Chapter 6
SIX
Vaeda
The studio is quiet when I unlock the front doors early Saturday morning, the polished floors reflecting the muted glow of the overhead lights.
This time of day is my favorite, the stillness before the chaos of classes and rehearsals.
It gives me a chance to center myself, to remind myself why I’ve poured so much into this place.
I set my bag on the bench by the mirrors and slip off my coat, pulling my hair into a tight bun.
My reflection stares back at me, my expression nonchalant and calm.
Today, I’ll need all the calm I can muster because I need to make it through an entire class with Yvonne and Mateo without losing my mind.
My eyes are still a little pink and my skin looks a bit sallow, but I feel renewed after my few hours alone wallowing in depression the night before.
Gerardo came to bed late, his breath thick with whiskey and his steps sloppy.
It’s been a while since we’ve fallen into bed together and let sleep overtake us.
Lately, I’m either crashing before him or he’s fast asleep before I even step out of the shower, so this display I witnessed last night as I pretended to sleep was new.
How often does Gerardo drink? And how often does he do it while watching us dance?
I’m midway through a series of stretches when the sound of the front door opening catches my attention. Glancing at the clock, I frown. It’s too early for the others to be arriving. I straighten and turn just as Mateo steps into the studio, his dance bag slung over his shoulder.
“You’re early,” I say as I study him. He’s dressed in another pair of sweatpants, which are tied low on his waist, and a thick sweater, the hood up over his head. He walked here. I can tell by the pink staining his cheeks from the chilly weather.
He looks slightly taken aback by my presence, but he recovers quickly. “I thought I’d get some extra practice in before class,” he replies, dropping his bag near the wall. “Greyson told me it would be alright.”
I nod, watching as he takes off his sweater and changes into his dance shoes. His shoulders are stiff, his body looking coiled and ready to strike, or maybe I’m just seeing things. Instead of being annoyed with him taking time away from my solitude, I see an opportunity to forget my troubles.
“The space is yours,” I offer, stepping to the side to observe. “What were you going to work on today?”
Mateo straightens, a flicker of hesitation crossing his face before he moves to the center of the floor.
“I’ve always been strong in the Latin dances,” he begins as he stretches, bringing his fingers to his toes and making his tank top rise on his back.
“So I thought a little extra time on ballroom was needed.” He begins with a basic Waltz sequence, his frame solid but his steps slightly stiff.
I cross my arms, watching closely as he transitions into a spin that’s just a beat too slow.
“Stop,” I demand, my voice cutting through the music. He halts mid-step, turning to face me.
“Your spins are sluggish,” I point out, walking toward him. “You’re hesitating, holding back. Why?”
Mateo shrugs, his gaze darting to the floor. “Just warming up.”
“Warming up doesn’t mean holding back,” I counter. “If you’re going to practice, practice like it’s a performance. Otherwise, you’re just reinforcing bad habits.”
He nods, his jaw tightening as he adjusts his stance, then starts again, this time with more intent. The improvement is immediate, but there’s still a stiffness in his shoulders that I can’t ignore. I wasn’t imagining things earlier.
“Relax your shoulders,” I advise, stepping closer. “You’re carrying too much tension. Let the movement flow from your center.”
Mateo exhales sharply, rolling his shoulders before trying again. This time, his movements are smoother, more fluid. I nod in approval but don’t offer praise. He’s good, but good isn’t enough. Not here.
“Better,” I concede finally. “But you still have work to do.”
He steps back, wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. “Thanks,” he mutters, though there’s a flicker of irritation in his tone and frustration shining from his eyes, the sight making me bite back a grin. Good. He should be frustrated. It’ll push him.
“Can I ask you something?” Mateo says after a moment, avoiding my eyes in the mirror.
I raise an eyebrow but nod. “Go ahead.”
“Your injury,” he begins, his gaze meeting mine briefly before shifting away. “Does it still bother you?”
The question catches me off guard, though I mask it quickly. “Why do you ask?”
He hesitates, his hands fidgeting at his sides. “I… I noticed you don’t move as much as Greyson during class. I figured it might have something to do with your injury.”
For a moment, I consider brushing him off, but something in his expression stops me. He’s genuinely curious, not prying for gossip.
