Chapter 43 Smile Through the Autopsy
SMILE THROUGH THE AUTOPSY
Holly
“The press line is just emotional vampirism with ring lights.”
The press line felt like karma with a spray tan.
Too-bright lights, too-tight smiles, and fifty feet of taped-down electrical cords all promising to zap her and put her out of her misery if she just wished hard enough.
Holly stood dead-center in it like a well-dressed corpse, grinning like her taxes depended on it, while her soul quietly leaked out through her pores.
Behind her, the step-and-repeat background spun its endless logo loop like a capitalist prayer wheel, reminding her that no matter how cooked her feelings were, the show must go on.
Nate stood next to her like the final boss in a romance novel she’d never get to finish.
Black pants and a charcoal shirt, sleeves shoved to his elbows to show off his tattoos as though he’d rail you into next week before apologizing to your mother.
Calm. Controlled. Devastating. And completely unreadable unless, of course, you’d spent the last six weeks learning every movement of his face like a lovesick forensic linguist. Which, unfortunately, she had.
That tic of his jaw? That subtle clench of regret when he narrowed that arctic gaze of his? It wasn’t performance anxiety. That was I pushed her away for her own good and now I’m dying inside energy.
The silence backstage was less awkward tension and more an emotional hostage situation.
It’d stretched long and sharp enough to slit her own confidence clean open.
Nate hadn’t really spoken to her since the drive home from the ice rink.
To be fair, she’d had a full-blown press-induced fight-or-flight moment and chosen freeze, watching him emotionally crumple in real time.
Now they were deep in their little delulu era.
Pretending. Performing. Cosplaying as two people who hadn’t just danced a perfectly executed Tango with all the heat of a tax audit.
The audience and the judges had felt the ghost of what they’d almost had.
And here they were, smiling for cameras while imploding one perfectly timed soundbite at a time.
If this was chemistry, it was the kind you shouldn’t mix without wearing a hazmat suit.
A reporter leaned in. “Stunning performance tonight, guys. The judges said it lacked a bit of spark, though. How do you respond to that?”
Holly smiled. The kind that said polite but dead inside, thanks for asking.
“I think every couple has a different rhythm,” she said smoothly. “Tonight was about precision. Technique. Like Chantreuse said, sometimes you have to strip things back to get to the heart of something.”
She didn’t look at Nate when she said it. Couldn’t. But she felt the way he expanded when he drew a sharp breath in through his nose.
“Holly, I—” he started, low and quiet, voice fraying at the edges like he was finally ready to crack open. Right fucking now, on camera. She turned to him with a flash of warning in her eyes, her face still carefully schooled. But the mic had already whipped to him.
“Nate,” a reporter cut in, “you’ve had a wild ride these last few weeks. Tabloid drama, allegations of fighting backstage, a redemption arc with hockey fans. Do you think this week’s dip in chemistry means your gravy train’s about to hit the station?”
He blinked, the weight of the question pressing down on him as he blanked. Whatever he’d been about to say to Holly vanished.
Holly cleared her throat. “There’s no gravy train. Nate’s worked his ass off to be here, week after week. Early mornings. Late nights. If anything, his commitment and the high level of technique he displayed tonight just proves how big a threat he is.”
She shrugged a shoulder, like it cost her nothing to say, when it literally took everything she could muster. “We’ve both been under a lot of pressure, but we’re proud of what we put out tonight.”
Nate nodded once, eyes flat as he met the reporter’s gaze. But when he looked at her in his next breath, there was a glimmer of gratitude there. But beyond that? Nothing.
They moved on. One camera crew to the next. One more hollow smile. One more empty quote. All Holly could think was how they used to burn this place down. Now it felt like they were just lighting candles for a funeral.
Holly stood center stage under the heat of the lights, spine straight, hands folded so tightly in front of her she was afraid her knuckles might splinter.
The studio sparkled around her with their smiling fellow contestants lined up, judges perched on their thrones like benevolent executioners.
Yet all she could hear was her own pulse.
