Page 133 of Healing Eleanor

He lowers me onto the bench with the same care someone might give to glass about to crack. His hands never leave me until he’s certain I won’t slip.

I open my mouth, desperate to spill the words tearing at my chest. That I’m sorry. Sorry for ruining everything, for breaking apart his production, for failing him when it matters most, for lying, for not being strong enough.

But all that comes out are jagged and uncontrollable sobs, catching on the edge of my throat until I can’t breathe around them.

Nik goes to a vacant locker and pulls out a first-aid kit, then sets it on the vanity behind me. He drags a stool right up to me and sits.

Careful and sure, he lifts my injured leg and rests my foot in his lap. Every small motion sends a flare of white fire up my calf. I bite down hard to keep from crying out.

He begins unlacing my pointe shoe with painstaking gentleness, his eyes fixed on the task as if looking away will make it worse. When the shoe comes off, the back of my foot is a balloon of swelling and the first purples of bruising rise along my calf.

I suck in a sharp, ragged breath.

Nik finally lifts his eyes to mine, his face unreadable. “Can you point your toes?” he asks.

I make an attempt, but a searing, white-hot bolt rips through my leg, forcing my eyes shut. “I can’t,” I croak.

He rests his palm over the swollen area, fingers warm and steady. His features knotted briefly—anger, concern, I can’t tell which—and it hurts me more than the injury does.

He pulls a sterile bandage from the kit and begins to wrap my ankle. The room closes in around us: the rustle of gauze, his breath, the soft hitch of my own sobs. The silence is heavy and full of things neither of us voice.

If I could undo every choice that led here, I would. Watching him here, trying to mend what I’ve broken, feels like watching my heart splinter in slow motion.

Once he finishes wrapping my ankle, he grabs a foam roller and places it beside me on the bench, helping me turn so I can prop my leg. Not once does he look at me.

He stands then, turning away from me, hands clasped behind his head, elbows jutting out. I don’t know if I should speak. Nothing I say can fix this. But staying silent with him feels suffocating. Maybe I need his anger. Maybe if he lashes out, I can finally release some of this guilt. I want him to hate me as much as I hate myself.

“Nik,” I croak, my voice rough and tight.

He shakes his head slowly. “Don’t talk right now.”

Yes. Anger. That’s what I need; his fury to match the storm inside me. “Nik… I’m sorry,” I whisper, each word jagged and uneven.

His hands run down his face, and then he turns to me, eyes blazing. “You’re sorry?” His voice is taut, sharp with frustration.

My breath hitches. “Yes.” I try to swallow, but my throat is dry and raw. “I know I ruined everything for you.” Fresh tears stream down my cheeks. “I’m so sorry I ruined this production for you.”

His nostrils flare, and his gaze sharpens into a glare. “Is that what you think I’m upset about?” He inches closer, his voice a low, venomous whisper. “You think I’m angry because of a performance?”

I nod, uncertain. “Yes?”

A bitter laugh escapes him. “Don’t be so dense, Eleanor. You know damn well that’s not why I’m upset.”

I open my mouth to speak, but no words come. My mind races, certain he’s furious that I failed, that I’m not the dancer he needs. I let him down. I should be fired. Sent away. I can’t bear the thought of being the one to hurt him.

Nik bends slightly, pointing toward the stage. “I just watched you snap your achilles and fall… and you think I’m angry because you can’t dance?” His eyes lock onto mine, piercing and unwavering.

I sit frozen, my breaths coming in uneven gasps. I have no words, so I let him speak.

“I’m angry, Eleanor, because you’ve been lying to me. I’m angry because you didn’t put yourself first, didn’t pull out when I gave you the chance.” He pinches the bridge of his nose, voice taut. “And I’m the angriest of all because I just watched the love of my life collapse on the floor—and she’s more worried about ruining a production than taking care of herself.”

My heart thuds violently in my chest.

He shakes his head, his voice breaking. “I love you, Eleanor.”

My breaths come faster, my pulse hammering in my ears. He… loves me?

“It’s killing me, Eleanor. I love you so much that I can’t sit by and watch you do this to yourself anymore.” Tears glisten in his eyes, unrestrained.