Page 139 of Anything But Lonely

A small smile tugs at her mouth, but it fades almost as quickly as it appears.

She closes the door and rounds the front of the car before sliding into the passenger seat beside me.

“It feels impossible to do right now,” she says quietly, pulling the door shut. Her purse slips from her shoulder into her lap as she digs through it for her phone. “But I know they’re worried.”

I reach across the center console and place a hand on her thigh, and her movements still. Her eyes lift to mine.

“Don’t worry about that right now,” I tell her. I leave out the part where I already called everyone. Rumi. Jack. Ava. Anderson. Talia too. I told them enough to ease their minds, but the rest isn't my story to share. When Emerson is ready, she'll tell them herself. “They’re ready and waiting for you when you are.”

The grip she has on her phone loosens.

Her eyes go glassy again, emotion swimming to the surface.

Without looking away, she covers my hand with hers, holding tightly.

For a moment, neither of us says anything.

The car settles into silence around us, broken only by the faint sound of Crew humming to himself in the back seat.

“Are you ready to go?” I ask softly.

Emerson takes a deep breath, her shoulders rising before slowly falling again.

Then she nods. “Yeah,” she whispers. “I think so.”

CHAPTER 45

EMERSON

It’s the last day of July.

Another month, coming and going, and I’m finally realizing how I’m letting time pass—wishing it away—when I’m still lucky enough to have it.

I feel like I’ve been looking at the world through frosted glass—for months. Until today.

It’s like the haze has finally cracked, and I can see the day for what it is.

The sky stretched pale blue above the lake as we drive over the bridge, heading towards the cemetery. It’s streaked with thin clouds that drift lazily across the horizon.

Sunlight filters through the trees, catching on leaves so green they almost hurt to look at.

Crew is humming along to the song playing on the radio; Mateo’s hand is in my lap, our fingers interlocked as he drives, and there’s only a small, almost nonexistent part of me that isn’t taking advantage of the moment.

When Mateo told me what happened to Crew yesterday, I don’t know how I stayed standing. My body was fighting to move—to get to him, get to the hospital, see that he was okay with my own eyes—but I couldn’t move. It was like my feet were glued to the ground, like I was punishing myself for the time I spent trying to disappear while the world outside kept spinning.

After I finally got the tears to stop, Mateo stayed with me for the rest of the day.

He lingered in the bathroom, passing me toothpaste to brush my teeth, sitting on the bathroom floor while he waited for me. He made sure I was drinking water, handing me glass after glass throughout the afternoon and into the evening, watching me take every last sip. And when he ordered dinner, he didn’t even ask me what I wanted—just ordered an entire menu of food. The first bite was like swallowing sand, but then my hunger registered, and I cleared at least two plates in a matter of minutes.

We barely talked. Not until I asked if he'd come with me to see my mom.

It was such a simple question, but it felt like one of the hardest things I'd ever said.

He said yes before I could second-guess myself.

And when I fell asleep against him, for the first time in a long time, I didn't feel completely alone.

Mateo pulls into the parking lot of the cemetery, turning off the car before he squeezes my hand, and I lift my gaze to his.