It’s then I realize he’s serenading me, singing to me, and the song represents us. I relive it all as my chest goes raw. Within a few more bars and heart-stopping lyrics, the band starts to play along, scattered around him in the pitch dark.
Easton raises his voice, tipping it up and beyond a surreal level as every lyric strikes me to my core, and I allow my tears to spill over. Heartbeat escalating, chest pumping, his words from Seattle come back to me.
“I want you to remember this moment, right now, right here, just you and me in a fucking SUV, taking a drive to nowhere. Promise me you’ll remember this.”
“It’s just us,” I whisper, entranced, gazing back at him as he captivates me wholly. Steadily pulling me closer and closer to him, despite the distance between us. I don’t feel an inch now, and I’ve never in my life felt anything like it—this intimacy, this feeling of belonging to someone so completely.
This can’t be bought or bottled.
It can’t be replicated, duplicated, or imitated.
Being with Easton in any capacity is like trying to cling to a shooting star, and somewhere inside, I know that if I don’t relish this time with him, I’ll miss it as he burns his brightest. Even if it seems impossible that he’ll burn out at all, I know for certain that I want to burn with him for as long as humanly possible.
No…there’s nothing to compare this feeling to, and that’s why it’s the meaning of life. Love is purpose, belonging, and the very definition of living.
He continues to sing of my effect on him as his voice caresses my entire being, covering me head to heel in goosebumps while searing itself permanently into my heart. With every fluid stroke of his tongue—his weapon far too lethal for any sort of armor—the needle drives in deep, infusing me with a euphoric, indescribable high.
Surrounded by thousands, he holds me captive as I become helplessly attuned to the fact I’m utterly, hopelessly, and desperately fucking in love with Elliot Easton Crowne.
A rock star he may now be, but for me, he was first a man who reached in with a gentle soul and discovered some of my veiled truths before forcing me to acknowledge parts of who I am—and what I want. A man who made me feel important at a time when I questioned my direction and everything else I thought I knew. A man who has since freed me to be that woman, all the while addicting me to new needs. Needs he himself sparked and created before gifting me with the type of love I dreamed of. The love I hoped to experience for myself.
In becoming her, we both fell—unguarded, raw, and vulnerable—the only way to fall. The most potent aspect of all is that he helped blueprint our love, just as my heart conjured it.
It has nothing to do with anyone else, despite how it happened.
This love story is ours and ours alone.
All of these truths hit me within seconds as he expertly plays an intoxicating, romantic melody—a symphony seeming to consist of only the most beautiful notes. Easton’s gaze remains focused on me as he hits every single one with ease while his fingers glide over the keys.
As the song builds, spotlights begin to pop up on clustered musicians gathered on stage, the last a group of violinists who begin to play.
He planned this. Every second of this, for me.
Standing in a living dream, while floating on the love I feel for him, our eyes lock, our affection clear during the most beautiful minutes of my life.
The song hits its crescendo, shooting a tingling through me before he dips closer to the mic, stare intensifying, his admission clear when he speaks.
“I love you.”
The chaos of the crowd drowns out my gasp as I clutch my chest, my eyes flooding. Refusing to miss a second, I furiously wipe at my tears as my heart thrashes wildly in my chest. Whoever I was before this moment exists no more. Inside, I’m aware I’ll never be her again, the woman who doesn’t know what this kind of love feels like. Whatever I presumed my loves expectations to be feel insignificant for the moment, because his declaration makes me feel immortal.
My decision comes easily.
I’m done hiding. From everyone. I’m done hiding my love for this man, period. Endless daydreams of a repressed future start to unfurl as he continues to pour himself, his love, into me with the most beautiful of love songs.
He loves me.
He. Loves. Me.
As if reading my thoughts, a shy smile graces Easton’s lips as a screen full of swaying lights from the audience become his background.
The power of our connection flows over every inch of the stadium, or at least it feels that way, as it blankets me while he sings the last of the lyrics. Piano notes linger in the air as the violins rush out on high and the stadium goes black.