Page 58 of Tension
“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 sitsacross 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.”
