Chapter 39 – Analyse
Chapter Thirty-Nine
ANALYSE
The high school gym looks nothing like it did when I was a student here.
Back then, it always smelled faintly of sweat and floor polish, the bleachers creaked no matter how still you sat, and the banners lining the walls felt impossibly grand when you were fourteen and full of nerves.
Now, the space is unrecognizable in the best way. Streamers in mismatched shades of blue and yellow hang from the rafters, clashing a little with the high school’s maroon and silver, but no one seems to care.
Paper stars flutter above the tables, strung on a fishing line and lit from below by string lights tucked around table legs and raffle baskets.
Every surface is covered. Handwritten sheets curling at the corners, mason jars full of tickets, Tupperware containers brimming with cookies, brownies, and pastel frosted cupcakes.
It’s chaotic. It’s crowded. It’s beautiful.
Mateo threads his fingers through mine and gives a gentle squeeze, his hand warm and steady against mine.
Seb passes by, carrying a tray of cupcakes like his life depends on it. “If I drop these, Mariana’s going to kill me,” he mutters, eyes wide with concentration, disappearing into the crowd before we can respond.
I can’t help the laugh that escapes me, and then just as quickly, I wince as the movement tugs at the muscles in my healing leg.
The crutches tucked under my arms feel heavy, my arms already sore from relying on them all day.
They wobble just slightly, and before I can shift my weight, Mateo is there.
One arm wraps around my back, the other steadying the crutch before it slips.
“Easy,” he murmurs, voice low, eyes sharp. “Are you okay? Are you sure you want to be here?”
I nod. “I’m okay. I needed to be here. It’s more than just a fundraiser…it’s a beginning.”
And it is. More than a bake sale or a raffle or a few heartfelt speeches.
This isn’t just about rebuilding the elementary school—it’s about reminding everyone that we still have something left.
That even in the face of smoke, ashes, and sirens, we showed up.
We pulled together. We made something out of the pieces.
It’s about the teachers and students who lost their classrooms. About the parents still holding their kids a little tighter at night. About the way this town doesn’t just survive…it insists on healing out loud, together.
And maybe, selfishly, it’s about me, too. About proving to myself that I’m not broken. That I can show up, even if I’m still a little wobbly. That I’m part of this community, too. Not just someone who needed to be saved, but someone who can stand beside the people doing the saving.
Mateo settles into the chair beside me, his thigh brushing mine, his hand never leaving my own.
“You did good, Lake City,” I murmur, eyes sweeping the crowd.
He smiles, eyes soft. “We did good.”
The principal of the elementary school takes the stage, her voice cracking as she thanks everyone for coming.
She talks about the night of the fire, the courage of the first responders, and the miracle that no lives were lost. And then she talks about the kids—about what they’ve lost, but most importantly what they still have.
Each other.
By the time she finishes, I’m holding back tears. So is half the gym.
“Alright,” the MC calls into the mix, “raffle winners will be announced in ten minutes, and we’ve still got three pies left for the throwing booth, so if you’ve ever wanted to smack your favorite firefighter in the face with dessert…now’s your chance.”
Mateo groans. “Why did I agree to that?”
“Because you love this town,” I tease. “And because you look great covered in whipped cream. Too bad I can’t lick it up.”
He leans in, voice low, and warm against my ear. “Please don’t make my dick hard right now, chula. Not when I can’t rip off your pants and fuck you the way I want to.”
I smirk, cheeks flushed. “Soon enough, baby.”
He gives me a look, equal parts heat and affect, then presses a kiss just below my ear, his thumb sweeping over my knuckles.
Before I can respond, Maya’s voice rings out from across the gym. “Mami! They’re starting the pie booth!”
Mateo groans again, dramatically this time. “Pray for me.”
“I thought you liked whipped cream,” I call after him as he heads toward the inevitable.
“I like it better in private!” he throws back, and I laugh so hard it almost hurts.
I settle back in my seat, crutches resting against the chair, and watch as Mateo jogs toward the crowd forming near the pie booth. Maya is already there, bouncing on her toes like she’s just chugged three Capri Suns, her tiny hands clasped together like she’s begging the pie gods for a direct hit.
The gym is buzzing. Kids weaving between tables with sticky fingers, neighbors greeting each other, and volunteers darting around with clipboards and cash boxes. It’s chaos, but it’s good chaos.
Mari slides into the seat beside me, a cookie in one hand and her phone in the other. “You see Seba almost get decked by that toddler with the juice box?”
I grin. “Only because he stole the last brownie bite.”
“Justice was served.”
We sit together for a beat, watching the town move in waves of laughter and sugar highs. Then we both turn at the sound of whipped cream splatting and a chorus of gasps and cheers.
Mateo stands frozen, face dripping with pie, Maya doubled over in laughter next to him. He shoots me a mock betrayed look.
“Worth it,” I mouth, and he shakes his head with a grin.
He’s wiping whipped cream from his eyelashes as he walks back over, Maya tugging on his arm. “Did you see me, Mami? I got him right in the face!”
“You were incredible,” I say, pulling her in for a side hug.
