Page 62 of Until We Come Home

“Well, we make a solid team.” Jada grins, taking a bite. “This whole program is coming together so well, especially the section with the youth company.”

Rehearsing has been my saving grace today. I’ve spent every spare second refresh-buttoning the news feeds, staring at my phone for any word from Mateo or the station crew, my throat tight with worry over those dry winds whipping across the mountain ridge.

But I force the anxiety aside. He’s seasoned, he knows the terrain, and he’s pulled through much tougher spots. I pull my attention back to the room, anchoring myself in the mirror, and lock into what Jada mentioned. The students. Focus on the students.

“They’re incredible,” I say. “You can see how much confidence they’ve built with the counts.”

“Do you remember when we were that age?” she asks. “With Madame Volkova at the old studio? She was a total nightmare. I came so close to hanging up my shoes for good after that horrible winter term.”

Jada and I came up through the same studio as teenagers, back when we were both ballet kids with our hair scraped into identical buns, and not every teacher from those years deserves to be remembered fondly.

“God, don’t remind me,” I say, a shudder running down my spine. “That environment was beyond toxic. It’s a miracle any of us survived that studio with our love for dance still intact.”

She looks out toward the sunlit windows. “That old-school mentality was built on breaking your spirit until you fit their narrow little box. If your body didn’t match their impossible ideal, you basically didn’t exist. So cheers to doing it right with these kids.”

“To doing things differently,” I agree, smiling.

Teaching these kids is my way of rewriting that history—creating a space where movement comes from joy rather than fear or perfectionism. I step back out onto the wood, testing the transition once more, letting the movement carry me as I map the line in the mirror. I drop into a low sweep, coming up smoothly onto my toes, and turn to glance over at Jada.

“Almost ready to run the partnering section?” I ask, throwing in a clean double pirouette just for the fun of it.

“Show-off.” She tosses her wrapper into the trash. “And yep. Let’s do it.”

I laugh, but before I can hit play, my phone lights up on the floor near the mirror wall, vibrating loud against the fir. I wander over, wiping sweat from my forehead with the back of my wrist, and pick it up. The screen displays an unfamiliar 206 number. A prickle of unease runs up my neck as I swipe to answer.

“Hello?” I say.

“Hello, is this Mia Monroe?” A woman’s voice, calm, professional.

I swallow, and it’s like my body knows before I do. “Yes. Yes, I am.”

“My name is Angela, I’m a nurse at Harborview Medical Center. I’m calling about Mateo Navarro. You’re listed as his emergency contact.”

It’s as though the floor vanishes beneath my feet. Time stretches thin and strange, the sounds of the city outside fading into a muffled, distant hum, and everything in me clenches.

“What... what happened? Is he... what’s hurt?” I ask, my voice sounding hollow and unfamiliar to my own ears.

“He’s stable,” she tells me. “They airlifted him in from the fire line east of the mountains an hour ago. He’s conscious now, his vitals are steady, but we’re holding him overnight for observation. I can’t share detailed medical info over the line, but if you make your way down here, the attending physician will give you a full rundown.”

He’s stable. The nurse’s voice washes over me, but the sheer relief does little to quiet the terrifying roar inside my head. I press my palm flat against the cool studio mirror to keep my knees from buckling.

“How bad is it? Was anyone else hurt?” I ask, my pulse racing out of control as terrible images flash through my mind—Mateo, James, Callum, or Rebecca out on the line. Sweet Ollie, who still seems like just a kid.

“I don’t have all the details,” she says. “The doctor will fill you in when you get here.”

“Okay, I’m coming,” I say, grabbing my bag off the floor. “I’m ten minutes away. I’m coming right now.”

I hang up, my hands shaking so violently I almost drop the phone. I look up to catch Jada watching me with deep concern, and I blurt out a quick, breathless explanation before bolting out the door and running for the street.

Harborview has that sterile hospital scent that sets my nerves on edge. I hurry through the busy corridors, wishing I had a better grip on the floor plan, every turn feeling a step too late. The directional signs point me down a long hall, and I quicken my pace past bustling nurse stations, my heart hammering against my ribs.

I skid to a stop at the main desk, where an older nurse in blue scrubs looks up at me with a calm gaze.

“Hi, sorry, I’m looking for Mateo Navarro?” I say, out of breath. “He was airlifted in from the wildland blaze—he’s a firefighter. Someone called me. I’m his emergency contact.”

“Just a moment, dear, let me check the admissions log,” she says, her fingers tapping against the keyboard.

I nod, a cold, sickening dread threatening to swallow me whole.