Chapter 34Ingrid. End of December, Opening night. Five years ago #2
"I’ll go… after curtain call," Ingrid said, her voice mostly steady, but there was a crack underneath she couldn’t quite hide. Fear, adrenaline, pain.It was all right there, clawing at her, but she shoved it down. She wasn’t ready to let it show. Not yet.
Troye shook his head, disbelief plain on his face. "You’re impossible."
"Ingrid!" Aimee’s voice rang out, sharp with panic. Her wide eyes scanned Ingrid’s face, then dropped to the blood-stained fabric at her temple.
“I’m fine,” Ingrid said quickly. The lie tasted bitter, but it was all she had. She couldn’t afford to fall apart, not here, not in front of them. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize,” Aimee said, cutting her off before the words had fully landed. Her voice was calm but firm. “This wasn’t your fault.”
Ingrid gave a small nod, swallowing hard against the guilt coiled tight in her gut. Maybe it wasn’t her fault but it didn’t matter. The fall would follow her. The whispers. The doubt. The mark against her name.
As Troye helped her to her feet, the murmurs from the cast and crew swelled around her: concerned, questioning, too loud and too close.
And somewhere in the crowd, she’d seen Anna.
Watching. Smiling, maybe. Ingrid hadn’t dared meet her eyes.
She couldn’t. Not with blood on her face and shame clinging to her like sweat.
Every step toward the wings felt like a marathon. Her legs shook beneath her, but she kept her chin high, determined not to let them see the cracks spidering through her.
Thunderous applause echoed from beyond the curtain, but it sounded distant, hollow. A cruel reminder of the triumph this night was supposed to be. Still, she had to go back out. Had to bow. If she didn’t, everyone would know.
She adjusted her feathered headpiece with trembling fingers, pain stabbing through her temple in rhythmic pulses. The wound throbbed with each movement, but she gritted her teeth and pushed through.
The cast gathered center stage. Ingrid stood at the edge, gripping a set piece for balance as her vision swam. Troye caught her eye, steady and silent. His nod was small, but it held her together.
With a deep breath, she stepped onto the stage, the audience's cheers swelling in volume. She forced a smile, her face stiff with exhaustion, and reached for Troye’s hand. Together, they bowed. The lights were blinding, the applause deafening.
When the curtain finally fell, Troye gently guided her offstage.
The moment they pushed through the exit doors, the chill of the December night hit her full force.
Goosebumps rose instantly along her bare arms. The adrenaline that had been holding her together began to drain, leaving her cold and unsteady.
"Ingrid!"
Eden’s voice cut through the low hum of the gathering crowd. She appeared like a flash, rushing forward with worry etched deep into her face. Ingrid blinked, trying to focus through the haze and the pounding in her skull.
Troye explained in hushed tones while Eden took Ingrid’s hand.
"You’re going to the hospital," Eden said firmly.
"No ambulance," Ingrid muttered, louder than she meant to. The thought of flashing lights and a scene outside the theater twisted her stomach.
"Okay. Cab, then. Come on."
Eden slipped her arm around Ingrid’s waist, and Troye supported her other side. Together, they moved toward the curb.
Eden raised a hand, and a yellow cab pulled up almost instantly. They eased Ingrid into the back seat. The moment her body hit the worn leather, she sagged with relief, the exhaustion catching up to her all at once.
"I’ve got her," Eden told Troye as she climbed in beside her. "I’ll keep you updated."
Troye hesitated, his brow furrowed. Then he leaned down, bracing one hand against the open door.
"You were incredible," Troye said softly. "Absolutely stunning. Don’t let this take away from that."
Ingrid managed a weak smile, squeezing his hand once before the door closed.
Eden rattled off the hospital’s address, slipping the driver a twenty with a firm, "Step on it."
As the cab eased into the slow crawl of evening traffic, Ingrid let her head fall against the cool window. Every part of her body protested. Her joints throbbed, her muscles trembled, but it was the hollow ache in her chest that hurt the most.
Outside, the city passed in fractured pieces, a blur of headlights, flickering neon, and faceless pedestrians.
The lights smeared across the glass like a painting ruined by rain.
And then, all at once, it hit her. The adrenaline was gone, stripped away by the silence. What remained was raw and exposed.
Her chest tightened. She tried to hold it in, to breathe through it. But the tears came anyway, hot and fast. They slid down her cheeks before she could stop them, each one stinging more than the last.
