23. Mateo
MATEO
I’m supposed to be driving home right now.
Not to the address I made Liam send me.
The address to Emerson’s apartment.
The address I had to resist the urge to demand he forget he ever had.
Luckily, he took the bait when I said I was sending her a holiday bonus check—which of course I am also doing.
I glance at the passenger seat of my car, finding the white envelope.
But I didn’t have stamps.
I pull up to a red light, pulling my phone from my back pocket to re-read my last conversation with Emerson.
Where are you?
Emerson
Needed to get home
I called an Uber and headed out when I woke up
See you in the new year, rockstar
I’m still kicking myself for not saying anything else, but what was I supposed to say to a dismissal like that? I was just thankful that she responded and would be back working for me come January.
When I woke up after that night on the tour bus to find that she completely disappeared, it was enough to have me wanting to burst into flames on the spot.
It’s been a week since, and I’m still trying to figure out what to say to her.
Yet somehow, my brain landed on the conclusion of just showing up at her apartment with a check I easily could’ve mailed.
My first night with a woman in years, and I somehow fucked it up so badly that she didn’t even bother to say goodbye the next morning?
Just my fucking luck.
I press my head into the steering wheel, gripping the leather until my knuckles go white.
That night was supposed to get whatever I was feeling for my son’s nanny out of my system, yet it’s been seven days of either thinking about her or getting off to the thought of her.
I feel like I’m going crazy.
A honk sounds behind me.
I sit up, waving a hand in apology before driving through the stoplight.
After driving down to Chicago to see Crew this morning at Daniel’s parents’ place, I insisted to Talia that I didn’t need to stay for dinner. It was already more than enough for her and Daniel to extend the invite to join them for Christmas morning, so I could spend some time with Crew.
And of course I miss my son, but Talia deserves this time with him, especially since she’ll be back in Paris next week.
I told her I was just going to head home.
Yet here I am pulling into Emerson’s apartment complex.
I should just turn around and go buy some damn stamps.
I circle through the parking lot, deciding to cut my losses and head home before I embarrass myself more than I already have when I have to slam on my brakes.
Someone walks directly in front of my car without so much as glancing up.
My tires screech against the pavement as my heart lurches into my throat.
The woman freezes in the glow of my headlights, blinking against the sudden light like she's only just realized where she is.
Her head jerks toward me, eyes wide.
Green eyes I've seen in my dreams.
“Mateo?” I watch her lips form through the windshield.
Fuck.
For a moment, she just stands there. No biting remarks. No walls thrown up so quickly I can practically hear the bricks being laid. Just Emerson, looking almost caught.
Then she blinks, and it's like watching her come back to herself.
Her shoulders straighten. Her expression hardens. The surprise melts into irritation so quickly I'd almost think I imagined it.
“You going to tell me why you're tearing through my parking lot, rockstar?” she asks, crossing her arms as I step out of my car, leaving it running.
There she is.
A moment ago, she looked so distracted she could've walked into traffic without noticing—hell, she pretty much just did.
Now she's looking at me like I'm the problem.
I've seen her do this before—throw up her defenses so quickly you'd never know something was wrong if you hadn't caught the few unguarded moments beforehand.
“How did you not see my car?” I ask, my embarrassment over getting caught stalking where she lives fading to the back of my mind. The question comes out harsher than I intend, my pulse still racing from what could've happened.
Because she wasn't distracted in the way people usually are. She wasn't texting or fumbling through her purse or looking down at her phone. She'd looked like she was somewhere else entirely.
And who knows what would’ve happened if I wasn’t here to find her.
She was so lost in her own head she'd forgotten the rest of the world existed around her.
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.”