It didn’t happen all at once. It crept in slowly and tediously, like a storm on the horizon you keep telling yourself’ll pass. I wasn’t looking for it. Hell, I wasn’t even sure what “it” was at first. But there was a pull between us, undeniable, electric, dangerous. One minute we were arguing about chords or lyrics, and the next… we were inches apart, breathless, saying nothing at all. Camila saw it. The band saw it. We saw it. We just didn’t touch it... until we did.

I should’ve known better. I should’ve walked away every time your hand brushed mine onstage, every time our voices tangled on the same mic, and you leaned in like you didn’t care who saw. You made it impossible not to look. And I didn’t want to look away, especially not when you were up there, dancing like the whole damn stage belonged to you. Like you were the only person in the room. And maybe you were. At least to me.

After the shows, it always felt like we were teetering. Laughing too loud. Sitting too close. Drinking a little too much. That line blurred more each night, but we didn’t cross it, not then. I kept telling myself I loved Camila, that I couldn’t do that to her. But Jesus… I thought about you constantly. I’d lie next to my wife, and my head would be full of you. You messed me up in a way I couldn’t fix.

And when it finally happened, when we finally let it happen… it was like letting go of a secret you’ve been dying to say out loud. Our lips met, and that was it. Every wall I built cracked. My hands were all over you. Yours were all over me. It was fire and guilt and relief and heartbreak all at once. And I didn’t want to stop.

We started sneaking kisses during rehearsals like a couple of damn kids. Holding hands behind the amps when no one was looking. I wrote you a song, one I only ever sang for you when we were alone. You’d read poetry in that hotel bed, and I’d run my fingers along your leg like I was trying to memorize you. I traced the word “mine” without even realizing it.

No one knew. And for a while, that made it feel sacred. But it was a lie. We were lying. To everyone. To the people who mattered. And the truth is, I was a coward. I didn’t leave Camila. I didn’t tell her our marriage was already fading because my heart had moved on. I couldn’t bring myself to break hers, even while I was already doing it in the worst way.

I hated hiding you. I hated what I was doing. But you were mine. You were mine in every look, every word, every secret we kept. And the world didn’t need to know it. You already did.