Page 122 of Deacon

The stage flared to life like an electrical grid blowing out, the LED cloud ribs overhead roaring with jagged lines of white light.

The entire arena detonated into a sea of pulsing, blue-tinted lightning.

‘You ready for a freakin’ massive storm?’ Jude growled into the mic as he kicked off our headline set with the title track, ‘Sinners’ Tears.’

The stacked thirty-song set list continued with our newest songs, keeping the Sinners’ Army roaring under the stadium lights.

Tracks from our earlier discography followed, with older, much-loved hits that our fans sang from the top of their lungs.

We ended the night with our biggest anthems, ‘Redemption’s Call’ and ‘Heart Ruin.’

The crowd was relentless, screaming for an encore until the rafters rattled.

After the final chord, we headed backstage for an hour-long meet-and-greet, signing vinyl, shirts, and vintage merch.

By the time I hit the sack at The Soho Hotel, I was almost catatonic.

I fell asleep the second my head landed on the pillow, only to wake at 7 a.m. and repeat the circus for two more nights in the capital.

The tour bus rolled into Liverpool under a bruised sky, where we practiced for our first show in the legendary city that birthed The Beatles.

The pace was relentless, and freakin’ punishing.

Early on, the guys and I studied how other bands handled the road.

We witnessed the ugly side: immaturity, cheating, blown fortunes, and marriages imploding at the stress.

But we also recognized the incredible adventure, freedom, creativity, and once-in-a-lifetime chance to experience our dream career with our friends for life.

We soon realized that with the right strategy, we could master touring through discipline, exercise, healthy food, and sleep.

Thank heavens I had a rock-solid support system, from Ana, Raff, and Christine to my parents and siblings, that never faltered the second I stepped onto a tour bus.

After practice that night, my phone flashed with Ana’s missed call.

I called her back on FaceTime at 2.30 a.m. in my room.

It was almost 9 p.m. in Nashville, and she was getting ready for bed.

Her freshly washed face filled the screen, her dark hair pinned back with a gold clip.

She’d never looked more beautiful, with no makeup, as she rubbed cream into her face.

We chatted about Raff until she shared news that made my heart lurch.

‘It looks like I’ll be heading to Milan to finalize the divorce,’ Ana said, leaning back against her headboard. ‘The nightmare is about to be over, and I’ll soon be a free woman, shot of my biggest mistake, forever.’

‘Good riddance to bad rubbish,’ I muttered, taking a swig of water.

Ana let out a dry, humorless chuckle.

‘It gets better. According to my manager, Max is telling his circle and a few gossip rags that I coerced him into the relationship, that I begged him to marry me.’

I barked out a laugh at the stupidity of the claim, shaking my head.

‘The guy’s a clown, mama. Don’t waste a single brain cell worrying about his fake stories; he’s probably trying to turn their attention away from the reality that he’s a freakin’ arsehole and a cheat.’

She smiled, shifting to reach for her eye cream, massaging it into her skin as she spoke.