Chapter 19
NINETEEN
Mateo
The cab’s interior is filled with silence, broken only by the occasional rattle of loose change in the driver’s console.
The city blurs past the window, streetlights flickering like dying stars in the heavily falling snow.
I lean my head against the glass, still tasting Vaeda on my lips, still feeling the sting of her silence.
She didn’t say it out loud, but she didn’t have to. I already know. She’s never going to leave him.
My chest feels hollow as the weight of that truth settles deep inside me. For a moment, I think about asking the driver to keep going, to take me somewhere away from this part of the city, but I don’t. I’m too tired to run.
The vibration of my phone startles me, and I pull it from my pocket, glancing down and seeing Yvonne’s name. I hesitate, thumb hovering over the answer button, but then I think about her waiting at the club, about the phone call I never returned. She didn’t deserve to be left in the dark like that.
So I answer. “Hey,” I say, my voice flat, empty.
“Mateo? What happened?” Her voice is high-pitched with concern. “You weren’t at Pulse when I got there. I waited for like an hour. Are you okay?”
I close my eyes, exhaustion rolling through me like a tide. “Not really.”
There’s a pause. Then softer, “Where are you now?”
“Heading home.” I swallow. “I know it’s Christmas Eve and you should be with your family, but can you come over for a little bit? I... I need to talk.”
Another pause, then, “Yeah. Yeah, of course. I’ll grab a cab.”
I give her my building and apartment number, then hang up. I don’t know why I’m doing this. Maybe it’s guilt. Maybe it’s desperation. Or maybe I’m just tired of carrying it all alone.
When I get home, the apartment feels too quiet, too clean, like nothing here knows how messy I am inside. I flick on a lamp and sit down on the edge of the couch, hands pressed together, elbows on my knees. It doesn’t take long before there’s a knock at the door.
“Come in!” I call out.
Yvonne steps inside, cheeks pink from the cold, a curious look on her face as she shrugs off her coat. “Your place is nice! Why didn’t you decorate?” She finally gets a good look at me and the smile falls from her face. “You look like hell.”
“I feel worse.” She joins me on the couch, turning slightly to face me. Her eyes roam my face, searching for clues. I stare down at my hands before looking at her once more. “I’ve never told anyone this before, not outside of meetings. Not anyone who wasn’t... obligated to care.”
She blinks. “Okay.”
“I’m a recovering addict,” I say simply. “Oxy and coke. It almost killed me. I overdosed. I flatlined.”
Her face pales, lips parting with a soft gasp. “Jesus.”
“I’ve been clean for over a year now, I don’t even drink, but tonight... Tonight I almost lost it. I ordered a drink. A whiskey sour. I didn’t take a sip, but it was in my hand.”
Yvonne doesn’t speak right away, and her expression is unreadable. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Because I need someone to know,” I murmur, my voice shaking. “Someone who isn’t a part of my meetings or my family. Someone who might still look at me like I’m not broken.”
She places a hand gently on my knee. “Mateo, you’re not broken. You’re human.”
Yvonne curls slightly toward me, her eyes soft and patient. I stare down at my hands, which are trembling again, but not from withdrawal. From memory.
“This is why I need a friend more than a girlfriend,” I explain quietly.
“I lost all of mine the night I overdosed.” Yvonne doesn’t interrupt.
She just nods, giving me space to unravel.
“One minute, I was the guy everyone wanted to train with. Next, I was the guy they warned others about. People in the circuit stopped returning my calls. Some made jokes about it. Others just disappeared. Like I was contagious.” I press my thumb against the center of my palm, grounding myself.
“But worse than all of that was losing my sister, Grace.”
Her name cracks something open inside my chest.
“She was my best friend. We grew up in each other’s shadows. We used to choreograph dances together in the living room, take turns sneaking each other out of the house. She was always the one person who saw me completely.”
Yvonne shifts a little closer, her hand finding mine. Her warmth anchors me, helps me keep going.
“When I woke up in the hospital... she wasn’t the same sister I once knew.
She was devastated. I broke her.” The silence between us stretches, and I force myself to speak through it.
“She stopped answering my texts. Didn’t visit, didn’t call.
I think she couldn’t look at me without seeing all the pain I caused our parents.
She left for Paris before I was even released from the hospital.
She wanted to be as far from me as she could get.
Grace doesn’t say it, but she’s grieving me as if I truly died that night.
” My voice breaks on the last word, the ache behind it too large to contain, pouring out in a shuddering breath.
Yvonne leans in, wrapping her arms around me in a slow, protective hug. Her embrace is quiet and strong, like she knows there’s nothing to say that will fix it, but that being here is enough.
“You didn’t die,” she whispers. “You fought your way back. That counts for something.”
I bury my face into her shoulder, breathing in the laundry detergent scent clinging to her sweater. I stay like that for a while, letting her presence fill the gaps where my courage frayed.
“I just want one person to still believe in me,” I murmur. “To see more than the mistake.”
Yvonne pulls back just enough to look at me, her eyes shimmering. “I do. I see you. The real you, Mateo. You’re still here. Still trying. That’s not a weakness. That’s strength.”
Something inside me cracks open at her words, and the breath that was trapped in my chest slips free. I don’t say anything, just lean back against the couch, the exhaustion of my confession washing over me. She stays beside me, her fingers gently threading through mine.
Yvonne’s steady, whereas Vaeda feels like the edge of a cliff during a thunderstorm.
One is comforting and dependable, while the other is exciting and overwhelming.
For me, for the part of me that craves the rush, I’ll always want Vaeda, but the rest of me knows I need the strength and comfort of a true friend more.
