Page 25 of Tension
She exhales sharply, the sound almost a sigh of defeat. “I’ll think about it,” she concedes finally, her voice quieter now, almost unsure. “I’ll send you the details of a class I know nearby. No promises though.”
I nod, satisfied for the moment. “That’s all I ask.”
Our eyes lock for a heartbeat longer, the tension simmering just below the surface. There’s something magnetic in the way she holds my gaze, something that makes it impossible to look away, but then she shifts slightly, breaking the moment.
“Good night, Mateo,” she murmurs, her tone dismissive as she turns back to her clipboard.
“Good night.” I grab my bag before heading out of the studio and toward the exit. The electricity between us is only increasing, and even though I tell myself this is wrong, I can’t seem to stay away from her. She’s made me a junkie all over again.
The thought of doing something together outside of this studio makes my heart race and my hands grow clammy. She has a husband, a life outside of me and the studio, and she looks at me like I’m a burden, but sometimes her looks flicker with heat.
Vaeda Lewis wants me, even if she doesn’t fully accept it yet, and I’m starting to realize I’ll do anything to have her.
Tugging my jacket tighter around me, I adjust my bag and head back to my apartment. My mind races, replaying the conversation with Vaeda, dissecting every word, every glance. She’s tantalizing in every way, pulling me in until I find myself in her space without realizing it. She’s gorgeous, guarded, andyet there are moments when her walls seem to crack, revealing glimpses of vulnerability.
When I reach my building, I head down the side alley and climb the fire escape, the metal clanging under my weight. Thankfully I’m not afraid of heights. The activity of the city fades as I step into the quiet of the building, erasing all thoughts of Vaeda as anxiety about hiding this secret from my family seeps in.
Opening my apartment door, I kick off my shoes and toss my bag onto the kitchen counter. I open the fridge and pull out a bottle of water, drinking the entire thing in one go before throwing the bottle into the recycling under the counter. Then I flick on the light and freeze.
She’s sitting there, on the couch, her posture rigid and her expression unreadable, but the flare of her nostrils tells me everything I need to know. My mother is here in New York, and she’s pissed.
“Mami,” I say, my voice tinged with surprise. “What are you doing here?”
She stands slowly, her movements jerky, her gaze piercing as it locks onto mine. At her full height, my mother stands just a few inches shorter than me at six feet. “Don’t play coy with me, Mateo. Where have you been?”
Her words hang in the air, saturated with accusation, and my stomach twists. I force myself to meet her golden gaze, though my mind is already racing, searching for the right answer, the safe answer. My thoughts become scrambled under her scrutiny, the unspoken fears slipping from her light brown eyes.
The apartment feels smaller now, the walls closing in as the silence stretches between us. Whatever I say next will matter, and I’m not sure if I’m ready for this conversation.
“Answer me, Mateo,” she demands, her voice steady but laced with the razor edge of a woman who has spent her lifecommanding attention. My mother doesn’t raise her voice often, but when she does, it’s like the edge of a blade, dangerous and impossible to ignore.
“I was at a meeting,” I hedge carefully, my throat dry. “Then I went for a walk. That’s all.”
She arches a perfectly sculpted eyebrow, her lips pressing into a thin line. She’s wearing a tailored coat, the rich navy fabric perfectly fitted, and her posture is impeccable, as if she’s still standing at the barre. “A meeting? And you didn’t think to call Roger?”
“Mami, I—”
She cuts me off with a wave of her hand, her gold bracelets jingling softly with the movement. “Do you know how many times I’ve called you this week? How many messages I’ve left?” She steps closer, her heels clicking against the floor. “And now I come all the way here, only to find you, what? Wandering the streets?”
“I wasn’t wandering,” I argue, my voice rising slightly. “I was clearing my head.”
“Clearing your head,” she repeats, her tone flat, as though the words are foreign to her. “That sounds like an excuse.”
My hands clench into fists at my sides, but I force myself to take a deep breath. Losing my temper won’t help. “Mami, I’m fine. I’m… I’m clean. I promise.”
Her eyes narrow, scanning my face for any hint of deception. After my accident, my mother has gained the uncanny ability to see through me, her intuition as keen as her technique on stage. “Promises mean nothing without proof, Mateo. You know that better than anyone.”
“I’m telling you the truth,” I vow, my voice softening. “I’ve been going to my meetings. I’ve been staying busy.”
She folds her arms, her gaze unrelenting. “Staying busy with what? School? Or is it something else?”
My stomach twists, and I hesitate. Telling her about the dance classes feels like stepping onto thin ice. She’ll either see it as a positive or as a dangerous slide back into the life I’ve worked so hard to leave behind.
“I’ve been trying new things,” I say vaguely, avoiding her piercing gaze. “Things to keep me focused.”
Her silence stretches as my heart pounds through my chest. Then she sighs, a sound that’s equal parts frustration and exhaustion, drawing my attention back to her face. “You think I don’t notice the changes in you?” Her eyes soften as she runs a hand through her perfectly straight brown hair, the caramel highlights shimmering. “I’m your mother, Mateo. I see everything.”
I look away, the meaning of her words pressing down on me. She steps closer, her hand reaching out to cup my cheek. Her touch is cool, her fingers delicate but firm.
