Page 9 of Angel

A deep thinker, he was also an amazing lyricist, and many of our most beloved songs were because of him.

With locs and jewelry to die for, he was black British with Jamaican roots.

His parents settled in Sydney years ago when his mum came to work as a nurse down under.

He was the ‘dad’ of the band, always fussing over us, feeding us his mum’s jerk chicken and rice and peas whenever we were home.

Reign was our dirty blonde, shaggy-haired drummer who made you weep with his runs.

His solos were legendary, as was his love for motorcycles and fixing cars.

I respected these men because while we wrote and performed in unison, we also did life together; in the trenches for each other.

Now, they moved to flank me.

Bishop held out a glass of water.

I drank it.

Levi fixed me a mug of black coffee; I took it too, welcoming the heat as it punched into my icy gut.

Deacon and Reign paced the floor, asking me occasional questions that I answered in mumbled responses.

After a spell, I slumped into a catatonia, unable to speak.

After some time, they fell quiet and sat with me, letting me wallow, rocked and paralyzed by disbelief that Evangeline was my Delilah.

My betrayer and backstabber.

Damn, we’d been on such a good streak too.

Yes, she was flighty; she’d walked away from me a few times over the years; this wasn’t our first breakup rodeo.

During our separations, I’d attempted to move on; I even hooked up with other women, attempted to blitz her memory away, but I never succeeded.

Each time she left, however, she still came back; every bolt for freedom led her back to me.

Whenever she returned, I forgave her because I believed there was no one else for me.

The last time, she came back with a fierce, renewed enthusiasm, promising never to hurt me again.

When I proposed, she wept and accepted.

I indulged every chaotic detail of her wedding preparation excitement, playing right along because all that mattered was locking her down and claiming every inch of her, forever.

We structured our timeline around her influencer career, her fashion store, and my band tours.

With Six Sinners dominating the charts and her habits under control, our world finally felt secure.

However, last night, I spotted her hands trembling during the rehearsal dinner.

I told her to breathe, to get some rest, dismissing the warning signs as simple nerves.

Perhaps I was too consumed by the desire to make her my wife to ask more probing questions.

I ought to have, because now she was gone, bailing on us, our forever disintegrating into dust.

Outside on the stunning lakefront, the wedding prep continued to spin at a frantic pace.