He grabbed his phone, but he didn’t call Sully. He dialed his agent.
“Nate? What’s going on? Everything okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine,” he lied, jaw flexing. “Listen, I need you to set up a meeting.”
Strictly Scandal Online:
Tension, tears, and a power move? TTF rehearsal reveal!
Sources inside theTake the Floorstudio say what was supposed to be routine B-roll turned into something far more combustible this week.
According to a crew member, an Executive Producer allegedly referenced Holly Martinez’s personal finance matters in front of cameras.
“That’s when Nate stepped in,” the insider claims. “It wasn’t dramatic, but you could feel the temperature change.”
Photos from the shoot already circulating in fan forums show Martinez looking visibly uncomfortable while Eriksson shifts closer, body angled protectively toward her.
One production assistant described it as ‘absolute instinct.’
With Eriksson’s NHL future still uncertain and Martinez recovering from a sabotaged performance injury, viewers are now asking: Is this a revenge arc, or…READ MORE →
@hockeybabe24 on Instagram:
okay but why is nobody talking about how Nate literally repositions himself like a defenseman guarding the crease??
@BlueLinePurist on X:
Eriksson stepping in like that during #ttfpromo? That’s captain energy. I don’t care what the League says.
67
THIS EPISODE IS SPONSORED BY AVOIDANCE
Holly
“Protecting myself has started looking a lot like ruining everything.”
•••
By the time the rehearsal room cleared out, Holly felt like her nerves had been run over and backed up on for emphasis. Nate had waited until they were alone, offering to cover the hospital increase like it was simple. As though loving her meant helping her carry it. She’d said no.Of course she had.Accepting his help felt a little too much like signing up for future heartbreak, and apparently she was still majoring in Self-Sabotage with a minor in Only Child Trauma.Dean’s List. Graduating summa cum laude in Ruining Nice Things.
So instead of driving west to her apartment and her carefully curated independence, she turned north. Past streets that glittered on the surface but were tarnished if you looked too closely. Past houses that smelled like cumin and somebody’s tío grilling after dark. By the time the flickering streetlight outside her mother’s house came into view, she wasn’t even pretending she’d chosen this.Her heart had.
The second she stepped inside, the air wrapped around her. Garlic. That same floral hand cream her mom had been usingsince forever. Genuinely warm in a way LA never was. The TV hummed in the living room, violins swelling while some telenovela heroine slapped a man like it was part of her fitness routine. And for the first time all day, Holly’s chest loosened a fraction.
Her mom was on the couch with a fadedVirgen de Guadalupethrow draped over her legs, knitting meticulous. Her reading glasses slipped down her nose while a small glass of manzanilla wine on the side table. She looked smaller than Holly remembered. Not breakable, justfinite.Like time had finally stopped being polite about it all. The realization landed hard, knocking the air from Holly’s lungs before she could armor up against it.
Mortality just entered the chat and didn’t ask for permission.
“Hola, mija,” her mom said softly, finishing the end of her knitting row before her eyes lifted, fixing on Holly with unnerving precision. As though she could see the invisible cracks in Holly’s composure and was deciding whether to press or let her pretend a little longer.
“Hey, Mamá.”
Holly entered the room properly, kissed her cheek, and sat down on the couch like she wasn’t one emotional gust of wind away from shattering. She kicked off her shoes carefully and flexed her ankle, grimacing as the ache sparked. Her mom noticed, but she didn’t comment. She reached for the wine and took a sip.
“So,” her mom said lightly. “I saw the dance photo.”
Holly tried to lean into her usual bravado. The one with thesharp tongue and the unbothered face and the vibe of someone who didn’t cry, ever.
