“I caught her. Sure. But I’m the one whose feet haven't touched the ground since.”
The lights in the press zone were so bright they were starting to give him a migraine. Or maybe that was just the whiplash of having his heart excavated and his soul rearranged by her in three minutes flat.
Nate followed Holly down the corridor like a man recovering from a small, elegant car crash. The press line was already stacked with reporters angling for a piece of them, and Holly dealt with them all like clockwork. Her camera smile was dialed in, her posture crisp. She was still barefoot, but her walk screamed control. That signature steel-in-satin vibe that told the world she wasfine.
Except she wasn’t. Heknewshe wasn’t. She hadn’t met his gaze once since they walked offstage.
The first reporter waved them in, eyes bright with gossip lust. “Holly! Nate! That wasincredible! Who choreographed that heartbreak in a bottle? Because we’ve seen chemistry before, but that wasdevastationwith a count-in.”
Holly smiled sweetly. “That was me.”
“She’s amazing,” Nate added, trying to sound casual and not like he wanted to fold his entire body over hers and saydon’t ever dance like that again unless it’s for me. “So intuitively creative.”
She looked at himthen, a sly little glance to the side that betrayed the surprise in her expression because he’d complimented her in public and meant it.
The reporter leaned in, sensing the moment. “What were you thinking about when you designed the routine, Holly? Because it felt…personal.”
There was the smallest flicker in her expression. Barely a hesitation, but he saw it. The tell. She was remembering what she’d done. The reach. The softness. The choreography that had betrayed her.
“I wanted to tell a story,” she said finally. “About what happens when you fall and have to trust someone’ll catch you.”
Nate’s throat closed.
“And?” the reporter pressed, her gaze intent.
Holly turned toward Nate with that slow, steady grace that made him feel like the rug was about to be pulled out from under him. Her smile didn’t falter, but her eyes were something else entirely. Guarded, but gleaming.
“He hasn’t dropped me yet,” she said, smiling as they made their way to the next press booth.
Before long, they were back under the studio lights, standing in formation with the rest of the cast. The stage was slick with tension, glitter still clinging to the floor. Nate could feel Holly’s warmth beside him, her body humming with the aftershocks of their performance. The fake dating veneer was back in place for the cameras, her arm looped through his, his stance casual. But the pulse of something unspoken still buzzed under the surface between them.
Indie bounced into view like a golden retriever who’d found caffeine, clutching the results envelope like it might explode.
“Alright, couples!” she chirped, all gleam and tension. “The votes are in, the scores are locked. Let’s find out who’s dancing again next week, and who may have danced here for the very last time.”
He felt Holly stiffen under his hand, even though she didn’t show it. His fingers twitched with the urge to wrap his arm around her, but he held off. So… they waited.
“The couple leaving us tonight…” Indie’s voice dipped into fake-grave territory as the camera swept across every face on stage. “…is Bria and Logan.”
Bria was already crying by the time her name was called, clinging to Logan like the floor might swallow her whole. Nate watched them walk offstage to a polite swell of applause, Logan stiff and tight-jawed, Bria wiping mascara with the back of her hand. He barely knew them, but something about the way they looked so gutted made his chest tighten. One week they were rehearsing beside you; the next, they were gone.
Just like that.
And he felt like a prick. Really, he did. But all he could think in that moment was thank fuck we’re safe for another week.
“And now,” Indie said, voice pitched just this side of giddy as the applause for Bria and Logan petered off.
“Ladies and gentlemen, it's the moment you’ve all been waiting for… the announcement of tonight’s winning couple. The judges loved them. The viewers couldn’t get enough. And the chemistry?Off. The. Charts.”
Nate wasn’t registering anything. Not the hum of lights, the shuffling of feet, or Indie’s voice echoing somewhere overhead. All he could think about was Holly standing beside him. He wanted this win for her more than he’d ever wanted his name on a scoreboard. And selfishly,so fucking selfishly, he wanted one more week. One more dance. One more excuse to stand this close to her and pretend she was his just for show, even as his chest ached with the knowledge that it wasn’t real.
“This week’s winning couple is…” Indie drew out the moment, eyes gleaming, voice lifting. “Holly and Nate!”
The crowd detonated with cheers and applause, camera flashes going off like fireworks. Holly didn’t move, stunned into disbelief. Then the smile hit her face, and Nate was close enough to see the second layer beneath it. The crack in her lip gloss. The moment it landed.The part that meant something.
Because itdidmean something. This win came with a bonus, enough to cover a full week of chemo for her mom. Enough to breathe for a moment. He’d seen her earlier, watching her shoes in pieces and still pulling herself together like a soldier before battle. Dancing like she was holding up her whole damn world with her bare hands.
Indie was saying something about excellence and vulnerability, about record-breaking votes and emotional storytelling, and Nate was nodding, smiling, absorbing none of it. Holly was beside him, smiling too, waving for the cameras, her fingers briefly caressing his before she took his hand to lead him offstage.
