Kneeling beside her. One palm braced at the back of her neck, the other curled tight around her hand like he was trying to anchor her body back to earth. His voice was low and steady, threading through the noise like the only melody she could follow.
“I’ve got you,” he murmured, again and again, stroking her sweat-crusted curls back from her brow. “I’ve got you, baby.I’ve got you.”
She couldn’t see him through the tears and couldn’t even remember when she started crying. But she knew the shape of his voice in her bones. Knew the grip of his hand, warm and sure, like a lifeline wrapped in calluses. The pain was unbearable. A white-hot spike every time she so much as moved.
“Nate—I think it’s broken,” she whispered, choking on the words.
“It’s not broken,” he said, but she could tell by his tone that it was just wishful thinking. His thumb swept over the back of her hand once, twice. “It’s okay. You’re okay. We’re getting you some scans. Just breathe. I’ve got you.”
She tried.God, she tried.But when the medics loaded her onto the stretcher and started wheeling her backstage her panic reared, sharp and furious and completely irrational. The lights. The crowd. The cameras.Her mother.
“Nate,” Her voice cracked. “Don’t leave…”
“I’m not going anywhere,” he promised, already climbing into the ambulance beside her without waiting for permission. “You think I’d let you ride solo?Nice try.”
And then his hand was in hers again, his thumb tracing slow, soothing circles against her skin, like it was the only language they had left. She couldn’t open her eyes. Could barely speak, thanks to the pain meds the EMTs had pumped into her. But she squeezed his fingers, hard.
He squeezed back as they took off, siren wailing.
The ER was freezing. Holly lay on the hospital bed, ankle elevated, pain a steady throb beneath the dull haze of meds. A nurse had given her something for the swelling, but it hadn’t dulled the panic in her chest. The what-ifs. The maybes. The echo of her mother’s last hospital stay.
She hated hospitals. Hated the sterile quiet, the flicker of fluorescent lights, and bleach trying and failing to scrub away the smell of fear. She hadn’t realized she was trembling until Nate sat beside her and wrapped a blanket over her shoulders.
“Here,” he said, his voice tender. “You’re cold.”
She blinked at him. Nate’s jacket was gone. His sleeves pushed up. His knuckles scraped raw from where he’d failed to catch her fall. He looked like hell. Hair mussed. Shirt rumpled. But his eyes were steady. Warm.Safe.
“I’m fine,” she whispered.
“You’re not,” he said. “But youwillbe, Holly. I promise.”
And somehow, that undid her more than the pain did. He didn’t touch her ankle. Didn’t ask about the pain scale. Just took her hand again, like he couldn’t not, like her fingers were the only thing anchoring him to this reality. And maybe they were. Because when shereallylooked at him, he wasn’t calm. He was barely holding it together, and he was only doing it for her.
“You stayed,” she said, voice barely audible.
He lifted his eyes to hers, that slow, familiar heat blooming behind them. “Of course I did.”
Her throat tightened. She wanted to say more. Wanted to ask how long he would stay. If whatever this was could survive abroken ankle and a media circus and whatever fresh hell the show would cook up next. If it could survive them living in different states…different worlds.
She leaned into him instead. Let herself fall against the beefy curve of his shoulder. Let his heartbeat become her rhythm, her breath syncing with his. For a long, suspended moment, she let the silence hold them. He brushed his lips against her temple like a vow.
“You’ll dance again,” he murmured.“I promise.”
And the terrifyingly beautiful part was that she almost believed him.
@dancemomsrevenge:
Not me sobbing in public. Holly literally whispered ‘don’t leave’ and Nate climbed into the ambulance like it was his full-time job. This is love.
@athletewivesclub:
Nate carrying her offstage like a prince in warmups. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize I needed that. I do. I need it.
50
SHE’S ASLEEP AND HE’S PLOTTING VIOLENCE
Nate
