Page 4 of Anything But Lonely

“When are you supposed to meet Talia?” Mia asks, pulling me from my thoughts.

I look over her shoulder, checking the time on her oven. “Half an hour. We were going to meet at Hey Honey’s, but they’re closed today for some event, so we’re going to Lenny’s instead.”

“And she really didn’t tell you anything?” Mia pries again, playing with the paper wrapped around her water bottle.

“Nope,” I answer, chuckling at the way Mia groans.

While I am curious and a little worried to talk to Talia, knowing that my ex-wife wouldn’t argue with me coming home from tour for anything that wasn’t incredibly important, there’s nothing I can do about it for the next thirty minutes.

Without Talia, this last tour wouldn’t have happened. She’s the one who keeps Crew grounded in the middle of it all—flying him out when schedules line up, making sure weeks don’t slip into months. Somehow, she’s always made the distance feel smaller than it is, taking time out of her own days to make sure I can see my son.

When the label first floated a farewell world tour, I’d written it off before they even finished the pitch. We’ve never done more than a handful of weeks at a time. Four guys, four separate lives, all of us trying to be present somewhere else.

We weren’t the bachelors, aching for the rockstar life anymore—willing to sacrifice anything to have it in our hands. After almost a decade, Eddie, Theo, Silas, and I have all found different priorities—significant others or kids who need us at home, not sleeping on tour buses and performing in different cities every night for weeks on end.

But in the end, we all agreed that we owed it to our fans. One last run for the ones who turned our small indie Milwaukee band into something we never thought possible—something we only dreamed of.

The four of us agreed this last hurrah was what they deserved, and we knew our loved ones would help us make it work. After all, the fans made us into one of the best—a band with awards and accolades we only ever dreamed of back when we were playing covers of our favorite songs in whatever dive bar would give us a chance.

“Well, you better get going,” Mia says.

I exhale, push off the counter, and cross the room to Crew. His attention doesn’t leave the blocks scattered in his lap as I crouch down and press a kiss into his brown hair—apparently Duck Duck Goose didn’t last long.

“I’ll see you later, buddy.”

He glances up at me then, those blue eyes just like his mom’s. “You have songs to sing, Daddy?” he asks, and something tightens in my chest—the same place it always does when he says it like that, so casual.

Crew has been coming to shows since he was a baby. The first time, he slept through the entire set, curled against Talia’s chest in a suite above the crowd, almost too small for the huge headphones we put over his ears.

After the divorce just before he turned two, drop-offs always ended the same way. A small hand waving from her doorway, a quiet Daddy, sing trailing after me as I left.

Now at four, he just asks if I’m going to sing whenever I go.

I swallow and nod once. “Something like that,” I say, like I always do, my voice cracking as he smiles wide, his long brown hair tied up in a bun to keep the waves out of his face. “Be good for Aunt Mia,” I say, standing up to my full height. “I’ll see you later, okay?”

“Okay, Daddy,” he says easily, just as one of the twins hands him more blocks. He says it like he’s used to saying goodbye.

Like I'll just disappear for a while.

And he'll hardly notice I'm gone.

CHAPTER 3

EMERSON

“You want another?” the bartender asks as I finish the last sip of my beer, reaching out for me to hand him the empty glass.

I consider it.

I even consider something harder than beer.

Something stronger than alcohol.

I shake my head. “Close me out, handsome,” I say on an exhale, handing him the glass and propping my elbows on the bar. I rest my chin in my palms, my eyes going to the ring of condensation left on the bar top.

“You sure you don’t want anything else?” he asks, and when I look up, there’s a smirk there, suggesting more than just what he can pour behind the bar.

I let it sit between us for a second.