16. Mateo
MATEO
It’s been a week since our Nashville show, but it could very well be months with the amount that’s happened.
We’ve played four venues in seven days, slept in just as many hotel rooms, traveled a total of almost two thousand miles, and we still have another week of shows before we finally have a few weeks off for the holidays.
“Go Fish,” Crew says, the words swallowed by a yawn that takes up half his face.
He and Emerson had a busy day of exploring downtown San Diego, and I’m surprised he’s been able to stay awake until bedtime.
Usually, on the days they go out and find something to do in whatever city we’re in, he’s fighting to stay awake through dinner.
“Do you have any twos?” Crew asks Emerson, holding his cards with one hand and rubbing his eye with the other.
Emerson takes a card from her hand, passing it to Crew, who takes it with a sleepy smile. Her bangs are clipped back by two small clips, and I’m embarrassed to say how many times I’ve snuck a look at her—her green eyes even greener in her purple pajama set.
I shake my head, but I can’t fight the grin on my face. “How did you two manage to find anything Halloween two weeks before Christmas?” I ask, my eyes still on the notes in front of me, even though I haven’t even made it past the first bullet point.
I’ve been trying to focus on tomorrow night’s set notes, but it’s impossible when my son and his nanny are playing their Halloween-themed Go Fish in matching jack-o’-lantern pajamas.
“Daddy,” Crew says, turning to me. “Halloween is cooler than Christmas,” he says matter-of-factly, like it’s enough of an answer to my question. He looks to Emerson. “Right, Ems?” he asks, using his version of her name.
Emerson nods her head. “Right, champ.” She looks at her cards. “Now, let’s see.” She taps her chin dramatically, making Crew giggle. “Got any fours?” she asks him.
Crew eagerly shakes his head, but another yawn escapes.
“Why don’t we pick this back up in the morning?” she asks, posing it as a question as she sets her cards down on the tour bus table they’re sitting at.
Crew must be too tired to ask for one more round because he nods, setting his cards down too.
“Teeth, potty, bed,” she says, just like she has every night this week.
Whether we’re in a hotel room or on the tour bus, Emerson has quickly established a daily routine for Crew, and he’s thriving—minimal meltdowns, good rest, and just enough boredom that he can find entertainment without his tablet or TV aside from the thirty minutes of screen time she gives him in the morning and then again before dinner.
Emerson goes to stand, but I stop her. “I got it,” I offer, standing up.
On nights Cross My Heart isn’t playing, I try to take advantage of my open time and spend it with Crew. Whether it’s bedtime or making his waffies, I don’t care. As long as I can spend time with him.
Emerson looks at me, her lips parting, probably to make some joke or give me some smartass comment, and that’s when I notice that my hand is on her arm, just below her shoulder. My fingers lightly grazing her skin, my body reaching for her on its own, and before my mind can catch up.
I snatch my arm back, shoving my hand into the pocket of my jeans as heat crawls up my chest and settles in my neck.
“Did I burn you, rockstar?” Emerson asks, crossing her arms. There’s a smirk on her face as she waits for me to respond.
“Sorry,” I mutter, surprised I can get the word out at all.
“No need,” Emerson answers coolly, but she watches me in a way I’ve come to associate with her—she watches me like someone watches a car crash. Like she knows this is going to end badly for me, but she can't quite bring herself to look away.
The worst part is, I'm starting to realize I can't either.
I clear my throat, but my mind goes blank, and I have no idea what to say.
Our conversations have only been about Crew or logistics for the tour and traveling. And thankfully so, considering the last time we talked about something other than my son, it was my sex life—or lack thereof.
“You got it?” Emerson offers, and that’s when I remember that I said I was going to help Crew brush his teeth. That’s why I’m standing here in front of her in the first place.
“Right,” I say quickly, trying to catch my bearings, but my feet don’t move.
I need to get a handle on myself when it comes to Emerson, but it’s like one step forward and one-hundred steps back. It’s like I’m back in that hotel kitchen, admitting the most embarrassing part of me to her. Back in the shower, pretending it’s her hand instead of mine.
“You know,” she starts, taking a step closer to me. I know I should keep space between us, be the one to create the distance, but I can’t. “If you want to end that dry spell of yours, you’re going to have to touch someone without looking like you’re scared they’re going to bite you.”
Embarrassment threatens to have me sprinting into the bathroom and locking the door behind me—the thought of living out the rest of my days in there sounding better and better the longer her eyes are on me.
I’d have everything I need. My son, water, and a convenient place to avoid making eye contact with anyone ever again
“And while we’re at it,” Emerson adds, looking me over, “you also need to get rid of that I’m about to go run and hide look.”
It takes me a second to realize that it’s not that I said my thoughts aloud; that’s just how scared I must look to her right now.
And the worst part? I think she likes it.
“Sorry,” I say again because what else am I supposed to say right now?
One moment, Emerson is my son's nanny.
We coexist.
We trade schedules and stories about Crew's day.
We navigate Crew's routine like two people just sharing a space.
The next, I’m painfully aware that she’s in the bedroom next to mine. That there’s a wall between us that suddenly feels far too thin. My mind starts betraying me with images I don’t ask for. Her tattoos against mine, her dark hair tangled with my fingers, her green eyes watching me as I—
“Knock, knock!” Theo’s voice has me jumping, and it’s like it pops the bubble I was just in, all the noise rushing back in—but Emerson doesn’t even flinch.
