Page 64 of Anything But Lonely

And judging by the way her jaw tightens at my question, she knows it too.

“What are you doing here?” she asks, all teasing and joking pushed aside.

“Saving you from being run over, apparently,” I exasperate, settling my hands on my hips as I pace a few steps back and forth. “Or kidnapped.”

She rolls her eyes. “Don’t be so fucking dramatic.”

I point to my chest. “I’m being dramatic?” Her defiance usually turns me on, but right now, I want to grab her by the shoulders and shake her to make her understand. “You walked in front of a moving fucking car, Emerson. You didn't even look up.” I shake my head, trying to settle some of this anger that I know I don’t deserve to have in this situation, but it’s like it’s a fire in my chest—consuming everything in its path until there’s nothing left.

Her mouth opens, but I cut her off before she can tell me I'm overreacting.

“What would've happened if I hadn't seen you? What if I was looking at my phone or changing the song on the radio? What if it wasn't me behind the wheel?” The words hang between us, immediately bringing me back to when she fell into my arms after she hadn't eaten all day.

“Do you know what I saw when those headlights hit you?” I ask quietly. “I saw a hundred different ways this could've gone wrong in about two fucking seconds.” I laugh bitterly, dragging a hand down my face. “So, no, Emerson. I don't really give a shit if you think I'm being dramatic right now.”

Her jaw ticks. “Well, lucky for both of us, none of those things happened.”

I shake my head, looking down at the pavement between us. “I came to drop off a gift,” I finally say, reaching into my car to grab the envelope in my front seat. Holding it out for her, I add, “Merry Christmas.”

She takes the envelope from my hand, but I don’t wait for her to make a joke or tease me about bringing it over. I grab the driver’s side door, giving her one last look before I turn to get back in the car.

It was stupid to come here.

“Mateo, wait,” she says, and I’m like a dog with a command. No choice but to obey.

My eyes meet hers, and I wait for her to say what she wants to say.

“Do you—” she hesitates, looking down at the envelope in her hand. She exhales before looking back up at me. “Do you want to come in?”

Yes, I want to say. Inevitable. Like the next pulse beneath my skin, the next breath in my lungs, the next drop of blood through my veins.

But I don’t.

Because I don’t know if I have the time to worry about someone who doesn’t seem to want me to care in the first place.

I have Crew. I have the last few months of this tour. I have the goodbye waiting for me at the end of it—the moment I have to watch the four people who have been my family for more than a decade walk away and figure out who we are without the music that brought us together.

And then there’s me.

The question I’ve been avoiding since the beginning of this tour. What happens when it ends? When the lights go out, the crowds disappear, and I’m no longer Mateo Lane, the guy onstage with a microphone in his hand?

What’s left when the thing that has always defined me is gone?

I have enough demons waiting for me when I get home without taking on someone else’s who doesn’t even want me trying to help.

Maybe this is the reminder I needed.

To truly get Emerson out of my system.

So instead, I shake my head, giving her a smile—one too small to be considered anything but sad. “Enjoy your time off, Emerson,” I say, telling myself I just imagined the way her shoulders flinched. “I’ll see you next week.”

CHAPTER 24

MATEO

“Daddy?”

I look up from where I’m sitting on the couch, finding Crew watching me with the serious expression he gets when he’s thinking through something important. “Yeah, buddy?”