Page 111 of Anything But Lonely

Crew pats my leg, and reality finishes settling back in.

“Let’s go, champ,” Emerson says, holding her hand out for Crew, who takes it eagerly.

I grab her by the waist before she can walk away. “That way,” I say, pointing to where I wish she'd been all night—in the wings at the side of the stage. Where she belongs.

She hears the words I don’t say, pressing a quick peck to my lips like it’s the most natural thing to do, and the crowd goes wild.

“Aren’t they just the cutest?” Theo says into his microphone as Emerson and Crew hurry off stage.

“How you doing there, loverboy?” Silas’s voice sounds over the speakers, and I feel like a cartoon with hearts twirling around my head as I watch Emerson walk away.

She and Crew find their spot just as one of the stage managers hands Emerson a pair of headphones. She loops them over Crew’s ears, and he turns towards the stage as he adjusts them.

“Never been better,” I answer into my microphone, placing it back in the stand as I gather my bearings.

Laughs echo through the speakers as Eddie cues us in for our next song, and I’ve never known a feeling so bittersweet.

A few minutes ago, I thought my heart was going to give out. The anticipation of showing Emerson my cards and hoping she didn’t just take them and throw them into the wind.

Now it feels too full to fit inside my chest.

Emerson is here. She chose me. Chose us.

And somehow, at the exact same moment, I'm standing on the edge of losing the thing that helped make me who I am.

I look over at Eddie, Theo, and Silas, and pressure builds behind my eyes. These idiots have been beside me through everything—every shitty bar gig, every sold-out arena, every fight, every victory, every version of ourselves we've grown through over the years.

This stage has been my home for so long that I don't know who I am without it.

But when I glance toward the side of the stage and find Emerson with Crew bouncing to the music just in front of her, both of them watching me like I'm the only person in the world, something settles inside me.

Maybe that's the thing about endings.

They only hurt this much because they made room for something worth missing.

And for the first time, as I start the lyrics to our final song for the very last time, I'm not mourning what I'm leaving behind.

I'm just grateful I got to have it at all in the first place.

CHAPTER 38

EMERSON

Sometime between the last song and the three encores Cross My Heart played for their final show, Crew fell asleep in my arms. The room was electric—the kind of energy that only comes with the end of something unforgettable—and I felt like I was floating as I carefully passed him to Mateo when he finally came offstage. He didn’t say a word before pressing a kiss to my lips, like it was something he’s always done.

We both knew there were words to say, a conversation to finish in private, but we had a dozen people waiting for us—waiting for Mateo—so we met up with everyone in Cross My Heart’s greenroom, where the celebration commenced. Popping bottles of champagne, the four guys blowing out the candles on a cake with the Cross My Heart logo drawn in frosting, surrounded by everyone they loved.

It was bittersweet—years of music, of memories, of milestones coming to a close—but surrounded by the people who had been there for Mateo and the band through it all.

We made our rounds through the crowd of friends and family who had come to celebrate this final show. I met Theo’s family and Silas’ wife before pressing a kiss to a sleeping Crew’s forehead as Mateo handed him off to Talia and Daniel as they headed out.

There was something about seeing him surrounded by the people who knew him best, watching him laugh and reminisce about a lifetime of songs, that made me feel like I was stepping into a part of his world I’d only ever glimpsed from the outside.

Feeling Mateo’s arm wrapped around my waist as we chatted with Mia and Eddie before they left to put their daughters to bed brought a warmth I didn’t know I had gone so long without.

Mateo made quick reintroductions to friends I’d met in passing once or twice before, then I led him over to Rumi, Ava, Jack, and Anderson.

I had to pretend not to notice the knowing looks Rumi and Ava exchanged as they watched us—the way Mateo’s thumb traced slow circles over the exposed skin above my jeans, the soft kisses he pressed to the back of my shoulder whenever he thought no one was paying attention, the heat in his gaze every time our eyes met.