Chapter 22 – Mateo
Chapter Twenty-Two
MATEO
The last few days with Analyse have been…
something else. I keep thinking there aren’t words for it, and then I look at her, really look at her, and I realize that maybe it’s because I’ve never felt anything quite like this before.
Maybe that’s why there aren’t the right words to describe how she’s making me feel.
Maybe it’s why no words feel great enough.
It’s New Year’s Eve, and instead of going to a party or the club, Analyse and I decided that we wanted to stay home with Maya…ringing in the new year with our favorite little girl.
Outside, it’s snowing like crazy. Thick, quiet flurries falling in sheets, frosting the windows and painting the world white.
But in here, it’s all warmth. Pillows piled high, fuzzy blankets everywhere, the scent of butter popcorn lingering in the air.
And them—my girls—curled up on the couch beside me, laughter soft and easy.
There’s nowhere else I’d rather be. No one else I’d rather be with.
Maya is curled between us under a mountain of pillows, head on Analyse’s lap, feet in my lap, holding the remote. “Okay,” she says, “one more movie and then we switch to the countdown.”
“You’ve said one more movie three times already,” I tease.
She gives me a look. “Princess rules!”
“Oh, you’re right, milady.” I hold up both hands. “I forgot that we are in the presence of royalty.”
Analyse snorts, brushing a hand through Maya’s hair.
She looks over at me, eyes soft with affection, and for a second, it feels like time slows.
This moment is one we’ll carry into every new year from now on.
And it hits me in the chest—how much I needed this.
How long I’ve been longing for something like it.
It reminds me of memories I haven’t dared revisit in a long time.
Moments I used to wish I could relive. And now, I think, I get my second chance.
The movie plays, something animated and with a lot of singing, but I’m not really watching.
I’m too focused on the way Analyse smiles when Maya laughs, the way she absently traces circles along Maya’s arm.
The way she glances over at me sometimes.
And every time she looks over at me, I swear my heart stops for a moment, in awe of her beauty, of the way she makes me feel.
When the clock finally hits 11:45, Maya jumps up. “We need hats! And noise things!”
Analyse laughs. “You mean noisemakers?”
“Yeah, Mami! That’s what I said!”
She runs to the kitchen and comes back with a small stash of party supplies Analyse picked up from the party shop in town. Sparkly paper crowns, gold confetti poppers, and plastic horns. Maya hands me a silver crown and declares, “You’re King Mateo for the night!”
I raise a brow. “Do I get a throne?”
“Nope. Just a crown and a horn. Blow it!”
Analyse doubles over laughing as I give the horn the saddest attempt of a celebratory honk.
We switch the TV to the New Year’s countdown, and by 11:59, Maya is bouncing in place, half from excitement, half from sugar.
I sit with one arm around Analyse, the other resting on Maya’s back, feeling like my whole heart is wrapped in this moment.
The countdown starts—ten, nine, eight…
Maya shrieks, jumping up and down on the couch.
Seven, six, five…
I look at Analyse. Her eyes meet mine.
Four, three, two…
She leans in, forehead against mine.
One.
Maya screams, “Happy New Year!” and starts blowing her horn like we just hit the jackpot. Confetti flies everywhere. One of the poppers explodes, glitter raining down on all three of us. But all I see is her.
I kiss her before I can think twice. It’s soft and unhurried—full of promise. It’s a kiss that feels like hope. The kind of hope that only comes when a new year begins, and you’re lucky enough to start it with the person who already feels like home.
When we pull back, she whispers, “Happy New Year.”
“Happy New Year, chula,” I murmur.
And then Maya launches onto our laps, giggling, and we wrap her in our arms, holding her close. This is beginning to feel like forever.
After Maya finally comes down from her sugar and the New Year’s high wares off, we tuck her into bed. She’s out in minutes—curled up in a pile of blankets, arms flung wide, hair tangled around her pillow.
Analyse and I stand there for a moment, just watching her sleep.
Both of us are tired, but it’s a type of tired that also comes with joy.
This past year…damn. It’s the one I never saw coming.
If you had told me in January that I’d be standing here, in this house, with a woman like Analyse and a kid like Maya—that I’d feel whole again, somehow—I would’ve laughed in your face.
