I looked around the room at everyone’s somber faces. For once, they weren’t cracking jokes or goofing off. We had a rocky start, but we’d been through a lot together. I was grateful to have them by my side, and I wasn’t going to let them down again.
“However, that’s going to change because I’m committed to Blackcastle, and I’m sure as hell committed to making sure we bring home the trophy at the end of the season.”
Loud cheers greeted my words. I waited until they died down before I continued. “I’ll convince Coach to put me back in the game. When he does, know that I’ll be fighting for all of us on the pitch. This isn’t about me; it’s about the team. And together, we’re going to kick the other teams’ asses.”
Another raucous round of cheers erupted.
“Hear, hear!”
“Fuck Holchester!”
“Blackcastle for the fucking win!” Elliott pounded on the table for emphasis.
“Alright, settle down,” Vincent called like the buzzkill he is, but he was smiling. “We’ll have plenty of time to talk football later. Let’s get down to business.” He gave me a pointed look.
The guys quieted, clearly curious about where this was going.
I paused to collect my thought before speaking again. “As some of you may know, Scarlett and I recently broke up.”
“Yeah, I heard. You and DuBois’s sister.” Stevens clucked his tongue. “Shit luck, man. She was a hot—” He cut off abruptly when Vincent and I both pinned him with dark glares. “Uh, I mean, she seems like a lovely woman. I’m sorry. Please continue.”
I let his impertinence slide—this time.
“As I was saying, Scarlett and I broke up, but I’ve gathered you here because I would like to request your help with the situation.”
The team exchanged puzzled glances.
“I don’t understand,” Samson said. “How can we help?”
“And why do we need to meet in person for it?” Gallagher yawned. “This could’ve been an email.”
“No, it couldn’t,” Vincent said. “You’ll see when Asher explains step number one.”
Gallagher frowned. “Step number one of what?”
I smiled a genuine smile for the first time in two weeks. “Of our latest playbook: Win Scarlett Back.”
CHAPTER 52SCARLETT
“Can I ask you a question?” Emma lingered after class again, her face stamped with nerves. “It’s not about the student showcase. Not exactly.”
“Of course.” I turned off the music and faced her. Some instructors preferred using a live pianist for their lessons, but I liked the freedom to pause and replay without relying on another person to pick up on my cues. “What is it?”
Emma shifted her weight from foot to foot. I waited patiently, my curiosity pricking its ears up at her long silence. She was usually more direct.
“How did you deal with the pressure of performing?” she finally asked, her cheeks reddening. “I mean, knowing that all eyes will be on you and that people will catch any mistake you make onstage. Did it get inside your head? Make you…make you not want the role anymore?”
Sympathy swam in my chest. “Is this about The Nutcracker?”
She hesitated for a moment before she nodded, her expression miserable. “I know it’s a school showcase and not, like, a performance for the king or anything, but it’s the biggest role I’ve had yet. I don’t want to mess it up. I know I can do it, but the closer we get to opening night, the more I’m dreading it. There are all these voices in my head telling me I’m not good enough to do it justice, and I can’t get them out.” Emma’s chin wobbled. “What if they’re still there on opening night and mess up my performance? All my friends and family will be there. I don’t want to make a muck of things.”
The sympathy deepened and mixed with an iota of shame. She sounded so young and uncertain that it cast my previous, deeply buried feelings of envy toward her in an even uglier light.
I’d had my reasons for feeling the way I had, but I was an adult and she was a teenager—an extremely talented one, but a teenager, nonetheless. I’d been in her shoes once, and I understood exactly where she was coming from.
“It wasn’t easy,” I admitted in response to her question. “There were shows where I was so nervous I wanted to throw up backstage. I don’t think that ever truly goes away. Even the greatest dancers get nervous before a big performance sometimes. It’s normal, so don’t feel like you’re not good enough because you have those feelings. In fact, imposter syndrome is often a sign of greatness.”
Emma frowned. “How?”
“It’s proof you’re setting high standards for yourself and that you’re not satisfied with being simply good enough,” I said. “If we think we’re perfect and there’s nothing we can improve on, we’ll never grow. If there’s no growth, we stagnate. And greatness doesn’t come from stagnation; it comes from progress.”
The words were meant for Emma, but saying them aloud struck a chord deep inside me.
I’d lived in a form of stasis since my accident. Asher had shaken it up and forced me outside my comfort zone, but there was still a part of me that resisted it because I didn’t want to grow. The status quo was stagnation, but it was also predictable. Safe. And that part of me was clinging to the spindly branches of a long-dead tree instead of embracing the seeds of a new beginning.
It was a hard truth, and not one I’d expected to confront on an otherwise ordinary Wednesday afternoon. But it was often the ordinary days that surprised us most.
I took a deep breath and pushed my realization to the side for future reflection. Now wasn’t the time to get in my own head. God knew I’d done that enough the past few weeks.
“As for the performance aspect, you can only do your best,” I said in response to the second part of Emma’s question. “I can’t promise that everything will be perfect. No one can guarantee that. But I’ve seen you perform, and I know how hard you work in class. You are one of my best students, and I have full faith that you’ll do the Sugar Plum Fairy justice.”
A tiny smile peeked past her nerves. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” I returned her smile. “If it makes you feel better, I’ve found that even when the mind is anxious, the body remembers. The minute I got onstage, my worries melted away because I let them. I didn’t try to hold on to the fear. I just let go and allowed the muscle memory to take over.”
“That makes sense.” Emma blew out a sigh. She didn’t seem fully convinced, but she looked less anxious than she had at the start of our conversation. “I’ve done it before, but the stakes haven’t been this high, you know?”