“It does,” I admit, keeping my tone neutral. “Achilles tendonitis. It’s manageable, but it ended my competitive career.”
Mateo scratches at his chin slowly, absorbing the information. “That must have been hard.”
His sympathy grates on me, though I know it’s well-intentioned. “It was,” I state simply. “But life goes on.”
He doesn’t press further, sensing the boundary in the way I cross my arms over my chest. Instead, he shifts his weight, his focus returning to the floor. “Do you think I’ll ever compete again?” he asks, the vulnerability in his voice surprising me.
“That depends on you,” I respond, my voice sounding robotic and lacking empathy. My emotional well has run dry, and unfortunately, he’s receiving the brunt of it. “Talent isn’t enough. You know that. It takes discipline, consistency, and a willingness to push past your limits.”
He nods, though his expression remains thoughtful. “Thanks for the feedback,” he murmurs, moving back to his bag.
“Mateo,” I call after him. He pauses, looking over his shoulder. “You have potential. Don’t waste it.”
A flicker of determination lights his eyes, and he nods again before turning back to his things to grab his bottle of water.
I watch him for a moment longer, then return to my own stretches.
There’s a spark in him, but sparks can burn out just as easily as they ignite.
Only time will tell if that spark will transpire into an inferno for Mateo Sanchez.
The quiet is short-lived. A few minutes later, the sound of the studio door opening once more reaches my ears. I glance up to see Yvonne entering, her energy a stark contrast to the calm of the morning. She flashes Mateo a bright smile as she drops her bag beside his, and it sets my jaw to stone.
“Morning,” she chirps, bending down to swap her sneakers for dance shoes.
“Morning,” Mateo replies, his tone easy but reserved.
I don’t know why that reassures me, but it does.
Maybe he’s not as interested in her as she is in him.
That could also work against them when it’s time to compete.
Judges love healthy sexual tension between partners.
They want the dance moves to mimic the sensuality of being together between the sheets.
I watch as they move to the center of the room, side by side, stretching in unison. Yvonne chatters away, her voice light and cheerful. Mateo listens, nodding occasionally, his posture more relaxed than before. The ease between them grates on me, though I can’t pinpoint why.
My gaze narrows as Yvonne places a hand on Mateo’s arm to demonstrate a stretch, leaning in a little too close.
He doesn’t seem to notice, or maybe he does and doesn’t care, but I feel the irritation rising, hot and unwelcome.
My teeth crack as I watch her reach out and brush his thick black hair from his forehead and laugh when he shakes it back into place.
Her flirtation is in his face and she’s making it known that she wants him, while Mateo is holding himself back, not falling into the path of unprofessionalism.
I think that’s what I’ve been worried about lately.
If he gives in to Yvonne and has what she thinks is a harmless night out and a harmless one drink, will he spiral and take us all with him? Is he worth that risk?
Her loud giggle has my eyes flicking back to their reflection in the mirror, and this time, Mateo is watching me. His eyes are like pools of honey shining bright from his face as he smiles tentatively at me before turning back to listen to whatever Yvonne is saying.
Why does this bother me? It’s none of my business. Yvonne’s behavior, Mateo’s reaction… none of it should matter, and yet, the sight of them together gnaws at me. I shake my head, forcing myself to focus on my stretches.
The irritation lingers though, a low warning in the back of my mind.
It’s not jealousy, I tell myself. It’s a concern.
Yvonne’s flirty nature is harmless most of the time, but Mateo doesn’t need distractions.
He needs structure and encouragement, not someone hovering too close and making him forget why he’s here.
I’ll talk to her soon, I decide. Quietly and privately. She needs to understand the stakes… for Mateo and for the studio. For now, I let the moment pass, keeping my gaze on my own reflection in the mirror, willing myself to stay composed.
MATEO
The studio is buzzing with energy today; the vibe filled with excitement and intrigue.
When I first arrived there, I found just Vaeda.
I could sense her quiet sadness and immediately thought it was her ankle.
I can sympathize with losing everything you worked so hard to have, but in her case, it was stolen.
Not lost like mine. Now that Greyson and the others are here, the atmosphere has shifted, and we can all see the twinkle shining in Greyson’s eyes. He has something big to tell us.