Chapter 77 And… Action!
AND… ACTION!
Holly
“I’ve performed my whole life. Tonight was unscripted.”
The lights dimmed in a slow, deliberate sweep.
Holly stood in the dark with her hand already resting in Nate’s, the weight of his palm against her own.
She’d deliberately asked for darkness and a single spotlight.
The light pooled around them now, making them look like the last two guests left at an Oscars after-party who’d decided the night wasn’t finished with them yet.
Holly’s gown was raspberry-red, sculpted and sleeveless, covered in a scattering of tiny crimson stones that flashed like embers when she moved.
She felt none of the anxiety that used to creep in at moments like this.
There was no obsessing over judges’ preferences, no background arithmetic calculating what the prize purse could do for hospital invoices.
There was only Nate in his black tails, sharply tailored and unapologetically classic. The polish had been disrupted in the best possible way with a loose bowtie at his collar and the top buttons of his white shirt open. The contrast between refinement and rebellion suited him.
All the bright flashy LED background graphics the production team was so fond of had been tamed into a scene in muted, moody blues.
The iconic Hollywood sign sat high on the crest of Mount Lee, with a smattering of softly twinkling stars scattered across the sky like diamonds.
Holly and Nate stood there calmly, making the moment their own like they’d stepped out of another era only to rewrite it on their own terms.
The husky male vocals of Rewrite the Stars from The Greatest Showman echoed through the silence.
In those seconds, before everything started, Holly took a deep breath and looked up to meet Nate’s impossibly blue gaze, only to find he was already staring at her in wonder.
For one horrifying second she felt her eyes burn with tears as she felt the overwhelm of just how far they’d come.
… and then he grinned at her, making her laugh.
The band had transformed the song. The pop defiance of the original arrangement had been stripped away, reshaped into a slow three-count pulse that wrapped around the dancer in her like velvet.
It was romantic but not cheesy. The melody curved upward in deliberate arcs, delicate and overflowing with promise.
Holly could feel it in her blood that this was going to be the best she’d ever danced in her life.
No pressure. Just her entire legacy resting on three counts.
She felt the strength and stability in his frame, the subtle recalibration of his shoulder allowing her to extend further into her line without straining.
She took a deep breath, and they stepped into closed hold with a confidence that no longer needed to announce itself.
Their first steps met the floor with a swell of applause from the audience.
Holly relaxed into the rhythm and closed her eyes, a gentle, unguarded smile curving her lips.
She surrendered to Nate’s lead without reservation, and unlike rehearsals where her hand had rested neatly above his bicep in the usual disciplined frame, tonight she let instinct take over.
During their next turn she used the momentum to reach down, sweeping her skirt outward like a banner of quiet victory.
The raspberry silk flared in a controlled arc as they traveled across the floor in a clean diagonal flow, the movement expansive but grounded.
They weren’t just moving through choreography any more, they were inhabiting the waltz as if it’d always been waiting for them to grow into it.
When the chorus swelled, she opened from his hold, allowing the frame to widen without breaking the connection.
Holly stayed in the count, connected to him breathing through each transition as though this was as easy as a Sunday stroll.
They cut the long diagonal across the floor, dress flaring, rise and fall measured and confident.
It was cinematic in a way that was earned, and as they entered the final refrain, the orchestra shifted.
The percussion fell away first, the pulse softening into sustained strings and a single line of piano that traced the melody with restrained tenderness.
The tempo decelerated almost imperceptibly, the grand sweep of the arrangement folding inward as if the studio itself had decided to lean in and listen more closely.
The earlier promise of defiance that had carried them across the floor dissolved into something far more intimate.
Nate slowed their rotation, drawing her closer until the space between them narrowed to breath and warmth.
Holly let the rise soften beneath her feet.
Let the fall settle without fear. Their final turn happened almost in place, the world beyond their frame blurring into light and shadow as the piano carried the last bars with reverent restraint.
Holly felt a surge of clarity so clean it startled her.
When the final note stretched into silence, he didn’t pull her into a flourish.
The choreography didn’t demand a dip, asking for trust over spectacle.
Nate’s hand slid slightly lower along her back to anchor them both, and he simply leaned in.
Holly met him halfway, their foreheads touching on the last breath of music.
The applause was so overwhelming it rattled the rafters, but it felt distant compared to the quiet certainty in her heart. The audience was on its feet. The judges were already rising. But for the first time in her career, Holly wasn’t waiting to see if she was enough. She already knew.
Nate
“She didn’t need saving. Just someone who wasn’t going anywhere.”
Nate was barely breathing when the music faded and the applause detonated.
The roar rolled across the ballroom like thunder, rising and rising until it felt less like noise and more like a reckoning.
His chest heaved, Holly’s hand still locked around his as they turned toward the judges’ table, blinking under the lights like they’d just stepped out of a dream and back into the real world.
He blinked, looking into the crowd now the lights were up and he could see further than the moment allowed.
There they were. The Hammerheads, his boys, scattered across the third row like someone had thrown a bag of brawling golden retrievers into formalwear.
Full suits, hair still damp from whatever chaos they’d gotten up to in the greenroom, clapping like idiots with the pride that punched straight through his ribs.
Jaime was on his feet already, of course.
Captain posture, king of smug solidarity, cheering like Nate had just dropped the gloves and scored a hat trick at the same time.
Cash mouthed something that was probably obscene and definitely supportive.
Sully sat on the end of the row like a dad trying to keep his kids in line.
The sudden, ridiculous fact that they’d actually shown up for him meant so much to Nate. Not because it was expected, but because they chose him. Because after everything, he still belonged somewhere.
