He’s happy, and it’s so apparent. “I borrowed this one from a family friend.” he says, “He taught me to play piano, so I don’t think he’ll mind.”
He postures himself to play as the audience grows more subdued, the lone spotlight on him dimming slightly. Easton dips his chin, and somewhere from the stage, a synthesized yet beautiful melody begins to play. Easton joins in shortly after and falters, muttering, “Shit, well, he might mind that, sorry, Chris.” His embarrassed chuckle elicits a round of helpful and encouraging cheers, and I can’t help my smile.
He’s nervous.
The raw vulnerability he’s displaying for the world, a world he fears, has me tearing up as he begins again. During that magical moment, as all I feel for him threatens to burst from me, he sweeps us all away in the most beautiful of melodies.
Soon after, Easton begins to sing the first of the lyrics about being lost, of an inner struggle, just before he lifts his eyes to mine. Within a matter of a few stunted breaths, I replay the first time our eyes met at the bar and the second he held out his hand to me in offering at the garden. Tears already shimmering in my eyes, I gaze back at him as the rest of our story unfolds through his chosen cover song. Through the lyrics, Easton sings of the state of the world, our differences, the belonging we all hope for…and of finding it in another’s eyes.