Page 51 of Carnival Mayhem

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NASH

Flora’s movements are beautiful as she practices her routine on the silks. Her form has improved dramatically over the past weeks, and I can’t help but feel proud of how far she’s come. The winter air in the tent is crisp, but we’ve both worked up enough of a sweat that it doesn’t matter.

“Good, now remember to keep that core tight through the transition,” I call up to her. “You’re dropping your left hip slightly.”

Flora adjusts immediately, demonstrating the perfect body control that first caught our attention. The red silk wraps around her as she executes a perfect spiral descent.

“How’s Colt doing?” she asks, dabbing her face with a towel.

“Stubborn as ever.” I shake my head. “But he finally went to the physio. Should help with that shoulder before the Christmas show.”

I spot Flora as she climbs back up the silk, her movements precise and controlled. We’ve been performing nightly shows, and while Colt won’t admit it, I can see the strain in his shoulder getting worse. The Christmas spectacular is too important to risk injury.

“Let’s work on your release timing,” I suggest, moving to adjust the safety harness. “Remember, this is all about trust. Feel the rhythm in your body.”

Flora nods, her face set in concentration. Her rare combination of strength and grace makes aerial work look effortless.

“We’ll do three runs, then break for lunch,” I tell her, checking her harness one final time. “Colt should be back by then, and we can work on the synchronized elements of your solo for?—”

The tent door flaps open, and Colt strides in, his dark mood evident in the set of his jaw. I know that look. The appointment didn’t go well.

“She wants me to sit out for two weeks,” he growls, throwing his jacket onto a nearby chair. “Two fucking weeks.”

Flora glances between us, concern etching her features.

“What exactly did she say?” I ask.

“Small tear in my rotator cuff. Nothing major, but—” Colt runs a hand through his hair in frustration. “They’re worried about permanent damage if I don’t let it heal.”

Flora approaches him, her small hand resting on his uninjured shoulder. The touch drains some tension from his frame. It’s fascinating how she knows exactly what he needs without words.

I study Colt’s tense posture, calculating the implications. Two weeks of recovery means he’ll miss our season’s biggest show. The Christmas spectacular pulls in the most revenue, and our aerial act is one of the main attractions.

“We can adapt,” I say, keeping my voice steady despite the concern churning in my gut. “Flora’s ready to stand in. We’ll modify the routine.”

Colt’s jaw clenches. “Like hell. I’m not sitting out Christmas.”

“Don’t be stupid,” I snap, harsher than intended. “You think I want to watch you permanently damage yourself?”

Flora’s hand tightens on his shoulder, and I see him flinch slightly. That small reaction tells me everything I need to know about his pain level. He’s been hiding it well, but this isn’t something we can power through.

“The physio said two weeks for a reason,” I continue, softening my tone. “We need you at full strength, not pushing through an injury that could end your career.”

I watch as Flora moves to stand between us, her presence a calming force. Over these past weeks, she’s learned our rhythms well and knows when to step in.

“What if we modified the routine?” she suggests. “Something that showcases your strength without straining the shoulder?”

I shake my head. “Too risky. One wrong move...” I let the sentence hang, remembering too many close calls in this business. “The Christmas show isn’t worth your long-term health.”

The truth weighs on us. Two weeks means restructuring everything we’ve practiced, letting Flora take center stage, and trusting that our bond is strong enough to weather this setback.

Colt’s resistance is visible in every line of his body. When his eyes meet mine, I read his anger. But beneath that, there’s understanding. He knows I’m right.

I study Colt’s tense posture and know exactly what he needs, even if he’s too stubborn to admit it. “Strip down and let us help you relax. Flora and I can work out some of those knots.”

“For fuck’s sake, Nash. I don’t need—” Colt starts to protest, but Flora cuts him off.

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