Page 39 of Anything But Lonely

I couldn’t help but stare—not even bothering to school my features or pretend I was remotely capable of acting normal. I probably looked insane, standing there completely transfixed, my attention locked on the stage as if looking away for even a second might mean missing something. For those first few songs, I barely moved. I just watched.

The lights swept across the crowd in waves, catching on raised hands and glowing phone screens, while the bass seemed to vibrate straight through the floor beneath my feet. Everything was louder and bigger from back here—the music, the screaming, the energy of thousands of people packed together and singing every word. And somehow, in the middle of all that noise and movement, I could only see one person.

Seeing your favorite band from backstage was one thing. I’d dreamed about it, sure, but dreams had a way of making things feel distant and unreal. This was different. This was close enough to see the way the stage lights caught on every movement, close enough to hear the raw edges in his voice between breaths, close enough to watch him command an entire room without even seeming to try.

Seeing Mateo Lane from backstage was something else entirely.

It was surreal in a way I hadn’t been prepared for. I’d seen him on screens, in photographs, in interviews, in grainy videos that I’d replayed more times than I’d ever admit out loud. But none of that had prepared me for what it felt like to actually be there—to watch him standing on a stage just a few yards away, completely in his element, while an entire arena seemed to hang on his every word.

Life-changing doesn’t even feel dramatic enough.

And judging by the way I was staring at him like I’d forgotten how blinking worked, I wasn’t doing a particularly convincing job of hiding it.

Laying Crew down in Mateo’s bed, I quietly shut the door, but I’m confident that he’s out for the night after such an eventful first day of tour. Between sing check this morning and the park after lunch, before spending time with the band before the show, Crew was asleep in his car seat before the driver even left the venue parking lot, and I’m glad I brought his toothbrush and pajamas for him to change into before the show.

My phone vibrates in my back pocket as I make my way to the kitchen, but I ignore it, looking through the drawers and cabinets, but nothing is sounding good.

My appetite has been pretty nonexistent these last weeks—hard to think of food when you’re used to watching someone literally waste away before your eyes—so instead, I grab one of Mateo’s beers from the fridge and sit down on the couch.

Cross My Heart’s show has at least a good thirty minutes left, not including encores or anything else the band does before they call it a night, so I figure I have some time before I need to retire to my bedroom.

Falling into bed has been the highlight of every day lately, the one thing I've been able to look forward to. It was the first thought that crossed my mind when I woke up this morning—how many hours until I could crawl back under the covers and disappear again.

But somewhere between Crew's endless excitement and the electricity humming through the stage tonight, that feeling has faded. His energy must be contagious, because for the first time in weeks, the heaviness that's been clinging to me is tolerable, leaving me feeling lighter than I have in what feels like forever.

Maybe it was the smile on his face while he watched his dad—or maybe it was the way his dad came alive on stage, his love for the music so contagious it was impossible not to be affected—either way, I think I want to take advantage of it.

Lifting my legs up to the coffee table just in front of the couch, I cross one leg over the other and turn on a movie as I sip my beer. My phone buzzes again in my pocket, and I let out a sigh.

Reality always has a way of settling back in.

Both Rumi and Ava have been reaching out since I left Ava’s house the day I told them I was taking this nanny job. These texts are from Rumi.

Rumi

How’s it going? We miss you!

Did you meet Mateo’s son? Hope your first day went well! Love you <3

I contemplate ignoring the texts, but a little voice inside my head reminds me that if I don’t respond now, she’ll just keep reaching out, making her worry more. Or worse, she’ll tell Ava I didn’t respond, and then Ava will call me and see right through me.

Taking another sip of beer, I come up with a response that won’t worry her but also hopefully won’t spark more questions.

Hey, babe! All good here. Crew is awesome. Thanks for checking in xx

I send her a few pictures I took of Crew today and a video I took of her favorite Cross My Heart song tonight before tucking my phone under the pillow on the couch, moving to lay down as the opening credits begin.

I must have dozed off, my body flinching when I hear the door to the hotel room shut.

“Oh,” I hear as I sit up, looking to find Mateo frozen just beyond the doorway. He must not have expected to see me. I glance at the TV, seeing the movie I turned on isn’t over yet.

I sit up, tucking my hair behind my ears to hide any bedhead. “You’re home early.”

Mateo clears his throat. “Yeah, um, we finished up about fifteen minutes ago.”

I lift a brow. “And you came straight home?” I don’t even try to hide my confusion.

Mateo is a rockstar, on his final farewell tour. He just played for arguably one of the biggest venues in the country, to a sold-out crowd.