Page 85 of Anything But Lonely

I know what Mateo sounds like when he comes—I know the sound intimately well.

And that’s what I just heard.

And now I just heard his bedroom door opening.

Before I can think better of it, I’m throwing the comforter off with the full intent of making sure he’s alone—I won’t be able to sleep otherwise.

For reasons I don’t want to consider at the moment.

When I open my bedroom door, Mateo freezes, shoving his hands behind his back.

“What are you doing?” I whisper, looking towards the open door of his bedroom but not seeing anyone at first. “Is someone here?”

Mateo gains some of his composure but keeps his hands behind his back. “No,” he says quietly, and we both pretend we didn’t hear the voice crack. “No one’s here.”

“I thought I heard you—” I stop myself, not wanting him to think I was laying in bed listening to him…

Listening to him do what?

Jack off? That’s the only explanation for what I heard, but I’m not about to outright ask him that. That’s fucking bold, even for me.

On the other hand. “Were you just masturbating?”

Mateo’s entire body goes rigid, his entire face going beet red—something I’ve never seen before. And it’s answer enough.

“You know what,” I offer, holding my hands up in surrender. “Never mind.” I wait until I turn around to let the smile threatening my lips come out, shutting my bedroom door behind me before falling back against it. Exhaling a long breath at my own stupidity.

And my relief.

This is going to be a long couple of months.

It’s been a week since the Maine show, and it’s flown by.

This leg of the tour ends with multiple days of back-to-back shows, and it’s safe to say everyone is exhausted.

But there are still a few more days until the bands have more than twenty-four hours off, so we’re basically all running on fumes.

“But I don’t want pepperoni,” Crew whines from the kitchen counter. He’s in a pair of white pajamas with candy corn splattered all over them.

He asked if we could stay home tonight instead of going to the concert, so we are having a little pajama party. But just like the rest of us, Crew is feeling the consequences of long travel days and sleeping in a different bed each night.

“That’s what you asked for when I ordered it,” I tell him, placing a slice of pizza on a plate and trying to hand it to him.

Crew shakes his head, crossing his arms. “I want cheese pizza.”

I take the plate back, picking the pepperoni off and handing it back to him. “Okay, here. Cheese pizza.”

Crew looks at the pizza, the cheese coming off with the pepperoni leaving a saucy mess. His bottom lip juts out, and I hear the cry before it comes.

Crew is a very even-tempered kid, but these last few days have had a lot of tears with how tired he is. It also doesn’t help that Talia has been so busy with work that she can’t come visit this weekend like she initially planned.

When Mateo broke the news to Crew, it was clear that not having his mom around is weighing heavily on him.

“Now it’s all messed up!” he screams through his cry, his little hands going to his eyes as his face goes red.

“I’m sorry, champ,” I say, feeling my own patience thinning, but I try to keep my composure. “You wanted cheese pizza,” I repeat, keeping my voice low. “The pepperoni came off, and it got messy.” His initial cry fades into soft sniffles, and he looks at me through the tears clouding his eyes. “And now look at this sorry excuse for a slice of pizza?” I place the plate down on the table, grabbing it by the crust and taking a bite.

“But you know what?” I say between chews.