18. Trust Me
Trust Me
Nikolai
I knew it. I knew it. I knew it.
I don’t care how much proof I have. What I witnessed yesterday afternoon is enough. From the second she tried to convince me she was sick, my gut told me otherwise. She went into that bathroom with a purpose. A self-destructive purpose.
Seeing her like that—on her hands and knees, emptying the contents of her stomach—was heartbreaking. I couldn’t decide which emotion burned stronger: the sorrow that wrapped around my chest, or the hot, sharp anger rising in me.
Because don’t get me wrong… I’m infuriated.
How can someone as kind, resilient, caring, and beautiful as Eleanor not know her worth?
I hate that I’m right.
Rehearsals didn’t feel the same after I sent her home. The dancers were flawless—needing little correction—but I missed watching her. Even when she struggles, there’s something about the way she fights through every step that draws me in. Without her, the room feels… meaningless.
So I ended class two hours early. In hindsight, not the smartest decision, especially with opening night less than a month away.
But truthfully, I wasn’t present. I couldn’t be.
Every time I tried to focus on a pirouette, an arabesque, or a lift, the only image that came back to me was Eleanor kneeling over a toilet, breaking herself apart piece by piece.
A messed up part of me almost wishes I didn’t care. In nearly ten years of coaching, no one has rattled me the way she does. Why her? Why now? Why am I drawn to her of all people? I don’t feel equipped to help her. But I know I’ll try anyway.
By the time I step out of my car, the air is cold and brisk—never good for my hip.
Kasper emailed late last night, insisting I come to his office two hours before practice.
New York in November at six in the morning has a way of chilling you from the inside out, and ever since my injury, I’ve come to loathe the winter.
Inside, I shrug off my heavy coat and hang it on the rack behind the empty reception desk. Even Robin isn’t here yet. The building is unnervingly still, the kind of quiet that presses in on you, almost haunting.
The only time I’ve ever come this early was when Mama needed extra hours working on the costumes for a showcase. So whatever Kasper wants, it has to be important. Maybe he’s upset that I dismissed rehearsal early yesterday. If so, he has every right.
My fingers rap lightly on his office door. A pause. Then a muffled, “Come in.”
“Nikolai, thanks for coming in so early,” Kasper greets from behind his desk. He gestures to the chair across from him. “Please, sit.” He lifts his steaming mug of coffee and takes a slow sip.
I set my bag down by the door and ease into the chair. “No problem. Is everything alright?” I lean back, trying to look at ease, though my muscles tense.
Kasper takes another sip, then sets the mug aside and laces his fingers together.
“You know, when I first hired you after your accident, I had my doubts.” His voice carries a weight of memory, almost fond, as though he’s paging back through old chapters of my life.
“But you proved yourself. More than proved yourself. You’ve become one of the best coaches we’ve had. ”
I say nothing. My arms fold across my chest like a shield. What is he circling toward?
“You and Russell together are a dream team,” Kasper continues.
“Spectacular turnouts, both of you. And I’ve seen growth in you, Nik.
You’re not the man you used to be—the one who showed up to rehearsals drunk or hungover, or the one who resented being stuck coaching. ” He gives a dry, mirthless chuckle.
Confusion knots in my chest. Is this supposed to be encouragement… or some strange preamble to firing me?
He sighs. “So you can imagine my confusion when a group of dancers came to my office yesterday claiming you followed Eleanor into the women’s bathroom.” He arches a brow, silently asking for confirmation.
“I can explain,” I reply, not even bothering to deny it. Hollingford isn’t usually the type of place to fuel gossip. Everyone’s too busy with their own bruises and rehearsals to meddle in others’ lives. But a coach following a dancer into the bathroom? That draws attention.
Kasper leans back, folding his arms behind his head. “I’m hoping you do.”
I exhale slowly. I can’t tell him the truth.
If Kasper knew why Eleanor was in there, she’d be gone, and I didn’t want to think about what a blow like that would do to her.
To me. “She was sick,” I say finally, praying he’ll accept the lie.
It isn’t entirely false. Just not the kind of sick he assumes.
Kasper watches me, waiting, before he realizes I’m not going to add more. “That’s it?”
I dip my chin once. If I reveal more, the lie will unravel.
He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Nik, you can’t just follow dancers into the bathroom. People get sick.”
