Chapter 25
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
ELEVEN DAYS AFTER (LATE, LATE NIGHT)
This is Rafael’s bar and Rafael’s tequila.
I repeat this several times, and it still doesn’t make sense.
I watch him maneuver through more hugs. He’s laughing and talking with his entire body, charming people as he goes.
Too late, I realize he’s made his way toward me.
He gestures toward the hallway with the crook of his finger, and I follow after him, like a puppet on a string, zinging with the energy of the evening.
“Here,” he says, pushing into a room with a PRIVATE sign attached to the door. Cheeks flushed and eyes brighter than usual, he’s smiling at me like it’s my birthday.
Feeling too many new things, I step tentatively into the room—an office crammed with boxes and crates. Rafael leans against a desk while I stick to the comfort of the wall. Only the space doesn’t steady me as I’d hoped.
“I didn’t know about tonight. I’m sorry,” Rafael says, a little breathless as he brushes back his hair. Curls stick to his neck.
“Don’t be.” I knot my fingers to still the onset of the shakes. “It’s your birthday! Why didn’t you say anything?”
He lifts a shoulder. “Not important.”
“Everyone out there would disagree.”
“And the person in here?” The way his voice dips makes me hot all over.
“Everyone’s birthday is important.”
Rafael chuckles warmly. “You always have an answer for everything.”
The penetrating look in his eyes kindles a fire that’s already raging. I’m surprised I don’t breathe smoke when I talk. “Not everything. Why didn’t you tell me this was your business? That you planned on leaving?”
“Didn’t want you to die from joy.” He winces. “Shit choice of words, E. Sorry.”
“I’ll forgive you if you answer. The real answer.”
Rafael’s lips twitch. “It’s … it’s been something I’ve been working on for years, and it only became something that needed my full attention this past year.
It all happened really fast. I wanted to say something, but there was never a right time to bring it up, so I planned on doing it the night of the OhLaLove dinner …
” His voice trails off. “And when you showed up again, it wasn’t a priority to talk about me and my plans.
Helping you was so much more important. It is the most important. ”
The naked truth darkens his gaze, and awareness zings through me. Me—I’ve been his priority. I swallow past the knot in my throat. “So, when’s your last day?”
“The day of the accident. I wanted to come there for the dinner. Help out,” he says, his voice trailing off.
“You quit already?” I squeak, torn between focusing on his words and on his lips.
Rafael nods, looking sheepish. “Weeks before the accident, actually.”
I try to do the math—to add it all up—but shock makes it impossible to compute. “You could have told me.”
“I could have,” he says, his throat bobbing. “But we were working on OhLaLove, and I wanted us to do the pitch before I told you.” He hesitates. “It was one last … rodeo. With you.”
I swallow hard, uncertain what to make of the way he says you. Like I was someone he’d miss instead of someone who’d made his life hell.
“But—you loved Media Lab.”
Rafael pushes from the desk, closing the distance between us in two strides.
One hand lands on the wall beside my head, his body so close my pulse trips, then stalls.
The room shrinks, the air going with it.
I think about his scent—sandalwood and soap—because I’ve memorized it over the years, and it takes everything not to lean in.
“I never did,” he murmurs. “I meant it when I said it was a job, nothing more.” His voice is low and husky, making my thoughts short-circuit.
I lick my lips. “But—why stay for so long?”
Rafael’s gaze dips to my mouth. “I thought it was obvious—”
“Raffi!” The door bursts open, Gianna’s head poking in. “What the hell are you doing here on your own?” She frowns as she takes in his posture and motions for him to follow.
Rafael lithely pushes from the wall and rolls his shoulders. “Can’t a birthday boy get some air, G?”
“Air? In here? It smells like an armpit,” she says, lacing her fingers through his and tugging him out of the room. He mouths later as he disappears, leaving me to assess the damage. His truths. Mine.
He quit Media Lab, and I should be celebrating, not feeling a dull ache at the thought of Media Lab without him. I want to call him back, to ask him questions, to understand why he stayed as long as he did if it was just “a job.” I follow after him instead.
The bar is more crowded than before, and the dance floor moves to the flow of bodies and beats.
I try to find an undisturbed corner to observe from and find myself beside a table with three tequila bottles.
I peer down at them, squinting in the scant light to make out the design.
It’s a skeleton with a bony finger to its lips.
La Clandestina—Tequila Anejo is written beneath it.
Another says Tequila Reposado, the last Tequila Blanco. Rafael’s tequila.
It’s hard to believe it. Rafael left Media Lab to start his own business.
All those documents at his place? Those were for him—for his new venture.
It’s the secret he’s been hiding, and I would never have guessed.
I thought I knew most things about Rafael, yet I missed this very major, very important thing.
As I watch him among the crowd, I can’t help but wonder what else I might have missed.
The only answer is Bad Bunny rapping on the speakers.
Burning questions aside, I inch toward the crowd, toward Rafael, his family and friends.
If the last few days have taught me anything, it’s that I’ve spent too long living life with checklists for the sake of playing it safe. I’m tired of watching from the sidelines, especially when tomorrow isn’t guaranteed. Not for anyone. Especially not for me.
As I go, I kick off my shoes and dance around the others, forgetting about hospitals, unfinished business, and the chance of no tomorrows.
The dance floor is crowded, but it’s easy to find Rafael.
He spots me—with a wink and a smile that hits dead center.
He circles around me when he can, close enough to almost touch.
I go with it, allowing myself to be Vela’d.
And on the dark dance floor, where anything is possible, so is dancing with a ghost.
We dance around each other until the crowd thins and the remaining guests are buzzed enough to have kicked off their heels and loosened their ties. Until people canoodle in the booths and others are almost half asleep by the bar.
“We have a special request!” The DJ speaks into the mic. “This one goes out from the birthday boy to a special someone.” My chest constricts as a familiar melody blasts through the speakers. “Dancing Queen.”
I can’t help but laugh as Rafael begins to shake his hips.
The other dancers move to the beat, even if the song is unlike the other club hits that have played all night.
Some begin to sing along. Rafael’s oldest sister, Gloria, commands the dance floor with her moves, and everyone claps along as she throws her hands into the air and lives the classic song with her entire body.
“It appears at least one Vela has been converted,” Rafael shouts over the music as he dances beside me.
“Appears so!” I shout back, shimmying to the beat. I sing along, and I notice Rafael’s lips moving to the words as well. “Aha! Busted!”
He shrugs. “I guess it’s contagious.”
If anyone sees him talking to himself, no one says anything. My lips itch to remind him of his conditions, which he’s broken considerably more often than me.
“Thanks!” I shout instead. “I’m honored to be your special someone.”
“Who said it was you?” Rafael frowns.
I clutch my chest. “What? I thought I was your only rival!”
“Is that what we are? Rivals?”
I dance around him, pondering his question as ABBA wraps up one of their greatest hits.
“Evie!” Rafael nudges when I haven’t answered.
The song comes to an end, leaving me breathless and without a cover. “Rafael,” is my only answer.