She raises a brow, her lips quirking to one side, not at all bothered as the tour bus door opens.
And that’s when I register that I have no idea how long I’ve been staring at her.
“Ready to fix that last chorus?” Silas’ question rings through the space, footsteps echoing through the living room as Crew calls out for Emerson.
I completely forgot the guys were going to come over to talk through a small change in one of our songs. We have about an hour before we start the overnight drive to San Francisco for tomorrow night’s show.
“Ems!” Crew yells out again, a little louder, as the tour bus door closes behind Silas, Theo, and Eddie, who brought over his guitar.
“Yeah, Ems,” Theo teases as Silas and Eddie look back and forth between Emerson and me.
Emerson offers the guys a smile before she lets out a sigh.
“Duty calls,” she announces before she turns to head to the bathroom.
“Make sure to keep it down, boys,” she says before she turns to me.
“Fix your face, rockstar. You look like you’re still trying to figure out if I have fangs.
” And then she disappears into the bathroom.
Silence stretches for a few moments, my three best friends staring at me hard enough to feel it on my skin, but I’m frozen where I stand, staring at the place Emerson just abandoned. Her words circle around in my head so quickly, they become a jumbled mess.
I don’t have to turn to Eddie, Theo, and Silas to know they each have their own amused smirks on their face, so I hold up my hand before any of them can say what I know they’re all probably thinking.
What the hell did they just walk into?
“Not a word,” I order, sitting back down on the couch, not only because I don’t want to talk about whatever the hell that just was, but because I don’t think I could, even if I tried.
I know I think about my son’s nanny more often than what most would deem appropriate, but tell me why it’s getting harder and harder to keep these thoughts at bay.
And why I think she’s in the process of making it her own personal goal to kill me.
I ignore the snickering of the three of them as Eddie sits down next to me, and Theo and Silas settle on the table across from us.
Silas goes to grab the cards that Crew and Emerson left.
“Don’t,” I rush out, and it comes out harsher than I intended, but I don’t want him to mess up their game. Silas turns to look at me, his face even more amused now.
He lifts his hands up with a shit-eating grin as Theo lowers his head to hide the way he’s quietly laughing.
“You want to tell us what we just walked into?” Silas asks.
“Nothing,” I answer.
“It sure looked like you and Ems were in the middle of something,” Theo says, crossing his arms over his chest.
“I said it was nothing.” My voice is hard, but I can’t get myself to look at him or Silas. My gaze stays just a few inches past my feet before I exhale, letting my head fall back on the couch. “She’s going to be the death of me.”
Eddie pats my shoulder twice before he finally says, “Let’s just get this done.” He places his guitar on his lap, putting me out of my misery, but when I turn to him, he’s doing a shit job of hiding his own amusement.
I press the heels of my palms into my eyes before sitting back up, wanting to forget whatever just happened with Emerson and focus on something else.
Eddie starts playing the original harmony notes so Silas and I can each hear our part before adding in the new part—Theo’s. He gives us each the foundational pitch to lock onto, the three of us humming through our part as we feel it out.
“Sorry to interrupt,” Emerson says over the music, peeking her head out of the bathroom, and I freeze, my body tensing at the sound of her voice.
“Mateo, can you text Crew’s mom that we’ll be a few minutes late for the goodnight FaceTime?
” Out of the corner of my eye, I see her glance back to the bathroom where I hear the sink turning off.
“We’re pretty much sleepwalking over here, so it’s going to take us a little longer than usual. ”
I don’t dare to look in her direction as I pull my phone from my pocket, sounding off a quick, nonchalant, “Yeah,” but the crack in my voice does not go unnoticed by my three best friends—or my son’s nanny.
Emerson created a good schedule for Crew, and she not only keeps me involved, especially on traveling nights, but also makes sure Crew talks to Talia at least once a day.
Most of the time, it’s “on the phone”; other times, it’s a phone call or text, but even with the time change, she makes sure Crew has a chance to talk to his mom.
It’s something she did without me even having to ask, and I wish I could thank her for it without sounding like a fumbling idiot—my default setting when it comes to her.
With it being just past five in the morning in Paris, I know Talia is already up and getting ready for work and expecting Crew’s FaceTime.
I send her a quick text that we’re running late before going back to tomorrow’s show notes, but the sound of my son’s sleepy giggles and Emerson’s soft, raspy voice is distracting.
Even more so when I can’t see them.
I could watch them for hours—the way Crew lights up when Emerson answers one of his millions of questions or the way he talks her ear off when it’s just the three of us in the tour bus.
Crew has always been the sort of kid who gets along well with adults. He’s anything but shy and loves to talk to anyone who will listen, but not all adults offer him the same patience and respect that Emerson does.
It’s like she sees him as a little person, rather than a little kid.
And as his father, it means more to me than I can even put into words.
“Mateo?” Eddie says, and I turn to look at him.
“Sorry, I’m just a little—”
“Distracted,” he finishes for me, a small, knowing smile on his face.
It takes me out of my own head for a second, reminding me of simpler times—when he was the one distracted during a band practice, too busy staring at my sister to focus on the song we were playing.
Funny how things change.
Now I’m the one struggling to keep my attention where it belongs, distracted by the one person who has made me feel something I stopped looking for a long time ago—literal years ago.
And she’s the one person who is completely off-limits.