Page 4 of Tension
“I almost threw up,” he confesses as he blows out a breath. “Lewis is intense.” My heart sinks into my stomach as I contemplate leaving.
“I’m Yvonne.” She reaches around me to hold out her hand. “How long have you been dancing?”
“Adam.” He takes her hand for a limp shake, then drops it. “Ten years next week,” he murmurs. “Vaeda made it sound like it was nothing, especially when I’ve never competed.”
Shit.
They’re going to ask me about competing. I shake out my hands as I try to calm my insides, and for the first time in a long time, I crave something to take off the edge, to numb my heightened anxiety. My heart pounds with the revelation as I shake out my hands once more and breathe. I want this so much that I’m willing to overlook my bout of weakness.
The door opens again just as I’m finishing counting down from ten, and Kari walks out, looking a little down, but nothing compared to Adam.
“Yvonne Cardenas,”—Greyson snaps his fingers—“you’re next.”
Yvonne gives me a wink as she passes, her confidence shining while the rest of us struggle to keep our feet on the floor.
“Are you okay?” Fran asks as Kari falls against the wall beside her. “How bad was it?”
“Not bad, but they were asking me what studios I danced in before and if this was something I was serious about. They felt my dancing experience was lacking and told me I’d have to prove them wrong with my performance.” She shakes her head, her bun moving precariously. That’s her first mistake, not havingher hair secured. It makes her look unprofessional, and it’ll be a problem when she dances.
I run my hand over my gelled-back hair, my fingers moving until they stop at the nape of my neck. This is how I wear my hair most days, something I’ve kept up since my dancing days. I hate having my hair loose around my face unless I’m at home.
“Vaeda has a way with words, making you feel so small,” Adam growls, his short, curly hair moving as he turns to look at Kari. “I wouldn’t want an instructor like that.”
“Most are like that,” I say quietly as they turn their heads toward me. “In a class meant to mold competitors, they also aim to toughen your skin. A good instructor will guide and teach you each dance, but a great instructor will tear apart everything you thought you were good at, only to rebuild you into something indestructible.”
“Have you competed?” Fran asks as the door opens again, saving me from answering.
Yvonne emerges with her mouth in a grim line and the sparkle that was in her light brown eyes before is noticeably missing. “She’s a bitch,” she snaps as she retakes her spot beside me.
“Franchesca Taylor,” Greyson calls out. “Let’s go.”
I’m last. An ominous feeling comes over me as the others begin to trash-talk Vaeda Lewis. It feels like I was purposely saved for the end, and it does nothing to calm my beating heart.
“Mateo!” Yvonne’s hiss draws me out of my thoughts as I turn to look at her, her chin jutting toward Greyson standing in the open doorway. His eyebrow is raised as I start forward, my feet on autopilot as my stomach sours with unease.
Greyson motions for me to go ahead of him, my shoes clicking against the polished floors, sending echoes around our heads. I’d pay more attention to how heavy my steps are if my pounding heart wasn’t overpowering the sounds instead. This is my last chance to turn on my heel and escape, to continue studyingbusiness and leave dancing in my past, but my will is stronger than any fear I possess.
A table appears in front of me, two chairs positioned beside each other and facing where I entered. Greyson quickly sits in the vacant seat, but my eyes are on the woman sitting in the other. Her posture is perfect, her porcelain skin shimmering, and not an auburn strand of hair out of place. Vaeda Lewis looks regal as her chin lifts a fraction higher, giving her an air of arrogance as she somehow makes me feel looked down on, even though she’s seated and I’m standing. Suddenly, I feel so small, my towering 6’3” stature doing nothing to ease the discomfort.
“Mateo Sanchez,” she reads from a page on the table in front of her, her full lips barely moving as the husky lilt of her voice invades every one of my senses. I don’t just hear her, I feel every syllable as the sounds course through me. “Could this be the same Mateo Sanchez who competed in the World Championship division?”
And there it is, my worst nightmare coming to life. I nearly laugh out loud at the naivety of my coming here, at my thinking I could escape the past. How can you run from the past when it’s chasing your future?
“The same,” I murmur as I stand a little straighter. There’s no sense letting the shame I live with each day seep from every pore. I’m here to start over, and even though I’ve hit rock bottom, I have the claws to drag myself back out.
“What brings you here to New York and our humble studio?” Greyson cuts in as Vaeda gives him a scolding look, her dark brown eyes shooting arcs of electricity his way.
“You have a beautiful studio,” I begin as Greyson nods and Vaeda rolls her eyes from him and back to me, her stern expression making me swallow down any other compliments. “I’m hoping to start over and once again fall in love with dancing.”
The room becomes quiet as Greyson shifts in his seat and Vaeda continues to stare at me, her eyes narrowing before she says, “A redemption, Mr. Sanchez. That’s what you’re looking for, and you want our studio to provide it.” She gives me a cruel smile, the motion barely meeting her cold eyes as she watches me with a calculating stare.
“I mean no disrespect when I say your studio can’t save me from what I’ve done, only I can do that, but yes, this is a step in saving myself, Ms. Lewis.”
Her jaw tenses with my proclamation as Greyson dips his head, a ghost of a smile coating his lips. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but your final competition was in Florida over a year ago. September 15th was the date of the American Dancesport Festival, the international qualifying competition, right, Grey?” She turns to Greyson as he schools his features and nods, his eyes still focused on me. “That was the last anyone had heard about the young prodigy, Mateo Sanchez.” She spits out my name as though it’s sitting poison on her tongue. “Nearly thirteen months ago,” she clarifies as I remain silent, my stomach tightening as acid works its way up my throat. “What happened?”
“I needed a break,” I explain as I skate around the truth. “My mind and my body were suffering, and I was an empty shell who forgot my purpose.”
A sarcastic scoff echoes around the room as Vaeda’s frozen face finally crumbles into a sneer, the expression not subtracting from the stunning beauty of each feature. “There were rumors of drugs, sex, and complete debauchery.” Her palms flatten to the tabletop as Greyson turns to watch her, his eyes widening at her disdain. “Inappropriate relations with other competitors, rumors of illicit behavior amongst coaches, and all-nighters spent in the seediest nightclubs of the city.”
