Page 79 of Anything But Lonely

I shake my head. “It was my fault. I wasn’t watching where I was going.” My mind goes back to that night, the beginning of the worst depressive episode I’ve ever had—and how I’d still probably be in that bed if Jack didn’t find me there.

“You seemed pretty out of it,” Mateo offers, and I know it’s his way of asking without actually voicing the question.

“Christmas was a hard day for me.”

Mateo nods, and I have a feeling he hears the words I don’t say. “Did you end up spending time with your family?”

“I did,” I answer. “It was nice, but it was honestly really exhausting.”

“Family time has a way of doing that,” he replies knowingly.

“What did you do for the holidays?” I ask, slightly changing the subject to him just for a moment to gather my bearings.

“I spent Christmas Eve at my sister’s house to spend some time with my two nieces, and then I drove down to Chicago the next morning to see Crew with Talia and her husband.” He pockets his hands, his eyes going to the snow underneath his boots. “And then remembered I wanted to drop off your Christmas bonus.”

“Which you really didn’t have to do,” I offer, taking a page from his book—prompting the question without actually asking it.

Why did you come all the way to my apartment?

“I didn’t have stamps,” he says, as if it’s an acceptable answer. As if he couldn’t have waited to give it to me when his tour started back up or, I don’t know, buy fucking stamps.

“I wasn’t expecting company,” I reply, as if my answer is any more acceptable.

We’re doing that weird thing again, where we talk in code.

“Look, Emerson,” Mateo says after a moment. “Like I said that night—” he pauses abruptly at the mention of the night he’s referring to.

The memories tucked in the back of my mind, where I’ve tried to put them over and over again, just to pull them out constantly—just to relive it. Even when I know I shouldn’t.

Mateo clears his throat before continuing. “I know it’s none of my business—you’re none of my business.”

He doesn’t say it harshly, but the words sting regardless. I try to ignore the pain, but it’s a good reminder that our one night together was just that.

One night.

“But I can’t help but care about you,” he admits, and my breath catches. “I mean, I just—I don’t know how to explain it,” he stumbles out, dragging a hand over his mouth before continuing. “I guess that’s the only thing I know for sure. I care about you, Emerson, and I’m here for you.” He swallows, letting the words hang in the air before adding, “As a friend.”

“I’m not always the best friend,” I admit because I truly don’t know what else to say to his admission, and I can’t quite get myself to say what I want to say: that I care about him too.

As a friend.

“I’m sure Crew would argue otherwise,” Mateo smiles, and the mention of Crew settles some of the tension in the air.

“He just likes me because I remind him of his cat.”

“His cat, who now lives with me,” Mateo laughs, almost like he can’t believe the words himself.

My eyes widen. “Is she coming on tour?”

Mateo shakes his head frantically, eyes wide. “Not if I can help it.”

The change of subject is refreshing, but it doesn’t mean I’m not still thinking about his words.

I care about you, Emerson.

“I need to find someone in the next twenty-four hours to check in on her every day while we’re gone,” Mateo continues. He goes on to explain how he can’t handle the cat on the tour bus because it hates him, but I interrupt him when an idea hits me.

“Wait, my friend’s sister,” I say.