Page 47 of Anything But Lonely

Have you had dinner? I know it’s late, but I can order something

His response confuses me, catching me off-guard.

I’m fine, no worries

Are you sure?

Are you on the bus? I’m headed there now.

No. Still in my hotel room

I need to either get on that bus or figure out my own way home.

Pushing myself up to a seated position, I swing my legs off the bed, pressing my bare feet into the carpeted floor. The movement makes me a little light-headed, so I’m careful as I stand. The tour bus is parked in the back parking lot of the hotel, so I have some time to refresh and pack up.

I quickly go through the motions, having just a minute or two to spare. Pulling the handle of my suitcase up, I loop my backpack over my shoulders just before I open the hotel door, finding none other than Mateo Lane.

I’m still in the process of coming back to myself, my mind moving more slowly than usual, so part of me thinks I’m hallucinating.

Why would he be here?

“Emerson?” Mateo’s voice sounds like it’s far away, even though he’s right in front of me. His lips keep moving, but the words drown out just as my vision begins to blur.

I catch fragments of his voice this time. “Are you okay?”

My body sways before I realize I'm falling, my legs giving out beneath me as something stops me just before I can hit the ground. Warm arms wrap around me, catching me against a solid chest.

Somewhere above me, I think I hear, "Careful, baby," so quiet I'm not even sure it's real.

Then there’s my name again, over and over again.

There’s panic. Like something’s wrong.

And this time, the darkness finds me first.

CHAPTER 18

EMERSON

When I finally come to, it feels like I’m floating.

I slowly open my eyes, feeling a pain deep in my temples, and I’m immediately thankful for the dimmed lights.

Pushing up to my elbows, the living room of the tour bus comes into view, and it’s like I was hit by a truck.

“There you are.” A soft rasp draws my attention. I find Mateo kneeling at my side, his face just inches from mine.

“What the fuck happened to me?” I ask, but I say the words more to myself than him. I press my palm into my forehead, trying to relieve the pressure, but it feels like my head is being squeezed.

I try to sit up more, but my stomach cramps so hard, it steals my breath for a second. The ache radiates through me in slow, punishing waves.

“You texted me that you weren’t feeling well, so I headed up to your hotel room,” Mateo explains. He’s talking clearly and slowly, but it feels forced. Like he’s trying to sound calmer than he feels. “You opened the door before I could knock, and then you passed out.”

“What?” The events from earlier tonight come flooding back.

I start to remember it all.

I remember seeing Mateo at the door.