Holly
“Scrolling at 2am like you’re auditioning for existential panic? You may be entitled to emotional compensation…”
Holly curled on the couch in her robe, towel-damp hair soaking her shoulders, phone glowing like a bad idea in the dark. She didn’t know why she was scrolling. Well. Shedid. She wanted to seehisface. Nate.
Instead, it was hers. Plastered across her screen in stitched clips, slowed-down looks, freeze-frames of heartbreak with comment sections thirsting for closure.
Y’all. Nate didn’t even look at her in rehearsal this week.
Was that Paso real or just promo?
Bet he ghosts after the finale.
Holly deserves better than a guy with one foot on the ice and one in the penalty box.
It’s giving ‘he’s in love, she’s in PR mode.’
What happens when the show ends?
That last one hit like a blade. Lodged deep. She’d been asking herself the same damn thing for days.
The screen flashed with a new message, like fate taking a drag of expensive wine and sliding into her DMs.
Nick
Caught a glimpse of you leaving today. You looked… never mind. If you need someone to glare meaningfully across a wine bar at, or file a formal complaint on your behalf, I’m free after six.
She stared at it. Blinked once.
Of coursehe saw her. Nick always did. The man clocked pain like most people clock designer shoes. Quick, silent, and with a look that saidI could ruin this, or fix it, depending on my mood.
She turned off her phone before she could type something stupid.
The ache coiled tighter under her ribs.
God, she missed Nate. And somehow, he’d never felt further away.
42
TRAPPED IN A GLASS CAGE OF EMOTION
Nate
“It was the worst I’ve ever felt.”
Nate exhaled slowly and centered his weight, settling into the familiar calm that always came just before impact. It wasn’t the ballroom that felt the same, it was the tunnel. That razor-edged stillness seconds before stepping onto the ice, heart hammering, crowd already roaring, knowing he was about to go to war. Only now there was no stick in his hands, no helmet, no teammates at his back. Just Holly, standing beside him with a space between them that might as well have been a wall.
She was all focus. Eyes locked on the judges’ table, spine straight as steel beneath the rhinestones, every line of her body composed and immaculate. She didn’t look at him. Didn’t reach for him. She didn’t have to, he’d already done the work of putting that distance there himself. He’d pushed her away for her own good the moment he saw the flash of panic on her face at the rink. The second the press cornered her and turned him into something sharp and dangerous she hadn’t been ready to claim.
He knew she hadn’t meant to hesitate. Knew she hadn’t intended to leave him standing there alone. But intention didn’t soften the damage, and the hurt still sat heavy in his chest. So now he gave her what he could manage: space, control, the careful version of himself that wouldn’t bleed all over her life. The partner who was steady and professional and impossible to accuse of being too much. Maybe this way she could walk away clean when the show ended. Maybe this way he wouldn’t ruin her future the way he’d already fucked up his own.
They hadn’t really spoken since rehearsal. Not in any way that mattered. Just a few timing cues, minor adjustments, the kind of words passed between strangers doing a job. Their usual sharp, teasing rhythm was gone, replaced with silence masquerading as focus.
Nate told himself it was fine. That it was smarter to hold the line. If he started asking for more, it would mean admitting how badly he wanted her.And he couldn’t afford to risk the one thing he still had: the performance. The illusion of connection, choreographed and safe. So he kept quiet. Maintained the space she seemed to need. Let himself believe this was what professionalism looked like, and not the aftermath of something breaking.
But beneath all of it, the truth twisted like a blade: he wanted her to look at him. Just once. Long enough to believe he hadn’t already lost her. Nate drew in a slow breath as they stepped into the spotlight. He settled into the hold, bracing himself for impact, already feeling the weight of what was coming.
Indie’s voice rang out across the stage, all forced sparkle and manufactured charm. “And now, dancing the Tango… it’s Holly and Nate!”
