Page 127 of Healing Eleanor

She’s pushing herself too hard, each effort more fragile than the last. In rare bursts of energy, her dancing is passable, but the crashes are inevitable, and when they come, it’s like watching a castle crumble.

I sink into the edge of the empty studio, hands pressed to my face. God, I pray silently, I don’t know what to do. How do I help someone who won’t let themselves be helped?

It isn’t just worry. It’s fear. Fear that opening night will come, and I’ll watch her break, either onstage or off. Fear that my heart will shatter along with hers. Fear that my role as her coach, as someone who cares for her, isn’t enough.

Even in that fear, I cling to the truth I’ve been taught all my life: God has a plan, even when I can’t see it. I pray for guidance, for the wisdom to know when to push and when to hold back.

But I also pray for strength for myself. Because no matter how much faith I have, no matter how much I want to trust in His timing, I can’t stand by and watch her destroy herself without feeling it in my own chest.

The studio is quiet, the silence pressing against me like the weight of the world. I breathe slowly, counting each inhale and exhale. I have to trust Him. I have to trust Eleanor. And I have to pray that somehow, she can find the strength to trust herself too.

Ever since I confessed my feelings for her, everything with Eleanor feels too raw, too exposed. It’s like I have an opened wound I can’t close, and now everything that touches her seems to cut me, too.

The studio door creaks open, and the fluorescent light flickers on.

“Nik?” Kasper’s voice echoes against the empty walls. His gaze sweeps the room until it lands on me near the window. “What are you doing?”

I straighten, trying to mask the storm inside me. “Thinking.”

Kasper arches a brow, stepping farther in. “About Eleanor, I’m guessing?”

I swallow my words along with my rage.

“You wear it on your face, you know,” he continues, his tone sharpening. “Ever since she came here, you’re wound up tighter than the strings on a violin. And lately you look like you’re about to snap.”

I redirect my attention to the window, but Kasper doesn’t let the subject die.

“Tell me something,” he presses, crossing the floor until he’s standing a few feet from me. “Are you coaching her or are you protecting her? Because those are not the same thing. And if you can’t separate your feelings from your judgment, then you’re putting both her and this production at risk.”

A shiver races down my spine.

Kasper’s eyes pin me in place. “Three days before opening, Nik. You can’t afford to be her savior. You need to decide if you’re her coach—or her downfall.”

I get to my feet. “You don’t know a thing.”

Kasper steps closer, his voice low but sharp. “Maybe not. But I do know this—I trusted your judgment when it came to her. I trusted you not to let your infatuation cloud your coaching. And yet…” He waves around the empty studio. “Here we are.”

My arms fold across my chest, holding back the conflict threatening to split me open.

Kasper’s eyes narrow. “When the dancers rehearse today—with Russell and me in the room—she better be worth it, Nik.”

My throat goes dry, and I force myself to nod.

For a moment, he holds my gaze, unflinching, before breaking it to drag the freestanding barres across the floor. The scrape echoes in the tense silence.

Today we’re running the entire variation, tightening the seams, making adjustments where needed. Apprehension gnaws at me. Kasper’s right about one thing—I’m not Eleanor’s savior. And I know how this rehearsal will go: she’ll falter, he’ll see it, and I’ll be left with his ‘I told you so’ ringing in my ears.

But this isn’t about pride or even my job. A fragile girl is standing at the edge of a cliff, and my decisions could tip her either way.

The doors open and dancers trickle in, chatter dying as they see Kasper already arranging the room. Costumes half-draped over their bodies, hair pinned tight, faces focused. Tomorrow, we’ll take the stage and run the variation in full.

Today decides Eleanor’s future.

“Come in, come in,” Kasper says to the dancers. “Don’t mind me.”

They spill into the room, stretching at the barres, finishing bites of breakfast, the air buzzing with energy. Every one of them looks refreshed, ready to dance like failure isn’t an option.

Then Lily and Eleanor walk in.