Chapter 23
TWENTY-THREE
Vaeda
The lock clicks into place as I close the studio door behind me, the chill of the evening wrapping around my ankles like a balm over my injury.
I pause on the sidewalk, my hand still on the handle, as if letting go means admitting what just happened inside.
Mateo’s kiss still lingers on my lips, the ghost of his touch a brand I can’t scrub off with denial.
I should feel triumphant because I pushed him away, but all I feel is the insistent ache of not having something I want and no power to erase it.
My heels click against the concrete as I start walking, my mind still flashing with the warmth of Mateo’s lips against mine.
The sky above is ink-dark, clouds swallowing the last remnants of the day.
I focus on the movement, on the cold air against my face, on the city sounds that press in like static to drown out the thunder of my thoughts.
I make it two blocks before my phone rings and Greyson’s name blinks up at me. I nearly let it go to voicemail. I don’t have the energy for lightness, and I know that’s what he’ll try to give me, but I’m desperate to hear any voice but my own right now.
“Hey,” I answer, the single syllable barely audible.
There’s a beat of silence on his end before he says, “You sound like hell.”
“I feel worse,” I admit, surprising even myself with the truth.
“You want to come over? I’ve got whiskey, and judging you is not on the menu.”
A flicker of something close to gratitude warms my chest. “That sounds like exactly what I need.”
“Then get your ass over here.”
I smile, small and tight. “I’m on my way.”
The next cab that passes, I flag down, and the moment I slide into the back seat, the weight inside my chest shifts just enough to breathe again.
Greyson’s apartment is warm and dimly lit with a cocoon of soft jazz and flickering candles that scream curated calm.
He opens the door dressed in sweatpants and a hoodie, and for a moment, I’m struck by how different he looks outside of the studio.
Real and human, not my business partner or my voice of reason, but my lifelong friend.
He hands me a glass before I’ve even shed my coat. “I poured you the good stuff.” He snickers. “I figured anything less would be an insult.” I take a sip and let the burn settle under my ribs. “Want to talk about it?” he asks, nodding toward the couch.
“No.”
“Want to drink until you do?”
“Maybe.”
I sit, tucking my legs under me, the exhaustion creeping into my bones now that I’ve stopped moving. Greyson settles beside me, close but not too close, and waits.
“It’s Mateo,” I finally say.
He hums, unsurprised. “It usually is.”
“I can’t keep doing this, Grey. I push him away and then I let him back in. Over and over. It’s like I’m watching myself ruin everything I’ve built and I can’t seem to stop.”
“Because you don’t want to.” I shoot him a look. “I mean it,” he presses, gently but firmly. “You want him, and you’re not used to wanting something that you think is bad for you. You’re used to being the strong one. The structured one.”
“I’m also married.”
Greyson’s expression softens. “You are, but you’re also lonely.
You’ve been lonely for a long time. You know how I feel about your marriage, so to me, this has been inevitable.
Gerardo is a great man, but he’s not meant for you.
” The truth hits hard. “Your reaction to Mateo is like gasoline on a fire. You burn so hot.”
“Which is exactly why it’s dangerous.” We sit in silence for a long stretch, the whiskey warming me more than the soft blanket I eventually pull over my legs. “Yvonne’s been hanging on him like a shadow,” I mutter.
Greyson arches a brow. “Jealousy doesn’t suit you.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m not jealous.”
“You are.”
I sigh. “Fine. I am, but not because I want him to be mine. Not really. I just don’t want him to be hers.”
Greyson lets out a long exhale. “You need to figure out what part of that is your ego and what part is your heart, because if it’s your heart… you need to be prepared to face your husband.”
“I already know that.”
He nods slowly. “And you’re considering it.” It’s not a question, it’s a statement.
Another sip. Another burn. “I wish I could rewind time back to before he showed up. Back to before I saw what was missing from my life.”
“But you can’t. You’ve seen it now and felt it.”
I lean my head back, staring at the ceiling. “I don’t want to be this woman, Grey. I don’t want to be someone who waits for a man to show up just to fall apart.”
“You’re not,” he reassures me, voice low. “You’re a woman who’s been holding herself together for so long that when someone finally cared enough to break through your armor, you didn’t know what to do with it.”
I look at him. “What do I do now?”
“Either walk away completely… or let yourself want him and accept what comes with that.”
“Mateo’s ten years my junior,” I remind him as I gulp down the rest of my drink. “Not to mention, a divorce could get messy.”
