Page 59 of Tension
“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. Maybeforgiveness 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 thesecurity 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.”