Hell, I would’ve told you you were out of your goddamn mind. And yet…here I am.
“You’re staying, right?” Analyse asks softly as we walk back toward her room.
I glance over at her, heart thudding in my chest. “There’s nowhere I’d rather be.”
She smirks. “Good. Or else I’d have to handcuff you to my bed.”
My lips twitch “Oh yeah? You threatening me with a good time, chula?”
“Always.”
I reach for her hand and pull her gently toward me. She comes willingly, smiling up at me like she’s already halfway in a dream. “Come on,” I murmur, pressing a kiss to her temple. “Let’s go to bed.”
We slip into a quiet rhythm of getting ready for the night—side by side at the sink, brushing our teeth like it’s something we’ve always done together.
She goes through what has to be the most elaborate skincare routine I’ve ever seen, bottle after bottle, tapping her face with products I’ve never even heard of.
I wash my face with a bar of soap and catch her shaking her head at me in the mirror, amused.
It’s easy. Comfortable. Like muscle memory we never actually built—but somehow know. And that’s when it hits me. How normal this feels. How right. Like we’ve been doing this for years instead of days. Like we’ve already built something incredible without even realizing it. And I pause.
Was I led here? To Lake City. To her. To Maya.
Was all the pain I’ve been dragging behind me…for this? Was it all part of some bigger plan? Something I couldn’t see until now? God, Lyse. What are you doing to me? Why is it that every time I look at you, my heart whispers home?
We climb into bed, and she immediately curls into my chest like it’s second nature. The thick comforter covers us, wrapping us in its warmth.
I tilt her chin up gently, just enough so I can see her face. “You’re so beautiful.”
She laughs softly. “Mateo, I’m in flannel pajamas, a silk bonnet, and I’ve got zero makeup on. I’m not exactly in beauty mode right now.”
I shake my head. “You could be wearing a garbage bag and I’d still think you’re the most stunning woman I’ve ever seen.” I brush a knuckle along her jaw. “Lyse, you’re so gorgeous that every time I look at you, I have to check my pulse—just to make sure I’m still alive.”
She lets out a sound between a laugh and a breath then leans in and presses her lips to mine. I kiss her back, slow and tender, hands cradling her face like she’s the most precious thing in the world…she is.
When we finally pull away, her eyes search mine. “Can I ask you something?”
“You can ask me anything.”
Her voice is careful. “Why do you never talk about your family? Are they still in California?”
And just like that—walls I didn’t even realize I’d rebuilt slam back into place.
My chest tightens. Fuck. I knew we’d talk about this eventually.
I just didn’t think it’d be tonight. Not here.
Not now, with her curled against me. But the look on her face—gentle, patient, loving—tells me she isn’t asking to pry.
She’s asking to know me. All of me. And my heart starts racing.
I swallow hard, my throat suddenly dry. My fingers twitch, restless beneath the covers. “They’re not in California, no.”
“Oh…did they move?”
“Not exactly.”
She tilts her head, confused but gentle. “What do you mean?”
I take a breath—long, shaky. My chest tightens. My hands clench into fists against the blanket. This is it. The moment I’ve been avoiding. The story I swore I’d never speak aloud again.
“I grew up in California,” I begin, my voice rougher than I expect. “My parents met in the Dominican Republic, got married, and moved to the States for a better life. They picked California for the sunshine. They said no one could ever be sad in a place with that much light.”
I pause, swallowing hard. Analyse doesn’t say anything, just slides her hand over mine. Her thumb traces slow circles. It anchors me.
“I was born first. Then came my little sister, Maribel. She was smart—scary smart. And funny. Always singing, always dancing around the house. My parents were…incredible. Kind. Loving. My dad used to take us to the park every day. No matter how tired he was from a long day at work. He’d pitch baseballs to me then run around chasing Maribel. ”
A memory flashes. My father’s laugh. My mother’s voice calling us in for dinner. Maribel’s curls bouncing as she ran.
“My mom…” My voice cracks. “She was love. Just…love in human form. Always helping someone. Always smiling. She made everything feel safe.”
I feel my throat tighten, words sticking. But I force them out. “My plan was always to take care of them. I got a full ride to USC for baseball, and when I told them, they both cried. Even my dad. I’d never seen him cry before. They were proud.”