“Mateo has an old soul, and yes, he’s much younger than you, but his experiences have aged him well beyond the years he’s been on this Earth.”
The quiet after his words is filled with a realization. I don’t know which is more terrifying, losing Mateo or keeping him, but I do know one thing: I won’t survive this much longer without deciding.
MATEO
The clink of cutlery and murmurs of conversation create a soft, polished kind of noise that fills the restaurant. My father sits across from me, impeccably dressed as always, his tie loosened but still pristine, and his posture so straight it makes my own feel adolescent.
The waiter had just cleared our plates and left us with coffee, his black and mine with enough sugar to mask the bitterness. I stir it absentmindedly, watching the swirl fade into stillness.
“So,” he says, resting both forearms on the table. “Are you seeing anyone?”
My spoon stops. The question isn’t harsh or suspicious. Just… casual. Almost fatherly, in a way that feels foreign coming from him.
“I…” I clear my throat, scrambling to answer. “There’s my partner. She’s interested in more than friendship, I think, but I’ve been focused on recovery and dancing.”
He nods slowly, taking a sip of coffee. “That’s good. Smart. Take one thing at a time.”
I don’t look up. I can’t, because the words feel like a betrayal. Not of my recovery, but of the very woman I can’t stop thinking about. The one I kissed with every broken part of me and then walked away from. Again.
“She’s been supportive?” he asks, shifting the cup in his hands.
“She’s… someone I trust,” I answer finally, unsure if that’s a lie or not. I trust Yvonne to be loyal, but she doesn’t command my soul. My soul belongs to someone else, and I think she’s beginning to figure that out.
“She’s not the reason you’re being so quiet, is she?” he adds carefully.
I flinch slightly. “No. She’s not.”
He leans back in his chair, his expression unreadable. “You’re not the same boy you were a year ago.”
“I hope not.”
A small smile curves along his mouth. Not wide and showy. Just the kind of smile that means something because it’s rare. “I spoke with Grace,” he reveals quietly.
My heart skips as I look up, stunned. “You what?”
“She called, actually,” he corrects. “Today, before I spoke to your instructor.”
I grip the edge of the table. “Is she okay?”
“She’s… hesitant,” he admits. “But she asked how you were and wanted to know how Paris was coming along. I told her about it before coming here.” I blink fast, emotion crashing in behind my eyes. “She said she’s willing to talk to you... when you’re in Paris.”
A strange sound leaves my throat, part breath and part disbelief. “I thought she hated me.”
“She doesn’t.” He shakes his head. “She was angry and hurt. She’s still scared.”
“Grace saw me near death because of my own actions.” My hand curls into a fist on the tabletop as shame washes over me.
“She’s still your sister.”
I press a hand to my chest, trying to slow the thundering in there. The idea of speaking to Grace again, of making amends, however small, feels like someone’s cracked open a window in a room I thought I’d suffocate in.
I remember the last night we were together before everything fell apart.
She styled my hair for a ballroom showcase and told me I looked like someone famous.
We laughed so hard we cried. She stayed up late waiting for me to get home from competitions, texting me good luck, calling me her favorite dancer, and then a month later, I overdosed.
She sat by my hospital bed, crying in the chair she didn’t leave for two straight days, and then, somewhere in the days and weeks that followed, something broke inside her. Maybe forgiveness got lost in the fracture. Maybe she needed to hate me just to breathe again.
“She wants to see me?” I ask again, unable to shake the disbelief.
“She wants to talk, and that’s something.”
I nod, swallowing hard.
My father watches me like he wants to say more, but doesn’t. Instead, he picks up his coffee and takes another slow sip, his shoulders relaxing just a bit.
“You’ve come a long way, Mateo. Don’t let the past convince you that you’re still there.”
His words hold weight, more than I’ve ever heard. Maybe it’s the way the candlelight dances in his eyes, or the way he’s not lecturing for once. He’s just here, sitting across from me like a man who’s seen his son nearly die and somehow found the grace to keep showing up.
I look down, blinking against the pressure behind my eyes.
“Paris is a new beginning,” he adds, softer now. “Not a clean slate, but a next chapter. Use it.”
We sit in silence for a while, the kind that feels more like peace than discomfort. Around us, the restaurant fades into murmurs and movement. A waiter refills our waters, someone laughs at a nearby table, and I sit with my hands curled around my coffee cup and let it all sink in.