Eden noticed immediately. Her expression softened as she reached over, lacing her fingers with Ingrid’s and giving her hand a gentle squeeze.
"Where is he?" Ingrid whispered. Her voice trembled, thin and fragile.
"I don’t know," she said gently, though her jaw tensed around the words. "I’m so sorry."
She gave Ingrid’s hand another reassuring squeeze but the flicker of uncertainty in her eyes said everything. She didn’t know how to fix this.
Ingrid’s breath caught. A quiet sob slipped from her lips, so small it barely made a sound, but it shook her all the same. The weight of the night settled over her like wet cement. The fall. The searing pain. The applause that felt hollow. The empty space in the audience where he should have been.
Her thoughts spiraled faster. One moment. One mistake. And suddenly everything she had worked for, everything she had believed in, felt like it was slipping out of reach. Her dream had cracked open, and she didn’t know how to piece it back together.
Hours later, the sterile white walls of the hospital offered no comfort. The brain scan came back normal. It didn’t make her feel better. It didn’t undo the fall. It didn’t erase the humiliation.
She didn’t even need stitches. Just a mild concussion. The words hit her slowly, each syllable dull and heavy. She wouldn't be performing for the remainder of the shows.
Ingrid tried to argue, her voice rising before it cracked. She wasn’t ready to give this up. Not like this. But the doctor stood firm. When Aimee arrived and heard the news, her expression faltered. Her protest died quickly, softened by worry. She agreed with the doctor, reluctantly.
She couldn’t even redeem herself, and that shattered something inside Ingrid more than the fall ever could. It was over. Just like that. All she could do was nod, the fight draining from her limbs. The silence in the room thickened, pressing down on her as her spirit crumbled under it.
The semester was done and so was Swan Lake.
Her body was still in the hospital bed, but her mind had already gone ahead to the dreams she had planned, now flickering like dying embers.
The Paris intensive was next week. The intensive she had longed for, trained for.
The thought of it made her stomach turn.
What would they see when she arrived? A dancer who had fallen? Someone who wasn’t good enough?
Sylvia stopped by with her dance bag and phone. She stayed for a while, trying to say something comforting, but Ingrid couldn’t bear it. The words. The look in her eyes. The gentle pity in her voice.
"I’m fine," Ingrid lied, her voice brittle and breaking. It cracked down the middle, but she forced a smile anyway. Sylvia saw right through it. She didn’t call her on it, just gave her a quiet look and let the lie stand as she left.
All Ingrid wanted was silence. To be alone with her thoughts, to grieve without an audience.
But Eden didn’t leave. She sat quietly by Ingrid’s side. She didn’t try to fix it. And Ingrid, had nothing left to give, didn’t fight it.
The cab ride home blurred past in silence. By the time they reached her building, Ingrid's body felt impossibly heavy, like her bones had turned to stone. The stairwell loomed ahead, steep and endless. Every step pulled at her, demanded more than she had left. Her legs burned. Her head throbbed.
When they finally turned the last corner in the hallway, she stopped cold.
There was a man slumped against her door. Shoulders hunched, head in his hands, body curled in on itself like he was trying to disappear into the floor.
At the sound of footsteps, he looked up. Slowly. Like every movement hurt. His face was pale, his eyes red-rimmed and glassy. He grabbed the doorknob to steady himself as he rose, breath coming in ragged, uneven pulls.
Ingrid’s heart slammed once against her ribs then went perfectly still.
"Beck?" Her voice cracked, disbelief slicing through the haze of exhaustion. His name tasted strange on her tongue, half hope, half heartbreak. Relief surged up before she could stop it, bubbling in her chest but it tangled instantly with confusion, with fury, with a thousand things she didn’t have the strength to name.
It all collided inside her, jagged and overwhelming, stealing the air from her lungs.
"Baby," he murmured.
The word, once soft and sweet, now landed with a thud. It slurred off his tongue, thick with something sour, soaked in regret and the unmistakable edge of alcohol. His bloodshot eyes met hers, rimmed red and glassy, then drifted to her Swan costume.
"I’m so sorry I missed it."
Her stomach dropped, the bottom falling out from under her. The flicker of relief that had ignited for just a second vanished in a flash of white-hot rage. She took in the sag of his shoulders. Disheveled. Swaying. Reeking of booze.
"Are you drunk?" she asked, her voice sharp now. Her voice rose despite the exhaustion pulling at every fiber of her being. Despite the pounding in her head and the bandage pressing tight against her temple. Despite how much she had wanted him there.