Mateo leans down and kisses the tops of both of our heads, his fingers brushing over my shoulder. “You two are dangerous together.”
“Get used to it,” I tease.
A voice cuts in over the speakers. “And now, the moment you’ve all been waiting for—our grand total for tonight’s fundraiser.”
The gym hushes, everyone turning toward the sage.
“We’ve raised,” the MC says, voice rising with emotion, “$18,765. And counting.”
The entire room erupts. Applause, cheers, a few people outright crying. My throat tightens, eyes stinging. That’s nearly double what we hoped for.
Mateo squeezes my hand again, his lips brushing my temple. “Told you we’d do good.”
We did better than good. We did incredible. And we did it together.
We’re back home from the fundraiser.
I ease back against the pillows on the couch, my crutches leaning against the side table.
Mateo insisted I take the recliner, but I wanted to be here.
A throw blanket is draped across my lap, still smelling faintly of lavender from the last wash.
A mug of tea rests on the coffee table in front of me, untouched.
The fundraiser was a success. More than a success. It was a reminder of who we are when we come together. This town is made of grit and heart. And tonight proved that again.
Maya’s already asleep, curled up on her bed with a belly full of cupcakes. She wore her Official Volunteer name tag until she finally passed out, refusing to take it off, even when she changed into pajamas.
Mateo walks in from the kitchen, his hair still damp from the quick shower he took after coming home pie covered and sticky with whipped cream.
His T-shirt clings slightly to his chest, and his sweatpants hang low on his hips.
He’s barefoot, humming something under his breath as he sets a bowl of ice cream down in front of me.
“Dulce de leche,” he says. “Don’t say I never gave you anything.”
I smile. “You spoil me every day.”
He flops down beside me, stretching his arm across the back of the couch. His fingers toy with a strand of my hair. “How’s the leg?”
“Sore,” I admit. “But manageable.”
“Do you want anything else? Extra pillow? Massage? Foot rub? My eternal devotion?”
“You already gave me that last one, remember?”
He leans in, pressing a kiss to my temple. “Still offering it daily.”
“I’m proud of you,” I say quietly.
He glances over. “For what?”
“For today. For letting people throw pies in your face and smiling through it. For making everyone laugh. For reminding me why I fell in love with you in the first place.”
Mateo’s eyes flicker, something tender settling in them. “You saying you almost forgot?”
“Never,” I quickly respond. Taking a slow breath, I ask, “You know what I kept thinking tonight?”
“Hoping no one accidentally pegged the mayor with a cupcake?”
I laugh. “That, yes. But also, I kept thinking about how much we’ve already rebuilt.”
He tilts his head. “Do you mean the school?”
“No. Us. Our life. Everything. A few weeks ago, I was afraid of letting myself want any of this. And now, I can’t imagine a future without you in it.”
He doesn’t speak right away. He just looks at me like I’m the only one in the room worth looking at.
Then he lifts my hand and presses a kiss to the center of my palm.
“You’ve always been it for me, Analyse. Even when we were just pretending.
Even when you didn’t know it yet. Hell, even when I didn’t know it yet. ”
“I knew,” I whisper. “I just didn’t trust myself to believe in it.”
He tucks a curl behind my ear, his voice low. “Then let me make you believe it, every damn day.”
I nod, and he leans in to kiss me slowly. When we part, I rest my forehead against his.
“What happens next?” I ask, more to myself than to him.
“Well,” he says, shifting to pull a folded piece of paper from the table. “This happens.”
I raise an eyebrow. “What is that?”
“Permit forms,” he says, smug. “For the backyard ceremony. You said you wanted to get married as soon as you could walk without the crutches. I figured I’d get ahead on the paperwork.”
Tears blur my vision, but I manage a laugh. “You’re ridiculous.”
“I’m yours,” he corrects, then grins. “And I’m ready. We’ve done the hard part, chula. Now we get to do the fun part.”
The clock ticks quietly behind us. Outside the window, the moon is high and silver, casting soft shadows over the quiet neighborhood.
I glance over at the photos on the wall. Me and Maya at the pumpkin patch, Mateo holding her on his shoulders, a candid from the night of Christmas dinner. I see love in every single frame.
“I want to tell Maya tomorrow,” I say softly.
He just nods. “We’ll do it together.”
I reach for my ice cream, which has started to melt, and take a spoonful. “Did you ever think we’d get here?” I ask.
He stretches an arm behind his head and gives me a crooked smile. “Not exactly here. But something like it. I knew I’d fight for it.”
I rest my head against his shoulder. “You never gave up.”
“And I never will, mi amor.”
I smile and reach for my phone. My fingers fly across the screen before I can second guess myself, sending a text to The Council of Chaos.
Me: Anna, get your planning fingers ready, The wedding is in 10 weeks. Save the date!
I hit send, grinning as three little dots pop up almost instantly.
We sit like that for a while, no rush, no need for anything more than this. And even though my leg aches, and I know we have a hundred things still ahead of us—wedding plans, surgery follow ups, the reality of raising a daughter together—I feel calm.
Because whatever comes next, we’ll face it like we always have. Together.