For the first time in a long time, I feel the faintest hope that things might come back around.
The terminal buzzes with late evening chaos, rolling suitcases, weary travelers, and flight announcements cutting through quiet conversations.
My father stands beside me just outside the security gate, his carry-on slung over his shoulder and his hand wrapped around the handle with the kind of hesitation he rarely shows.
Roger lingers behind us near the car, giving us space, as he always does.
“Paris will be exciting, Mateo,” my father says, his tone clipped, like he’s keeping a hundred emotions at bay. “But no matter how far you go, don’t forget why you’re going in the first place.”
I absorb everything he’s saying. “I won’t.”
“You’re not invincible,” he adds, quieter now. “And this industry, these people, they’ll give you a standing ovation one day and forget your name the next. Don’t chase their approval. Don’t let it swallow you.”
“I’m not the same person I was before,” I vow, but even as I say it, there’s a flicker of doubt under my skin. A ghost of the boy with pills and broken promises.
“No,” he agrees. “You’re stronger, but strength can be fragile too.” I swallow hard. He looks down, shifts his bag, then finally meets my eyes. “Just finish your degree, Mateo. Even if you never use it. Just so you know that you have something to fall back on.”
“I will.”
“And your sobriety,” he continues. His voice breaks a little there, just enough to gut me. “That’s the most important thing. Everything else comes second.”
“I know.”
He looks like he wants to say more, maybe even hug me, but instead, he grips my shoulder, firm and lingering. “I’m proud of you. I’m also scared as hell, but I’m proud.”
“Thank you,” I manage.
We hold each other’s gaze for one more second before he turns and walks into the tide of passengers, his form disappearing into the rhythm of travelers.
I let out a breath and head back to the SUV.
Roger starts the engine without a word, merging into traffic as the airport fades in the rearview mirror.
“He’s trying,” Roger murmurs after a long stretch of silence.
“Yeah. So am I.”
Roger hums softly, a note of agreement.
“You think I can really do this?” I ask before I can stop myself.
“Dance?”
“Stay clean and compete. Not fall apart again.”
Roger glances at me, then back to the road. “You already are. One day at a time, Mateo. You just have to keep choosing to live.”
The drive is quiet after that. By the time we pull up to my building, the city is lit up against the dark sky.
The rhythm of evening life beats around me; horns, pedestrians, and vendors closing up for the night, and then I notice Yvonne.
She’s sitting on the front steps of my building, arms wrapped around her knees, hair loose around her face.
I frown, stepping out of the SUV before Roger can even place it in park.
“Yvonne?”
Her head lifts, eyes red-rimmed. “Hey.”
“What’s going on?”
She stands quickly, brushing at her cheeks like that’ll erase the vulnerability I already saw. “I, um… I had a fight with Rachel.”
“Your roommate?”
She nods. “I didn’t know where else to go. I tried calling you, but—” she hesitates. “I figured you turned your phone off.”
I pull my phone from my pocket and sure enough, it’s still powered down from dinner with my dad. A twinge of guilt spikes in my chest. “I’m sorry,” I mutter. “I didn’t mean to leave you hanging.”
She shakes her head. “It’s okay. I just… I didn’t know where else to go.”
Roger steps up behind me. “You good here?”
I swallow and smile at him. “Thanks for the ride.”
He eyes Yvonne for a second, then gives me a subtle nod before heading back to the car. I unlock the door to my building and gesture for Yvonne to follow me inside. The lobby’s warm, the usual doorman giving me a half-curious glance that I pointedly ignore.
Inside the elevator, the silence is thick. “You want to talk about it?” I finally ask, watching the numbers tick up.
“Not really,” she says, voice tight.
The elevator dings and we step into the hallway. My apartment feels colder than usual when we walk in, and I adjust the temperature before taking her coat and hanging it beside mine on the rack.
Then I set her bag down by the door and glance back at her. “You can crash here tonight. Couch pulls out. Do you need anything?”
She shakes her head, arms still crossed tight, so I nod once, unsure of what else to say.
She offers a small, weary smile. “Thanks, Mateo.”
“Yeah, of course.”
As I head to my room to grab her a blanket and a pillow, I can’t help but feel the walls shifting again.
Pressing closer. The last twenty-four hours have been an emotional land mine, and I’m not sure I’ve made it out unscathed.
Yvonne is here in my apartment, my father is trying, and Grace might be willing to speak to me.
And I’m still standing even though I feel like I’m falling.
One day at a time.