And then his eyes snagged on Sigrid across the aisle from Sully, hands pressed to her mouth. She wasn’t even pretending to be composed. Her eyes were glassy, her face lit with happiness. Nate’s chest burned in a way he didn’t have words for. And beside her…
Holly’s mom.
Not smiling politely. Watching like a witness.
Her gaze locked straight onto him with that scary-mom precision that could’ve stopped traffic, and Nate’s entire system short-circuited because it felt like she could see everything at once: the boy in the crinkled photo, the man who’d built his life out of punishment, the idiot who’d almost lost the best thing he’d ever touched.
Her expression wasn’t soft. It was… knowing.
Like she’d been measuring him all season and had finally decided he was worth a damn.
Nate? Jesus. he almost choked on it.
The weight of it. The gift. The miracle of getting to stand here, heart in his throat, hand in Holly’s, and have everyone who mattered watching him choose something other than violence. Watching him choose her. Watching him fly without being afraid of the fall.
His eyes snapped back to Holly, and when she met his gaze it steadied him like a hand on the back of his neck. Like she was saying: Breathe. I’ve got you. We’re done, now. We did it.
Then, because Take the Floor never let a moment breathe for long, the host burst onto the stage.
Indie Clarke arrived in a storm of sequins and unstoppable enthusiasm, heels clicking like gunfire and her grin dialed up to weaponized. She slid between them with the energy of a woman who had personally manifested this finale into existence.
“Well,” she gasped dramatically, fanning herself with a cue card, “I hope everyone at home has filed the appropriate paperwork because that was a full-blown event!”
The audience started up again. Nate laughed under his breath, still trying to regulate his heartbeat, while Holly pressed her lips together to stop the smile threatening to take over her entire face.
Indie turned to them with shining eyes. “Holly. Nate. A waltz in the finale is a bold move. Elegant. Romantic. Risky. Judging by the reaction in this room, you may have just committed national emotional terrorism.”
More laughter rippled through the crowd as Nate ran a hand through his damp curls. “We were only aiming for mild devastation.”
“Mission accomplished,” Indie shot back, before pivoting toward the judges. “All right, my glitter-covered council of chaos. Finale vibes. The stakes do not get higher. Chantreuse Devayne, I’m begging you… tell me you’re still capable of speech?”
Chantreuse sat poised like a queen who had just witnessed a coronation. She exhaled slowly, her hand pressed to her chest as though steadying her soul.
“My darlings,” she said, voice velvet and drama. “You trusted the music. You trusted each other. And most importantly…” She leaned forward with a knowing smile. “Tonight, you gave me mastery. Ten.”
The audience lost its mind as Indie squealed. “A ten from Chantreuse in the finale! I feel faint. Someone bring me electrolytes, STAT! Muffy Duncan, please tell me you’re psychologically intact!”
Muffy was already blotting under her eyes with a tissue that had clearly given up halfway through its job.
“I’m absolutely not okay,” she sniffled. “I’m spiritually rearranged. That felt like watching the last scene of a movie where the couple finally gets it together and you ugly-cry into your snacks and pretend to your friends it’s just allergies.”
Holly bit her lip but her grip tightened on his. Nate refused to laugh at a judge before all the scores had been given, so he pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth instead.
“You didn’t oversell it,” Muffy continued. “You let us fall in love with you both all over again. Ten for me, kids. Obviously. I’m not a monster.”
The cheers turned feral. Indie wheeled around, eyes wide. “Two tens in the finale! Stan Mahoney, the nation needs to know if you are about to ruin everything.”
Stan leaned back in his chair, arms folded, expression thoughtful in that terrifying, calm-before-the-verdict way.
“Well,” he said slowly, “I hate finales. Everyone gets sloppy and sentimental.” He glanced at them. “Everyone except you two.”
The room held its breath.
“For me, dance has to be about the dancer feeling the moment and then conveying that emotion to the audience.” He shrugged with a smile working its way onto his cynical-looking face. “Tonight? You made us feel it with you, and I’ve got nothing left to complain about. It’s a ten for me.”
Indie screamed into the mic as the audience went crazy. “A perfect score for Holly and Nate in the season finale of Take the Floor, folks!”
The sound that followed was pure stomping, screaming joy that shook the stage beneath their feet. It was like standing at center ice after a buzzer-beater, when the arena erupts but all you can hear is your own pulse.
Indie beamed at them, voice softer now, warmer. “Holly and Nate, whatever happens tonight, you’ve just given us all the ending we deserved. How are you feeling?
He looked at Holly instead of at Indie or the cameras, watching the way the spotlight caught in her hair, the way her shoulders had finally dropped like she wasn’t carrying the weight of the world alone anymore.
Win or lose, this was the moment he’d wanted.
Where she stood beside him not out of obligation or necessity, but because she wanted to.
And for the first time since the music stopped, Nate squeezed Holly’s hand and let himself smile for real.
“Ready.”
More cheers. More flashes. Somewhere in the back, someone yelled kiss her! and Nate almost laughed. Because no. Not yet.
@BallroomTeaSpill on Instagram:
Holly just closing her eyes and handing herself over to Nate was the most iconic thing I’ve ever seen on TTF!
@HammerheadsNation on Threads:
THE BOYS IN ROW THREE GOING FERAL someone clip Jaime standing like a proud dad IMMEDIATELY.
Puck Drop Weekly:
From Suspension to Standing Ovation: Eriksson’s Redemption Arc Ends in a Perfect Score and a Nation Sobbing. But will the Hammerheads re-sign him?