But I can feel it's not enough. Erik's distraction can't erase what they've already seen.
I swallow the frustration and refocus as we reach the overhead lift. My hands find her waist, her breath steadies, and for a moment everything narrows down to the two of us again. I lift her cleanly, letting her rise above me, weight shifting gracefully as she extends into the pose.
She looks breathtaking.
And then she sings.
Her voice hits the climactic note with perfect clarity, unwavering, powerful. It rings through the arena like it’s carving a second chance out of the air itself.
My chest tightens.
She’s fighting for this.
Fighting hard even though she knows the odds are stacked against her.
In your arms, I found my home Never again to be alone
At least her voice never faltered again. That part is flawless.
Erik takes his dramatic bow and exits, leaving us for the final sequence. Laura's looking at me with desperate eyes, silently begging me to fix this, but there's nothing I can do except make sure we finish strong.
I guide her through the remaining moves with extra support, making every lift and spin as smooth as possible. When we reach the final pose—her arched over my arm, our faces close—I can see the tears threatening to spill from her eyes.
“You were beautiful,” I whisper. “Your voice was perfect.”
And I’m so madly in love with you I just want to make this better.
I can’t say it because the music ends. We hold the pose for a beat before I help her stand.
There’s scattered applause from the production team, but it's polite and feels obligatory.
The judges are already writing on their clipboards, and none of them look happy.
I keep my arm around Laura's waist as we wait for their feedback. She's barely breathing, her whole body tense.
“Laura Conners, Scotty Hendricks, and Erik Steele,” the head judge says, glancing at her notes. She looks up at us, and my stomach sinks at her expression. “Miss Conners, your voice is absolutely incredible. Exactly what we're looking for in Princess Blanca.”
Laura's grip on my hand tightens with hope.
“However…” The judge pauses, and I know what's coming. “The skating is a significant concern. That fall was hard, and even without it, your technical skills aren't at the level we need for this production. We're doing intricate choreography at high speeds. We need someone who can handle those requirements safely.”
“I can improve,” Laura says quickly, her voice cracking. “Give me more time, I'll practice every day—”
“I understandthat.” The judge's expression softens with genuine regret. “And I believe you would improve, but we're opening in six weeks. We need someone who's already at that skill level.”
Another judge chimes in. “The addition of Mr. Nibbles was creative, and Mr. Hendricks, your skating is obviously exceptional, but ultimately, this is Princess Blanca's part, and we can't build the production around accommodating skill limitations.”
My jaw clenches. They're right—I know they're right—but watching Laura's face crumble is killing me.
“We appreciate you coming in today,” the head judge says. “We'll be making our final decisions by the end of the week, but I wanted to be honest with you about where we stand.”
Translation: Don't hold your breath.
“Thank you for the opportunity,” I manage to say, because Laura looks like she might start crying right here.
We skate off the ice and the second we're through the doors, Laura's composure shatters. She doesn't collapse against the wall like after her first audition—this time she just stands there, staring at nothing, tears streaming silently down her face.
“Laura—” I start.
