Chapter 64 Self-Sabotage in Slow Motion
SELF-SABOTAGE IN SLOW MOTION
Holly
“I’ve been left before. This time I just... beat him to it.”
The hotel room felt smaller when they came back, as though the air had thickened into something difficult to breathe through.
Copenhagen still glittered outside the window, the canal lights trembling on dark water like scattered stars.
But it all felt distant now, like it belonged to another version of them.
The version that had existed that morning, stealing croissants and laughing into coffee foam like idiots who didn’t know pain could sprint faster than joy.
Holly limped in first, her ankle throbbing with every step, but the real ache wasn’t there. It was in her chest, deep behind her sternum, where the fear had lodged in her heart like shrapnel.
Nate didn’t speak. He didn’t ask why she ran or plead his case.
He just moved through the room with a quiet devastation, gathering their things with care.
The same care he’d given her as he’d laced up those rental skates.
When he’d carried her off stage, and pressed a kiss to her temple in the ambulance like it was a vow.
It should have made her feel safe. It did, which was the problem.
Because safe wasn’t supposed to feel like standing on the edge of a cliff with the wind at your back, making you feel like you needed to jump.
Holly watched him zip up bags and noticed his hands shaking.
The sight made her want to cry so badly that she had to press a hand to her chest to physically hold back a sob.
He was trying so hard not to break in front of her. Like if he held himself together, maybe she’d stop bleeding too. Like he could out-stubborn their inevitable ending with sheer will and his perfect jawline. The audacity of that man to still look boyfriend-shaped during an emotional collapse.
Her throat burned with the words she didn’t say.
I didn’t leave because I don’t want you.
I left because I want you too much. It was pathetic, honestly.
She could take physical pain like a champ.
Dance through tendonitis, heartbreak, and public humiliation.
Could survive cancer bills, career pressure and the boundless feeling of being seconds from losing everything.
But this? This was a different kind of pain.
This was the type that looked you in the eyes and whispered, you could have everything you’ve ever wanted…
and then dared you to want it more than you already did.
It melted into silence and the soft sounds of packing.
And there, on the edge of it all, Holly tried not to notice Nate glancing at her like he wanted permission to hold her but didn’t know how to ask.
At the airport, he stayed close enough to support her but didn’t touch her unless she leaned in first. He bought her water.
He kept her crutches from sliding. Nate handled the tickets.
He kept making sure she was okay in that maddening, gentle way that made her want to sob directly onto his chest like an overwhelmed baby animal.
Every time he looked at her, there was a question in his eyes.
Not why did you do this, but are you still mine in any way at all?
And Holly, coward that she was, couldn’t answer it. Emotional ghosting, but make it co-dependent.
On the plane she pretended to sleep, because pretending was the only skill she had left that didn’t hurt.
She tucked the scarf tighter around her neck like armor, the wool smelling faintly of him, and pressed her face toward the window.
Her lashes stayed still. Her breathing stayed even.
She became a statue of self-control, a woman who looked fine on the outside while everything inside her screamed.
She could feel him beside her anyway.
Not his hand, not his warmth. His presence.
The weight of him next to her, the space he took up in the world, and the ache of knowing he wanted to fill the space between them and didn’t know if he was allowed.
She felt him shift once, quietly, like he was restless.
Felt him glance at her, then away, like looking at her was both comfort and torture.
At one point the turbulence jolted the cabin and her ankle twinged so sharply her breath almost hitched.
She felt him move instantly, subtly, his arm hovering as if ready to catch her even in midair, even in silence, even when she’d done everything in her power to convince him she didn’t deserve it.
She didn’t open her eyes. Because if she did, she might reach for him.
And if she reached for him, she’d have to admit the truth.
That she loved him. That she’d loved him in pieces at first, taking in his chaos, his humor, his steadiness under her sharp edges.
And then the rest of it had come in a rush, like falling off a roof.
She’d started to believe a future could exist where she didn’t always lose the people she trusted.
She’d started to want him for more than stolen nights and stage lights.
The mornings. The messy, unsexy reality.
Until Nate’s mother had taken one look at her and said that’s not for you. Holly had clawed her way through every room she’d ever been underestimated in. She’d survived ballroom politics, and men like Lars, and cancer phone calls, and pain. Only to be undone by one simple, poisonous suggestion.
You don’t belong here, and you never will.
She hated herself for believing it, but fear didn’t care about pride. Fear cared about survival, and she’d trained her survival instincts on abandonment patterns since she was young. Don’t want too much. Don’t hope too hard. Don’t give people the power to break you when you’re not watching.
So she stayed still. She stayed silent. And beside her, Nate did too.
He didn’t call her out or touch her. He sat there in quiet suffering, letting her pretend her heart wasn’t beating itself bloody beneath her ribs.
Letting her run even while he stayed. As though he understood the shape of her panic more than she did.
Like he knew love wasn’t always brave. Sometimes it was just patient.
When they finally landed in LA, the world didn’t care that something sacred had fractured.
The airport was loud and fluorescent. Cars honked. The sky was the same smug blue it always was, like nothing painful ever happened here. Production emails flooded their phones before they’d even reached baggage claim.
“So glad you’re back!”
“Can’t wait to see you in rehearsal!”
“Fans are obsessed with #hate2hot!”
Like love was still a product and pain was just content. Somewhere a producer was probably pitching their heartbreak as a mid-season arc.
Nate carried their carry-on bags while Holly hobbled along on her crutches.
They walked side by side with matching bruises and a silence that felt heavier than anything either of them had ever lifted.
At the baggage claim, their hands brushed before they yanked them back.
They got into the Uber, and their eyes met but then slipped away.
Every almost-moment was a reminder of the terrifying possibility of real love they’d had in Copenhagen, and how quickly Holly had ripped it out of her chest because she’d been too afraid to keep it.
Sometimes Holly caught Nate watching her when he thought she couldn’t see. Not angry. Not accusing. Devastated in a quiet way that made her stomach twist. Like he was already mourning her, even while she stood right next to him.
The part that made her want to scream into a pillow, punch a wall, and sob until her lungs gave out was the absolute certainty sitting in her chest like a stone.
He loves me. Truly. Recklessly. Completely. And I love him too.
But love didn’t stop people from leaving. Love didn’t protect you from loss. Love didn’t guarantee the floor wouldn’t disappear beneath your feet. So Holly let the silence grow between them until it filled the room.
Because silence, at least, couldn’t abandon her.
@GateGossipon TikTok
Spotted at LAX: That hockey guy from Take the Floor and his dance partner walking next to each other like divorced parents at Disney. No eye contact. No touching. Just vibes and emotional devastation.
#hate2hot #didtheybreakup #someoneholdme
@ChaChaChaos on X:
If Holly and Nate break up mid-season I will sue the concept of love.
Reddit: r/TaketheFloor
Thread: Anyone else see the LAX photos???
u/SequinsAndSabotage:
They didn’t touch ONCE. Not even a hand on the back. Not even a polite elbow. This is WORSE than fighting.
u/rumba_trauma (reply):
The emotional support eye contact has LEFT THE BUILDING
u/ballroomburner (reply):
This is the “we said nothing on the plane” walk. I know it. I’ve lived it.