Nate stood beside her, surrounded by walls she was too scared to climb. She wanted to reach for him, to take his hand. Make the effort. But it was too risky, especially here. If she tried to take his hand and he shrugged her off, there’d be absolutely no way to cover it.
Indie was beaming into the closest camera, voice all forced drama. “It’s time, folks! The judges have given their expert opinions, and the public has been voting. The couple with the lowest combined score tonight will be leaving Take the Floor.”
Holly was ninety-nine percent sure she was about to throw up on live television.
Her hands were clasped together as she prayed silently not to collapse before the results were even announced.
Because she knew. Knew. Their Tango hadn’t been enough.
Not for the judges. Not for the voters. Not when every camera caught the glacial void between them and broadcast it in 4K. They were going home tonight.
Which meant her shot at the prize money was over. She’d have to look her mother in the eye and tell her that the experimental treatment fund just wouldn’t stretch any further. She’d have to find another way. Waitressing. Hell, she’d march her ass down to Crazy Girls if she had to.
Then there was Nate. Once the show ended, so did whatever was bleeding out between them.
He’d go back to Connecticut. Back to his world of hockey bruises and frozen expectations.
And she’d be stuck in LA, holding a thousand unsent texts and a heart that hadn’t figured out how to beat properly since he’d stopped looking at her like she was worth staying for.
Indie’s pause hung like a blade over their necks.
“The results are in,” Indie whispered, eyes already glistening like she was about to deliver a eulogy instead of a promo cliffhanger. “The couple leaving us tonight is… Elena and Josh!”
Gasps. Somewhere offstage, a producer probably fainted. Holly almost hit the floor like a Victorian widow. Her knees gave one serious wobble, and it took everything in her to stay upright while her soul yeeted itself out the back of her spine.
And then—Nate.
His arm was around her in an instant, warm and strong.
Steadying her as though it was his job. She felt his muscles flex, like bracing her was just another reflex in a long line of things he did without thinking because she was his.
One strong hand on her waist, the other curling gently around her elbow, grounding her so fast and so sure it made her dizzy for a whole new reason.
She looked up at him, heart still jackhammering behind her ribs, and a slew of questions battered her brain like reporters in the damn press room.
Why does he still care? Why is he still catching me when I left him standing alone in the cold?
Why does he feel like fucking home when we’re clearly falling apart?
Nate just kept his eyes on the stage, jaw tight, unreadable, holding her steady like it cost him nothing. Unbothered.
When Nick and Cherry were announced as the winners for the week, Holly mustered enough energy for the whole graceful loser with a glossy blowout routine.
But inside she was melting around the invisible weight she hadn’t dared name out loud.
Her mom’s next treatment. Her phone bill so late it might legally qualify as a ghost. The rent that was due last Tuesday.
One more shot with him.
She didn’t know how to fix the heartbreak she’d practically gift-wrapped and handed to him. But she had seven days to earn his trust back. And Holly Martinez had never been scared of a little stage fight.
@burnforballroom on Instagram:
Holly almost fainted when they weren’t eliminated and Nate caught her like a man who’s still 9000% in love but refuses to admit it. This isn’t fake dating, this is HUSBAND BEHAVIOR? and I will not be taking questions.
#hollyandnate #takethefloor #slowburnmeltdown #catchmeifyoucan #grumpyxsunshine #someonehugthem
Strictly Scandal Online:
TTF delivers tense elimination and sparks new fan theories
It was the Tango that launched a thousand think pieces, and this week’s results episode only poured gasoline on the emotional bonfire.
Fan-favorites Holly Martinez and Nate Eriksson survived by the skin of their teeth after a technically precise but emotionally frozen performance.
But the moment Holly nearly collapsed and Nate caught her like muscle memory? Yeah, we saw it too. READ MORE →
DM to Holly’s Instagram account:
user2847puckprincess:
you don’t deserve him
he’s too ELITE for all your messy dancer drama
you’re ruining him with rhinestones and feelings
this is a hockey emergency
#freenate #hollythehack