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.
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.