Crap. Maybe I really am a terrible liar now. Once upon a time, lying was second nature. But ever since… no. My stomach churns with conviction. “I understand. I was just concerned.”
Kasper teeters between reprimand and resignation, a silent battle playing out in his expressions. A cold sweat breaks out on my neck. I put him in this position.
“Nik,” he says at last, his tone low and careful. “I’ve seen how you are around her… and how you drive her home.”
My eyes grow wide, but the look he gives me tells me he’s known for a while.
“So when I hear you practically ran after her into the restroom,” he continues, taking a measured sip of coffee.
“What am I supposed to think?” He sets down the mug.
“The girls think something inappropriate happened.” His gaze sharpens.
“And remind me. Why was Eleanor fired from the Metropolitan?” The raised brow makes it rhetorical.
“You swore you’d take her on no matter the trouble.
No scandals.” His voice drops. “So tell me, Nik… what am I supposed to think?”
It never occurred to me to think about Eleanor and her coach at the Metropolitan. This is… bad.
“You’re supposed to think,” I start, leaning forward in my chair, “that I’m just a concerned coach about a dancer, Kas.” I shake my head, forcing steadiness into my voice. “I was worried—”
Kasper chips in before I can finish, his tone harsher. “You were worried… is that why you ended rehearsals early yesterday, too?”
Air becomes scarce in my lungs. Rock, meet hard place.
“Yesterday was just a bad day, Kasper,” I rush to explain.
For once, it’s the truth. Yesterday was a disaster from start to finish.
“If you’d like, I’ll keep them an extra hour today and Monday.
” I throw the offer out like a lifeline, hoping it will patch the cracks.
Hoping it will cover the fact that my heart is pounding loud enough to drown out the silence between us.
Kasper holds my stare. “I can’t have things like this happen, Nik. Not here, and not this close to opening night.” He rolls a stray pen between his fingers. “You’ve grown so much… don’t go backwards now.” His eyes soften, empathy threading through his gaze.
I grit my teeth, giving a single nod. “It won’t happen again.”
“Good. Keep them for the extra hours. We can’t afford to lose time.
Especially since the girl in question is still struggling to dance Odette and Odile.
Don’t think Russell doesn’t keep me informed.
” The pen taps against the desk in an uneven rhythm, one of his nervous tells.
“I think you should have Paloma practicing more—you know… in case Eleanor can’t perform. ”
The words lodge like glass in my throat. For a heartbeat, I almost open my mouth, almost beg him to give Eleanor the chance she deserves. But I force down the urge, the crack in my chest spreading wider. “Sure thing,” I say instead, even though it feels like betrayal.
“I mean it, Nik.” Kasper’s voice is iron, stripped of the warmth I’m used to.
“You either get Eleanor ready or Paloma will be taking her place as Odette and Odile.” He reaches for the stack of papers on his desk, flipping through until he finds the one he wants.
Eleanor’s contract. He holds it out like proof.
“She’s only contracted as principal for a year.
After spring—if she doesn’t perform—she’ll either be demoted to soloist, or she won’t be here at all.
I took a chance on her… for you, Nik. Because I trust you. ”
A wave of dizziness passes over me as I hand the paper back. His trust feels heavier than chains.
“I don’t want to hear of anything like this happening again,” he says, his eyes pinning me in place. “Or there will be consequences.”
The subtle threat in his tone makes my pulse stutter.
Easygoing Kasper, the one who’s been in my corner since my teenage years, guiding me through mistake after mistake is gone.
For the first time, he isn’t shielding me.
He’s warning me. And it feels like following Eleanor into that bathroom has cost me the last of his patience.
“Now that we got that out of the way,” Kasper says, setting the papers aside. “Russell should be here soon to run through notes of rehearsals.”
I nod, keeping my mouth shut. I don’t like the heaviness in Kasper’s tone; I don’t like that I’ve let him down. I feel like a pearl—made from grit and sand, pressed and polished by years of pressure, only to realize I’m still sealed tight inside the clam. Shiny, maybe. But stuck.
I can barely focus for the rest of the meeting.
Russell and Kasper fill the silence with their notes, while I mostly remain quiet, only chiming in a few times.
My mind keeps wandering back to Eleanor.
How I can help her, how to reach her. While the men talk, I silently pray.
How can I get through to her? How can I show her the same love my Savior showed me? How can I help her see it… believe it?