VAEDA
The metronome clicks steadily, echoing off the mirrored walls of Fusion Core, but I can’t focus on the rhythm. My body goes through the motions, arms slicing through the air, hips twisting in a sharp rumba accent, but my mind is a thousand miles away, or maybe just a few blocks. Wherever Mateo is.
It’s been a week. Seven entire days without him showing up for class.
No texts, no updates, no excuses, and it’s killing me more than it should.
I’ve given him space, hoping he has been absent because of the holidays and the New Year, but I can’t deny how concerned I am.
As much as I worry about his sobriety and fragility, I can’t be his salvation.
Only he can save himself. The thought of losing everything I’ve worked for just to have a fleeting moment in time with him is stupid.
We’re three weeks out from Paris now, and it’s been grueling days of routines and exhaustion, then lonely nights at home while Gerardo remains in Spain.
The pressure to deliver something bold and unforgettable pulses under my skin, but even Greyson’s perfectionism hasn’t managed to break me out of this haze.
“Again,” I demand, trying to mask the weariness in my voice as I cue the music for the next dance. Greyson starts the Paso Doble section, stomping into the opening pose with the kind of flare that would’ve thrilled judges back in our prime.
I mimic the steps beside him, pushing through the aching stiffness in my ankle. The music blares, and I manage to let it swallow me whole for just a moment. Until Greyson kills the music with a single flick of his wrist.
“Alright, what gives?” I blink, breathless, and glance over. Greyson stands beside the soundboard, towel slung over his shoulder, eyes narrowed with quiet suspicion. “You’ve been off all morning.”
“I’m fine.” I swipe sweat from my brows and lean on the barre, stretching one leg out behind me.
He scoffs. “Don’t lie to me, Vae. I can smell it when something’s festering. Is everything okay between you and Mateo?”
I freeze. My knee tenses in the stretch, heart skipping a beat as I slowly lower my leg. I don’t answer right away, which only makes the silence heavier.
“I haven’t seen him,” I finally admit. “He hasn’t come to class. No explanation. No word.”
Greyson studies me, maddeningly quiet for a moment. “It’s the holidays, Vae. Some people have lives, unlike us. Did something happen?”
Yes.
But I don’t answer. I don’t even nod. Instead, I turn my back and grab the choreography sheet, pretending to reread the notes I’ve already memorized.
He sighs. “You know, it’s not just about getting to Paris. That boy’s trying to move on. I don’t think he can afford to get burned again.”
My spine stiffens. “You think I don’t know that?” I whisper.
“I think you forget,” Greyson says gently, stepping closer, “that there’s a difference between being careful and being cold.”
“I’m not cold,” I snap, whirling to face him. “I’m—” I falter. “I’m trying to protect both of us… from a disaster we can’t afford.”
Greyson’s face softens. “Then make sure he knows that, because right now, it feels like he’s been left to figure that out on his own.”
My throat tightens as I nod. He turns back to the speaker, giving me a moment to gather myself, but my hands shake as I retie the knot on my hip scarf.
Greyson’s right. Mateo didn’t just disappear, he shut down, and I know what that means for someone like him.
For someone clawing their way back from addiction and loss.
I tell myself I’ve done the right thing by stepping back, but deep down, the guilt twists inside my gut like a knife. I haven’t just stayed away from him. I’ve abandoned him, and the worst part? I miss him so badly, I can’t even breathe.
The air is thick with sweat and music. Greyson and I have been at it for hours, fine-tuning the tempo on the Jive until my joints ache and my patience wears thin, but I need the pain, because it gives my guilt something to anchor itself to.
“Let’s try the breakaway again,” I murmur, repositioning Adam and Kari.
My voice is tight. Clipped. Anything to keep myself from drifting back into thoughts of Mateo and where the hell he’s been.
Greyson gives me a look, one that says he knows I’m pushing myself harder than usual, but he doesn’t stop me.
He just queues the music and we count it in.
Eight… seven… six…
Laughter breaks across the studio, and I stiffen. Not just any laughter. His.
My head snaps toward the entrance, heart jerking inside my chest like it’s been plucked by a string.
Mateo’s walking through the front doors, sunlight chasing his heels, arm slung casually around Yvonne’s shoulders.
They’re both smiling and laughing. His head dips close to hers as she says something that makes him grin wider.
The sound is warm, effortless and free, and it cleaves me clean open.
I can’t move. I just stand there, frozen, the music still blaring behind me, watching him like a ghost haunting a place he no longer belongs in. He looks so alive. The bruised shadows that clung beneath his eyes for weeks are gone, and in their place is something brighter.
Relief surges through me first. He’s here, he’s smiling, and he’s okay. Then jealousy slides in behind it, unwelcome but impossible to ignore, because it’s not me who’s making him laugh. It’s her.
Yvonne catches my eye across the room, her expression unreadable for half a second, until it isn’t. Her smile widens, lips curling as she leans just a little closer into Mateo’s side. It’s a subtle dig, but she might as well have screamed it. I know you want him, and now he’s all mine.
My throat tightens, but I refuse to show it. I turn away, spine stiff and chin high, and clap my hands sharply to get the group’s attention. “Alright, everyone. That’s enough warm-up. Let’s run through the full routine.”
My voice rings out, professional and steady, and the dancers fall into place around me. I see Greyson shoot a quick glance in Mateo’s direction, but he doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t need to. The unspoken tension is its own presence in the room.
Mateo finally pulls away from Yvonne and starts stretching near the mirrors. Our eyes don’t meet. Good, that’s how it should be.
I turn toward the stereo and cue the track, letting the pulse of the Jive beat drown out the thoughts clawing at the inside of my skull. It’s better this way.
Isn’t it?