A tear slips down my cheek, and I don’t bother wiping it away.
“I moved into the dorms, but we were still close. Every Sunday, I took them to lunch. I never missed a single one. And Maribel? She was the team’s little sister.
Everyone loved her. And she loved telling them embarrassing stories about me. ”
I laugh, a short, broken sound.
“And then one night…I got a call. Two in the morning. Unknown number. I almost didn’t answer.”
Analyse’s grip tightens around mine. I can feel her breath catch me, like she knows what’s coming.
“It was a fire. At my parents’ house. They think it started from an old outlet. The house was old. There wasn’t a working smoke alarm. It should’ve had one. I should’ve checked. They were sleeping. My mom. My dad. Maribel. They were sleeping and they…they never woke up.”
The words hang in the air like smoke. Heavy. Suffocating. I’ve said them a thousand times in my head, and somehow, they still knock the breath out of me.
“No,” I whisper. “They couldn’t be gone. I had just seen them. I got in my car and drove there anyway, still convinced it was a mistake. But when I pulled up…”
My voice tremblers. “The house was still burning. Flames everywhere. Firefighters were trying to control it. I got out of the car and tried to run inside, screaming that my family was in there.”
I shake my head, the memory hitting me like a punch to the gut. “It took three grown men to hold me back. I fought them with everything I had. I begged. I begged. But they wouldn’t let me in.”
Tears pour down now, hot and relentless. I can’t stop them. I don’t try to. “I just stood there and watched. I watched as my family burned.”
My whole body shakes. The pain crashes over me in waves. “I should’ve been there,” I whisper. “I should’ve protected them. I could’ve saved them.”
I say it again, louder. Desperate. “I could’ve saved them.”
And again. “I could’ve saved them.”
The sob rips from my chest before I can stop it. I feel Analyse shift, and then she’s wrapping her arms around me, pulling me tight against her. I collapse into her, shaking, sobbing into her shoulder like a child.
I bury my face in her neck, clinging to her like she’s the only thing keeping me from falling apart completely. “I’m sorry,” I choke out. “I’m so sorry.”
“You have nothing to be sorry for,” she whispers, her voice shaking. Her fingers run through my hair, slow and soothing. “You were a kid, Mateo. A kid. You didn’t fail them.”
I shake my head, but she holds me tighter.
“You loved them,” she says. “And I know they knew that. I know they were proud of you. Are proud of you.”
I don’t say anything. I can’t. The grief has taken over.
“I finished college because it’s what they would’ve wanted,” I eventually say, voice barely above a whisper. “And the day I graduated, I went back to that restaurant we always went to. I sat at our table. Waited for them to walk through the door.
“I couldn’t bring myself to go to the cemetery after the funeral,” I admit, eyes trained on the floor. “Not once. I know where they’re buried. I know I should’ve gone. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t face the headstones. I couldn’t face that they were really not here anymore.
“So I just kept…going back to the restaurant instead. Like maybe, if I just sat there long enough, they’d walk in. Mami in her Sunday dress. Maribel bouncing beside her. Papi with that same old baseball cap.”
Silence.
“They never came.”
Analyse presses a kiss to the side of my head. Her tears mix with mine.
“I left California the next day,” I say. “The sun felt like it was mocking me. I needed cold. Pain. Something else. I packed everything and moved here. Picked Lake City off a damn map. I became a firefighter because I swore I’d never let anyone else lose their family the way I lost mine.”
I pull back just enough to look at her, my hands still trembling. “I didn’t think I’d find a family again. I didn’t think I’d find you. But you…Lyse, you make me feel again. Like I’m alive. Like maybe it’s okay to want something more. To have something more.”
A small smile tugs at her lips through the tears.
“And Maya…” My voice breaks. “God, I love her. She reminds me so much of Maribel. The same light. The same stubborn streak.”
I pause. Then say softly, “It’s like the little pieces of you both…they’re stitching my heart back together, one thread at a time. You two are saving me. Every day. Every second.”
I cup her face, thumb brushing her cheek. “I’d do anything for you both. Anything. Day or night.”
She leans her forehead against mine, our breaths mingling in the quiet of the room. “You already have,” she whispers.
And in that moment, in her arms, I finally let myself breathe.