Page 68 of Reputation (Tempt)

“Do you have anxiety about your race?” I asked. When she nodded, I said, “Isn’t that normal to some extent? I mean, I still get nervous about big days on set or premieres, despite having done them countless times.”

“Not for me. Not like this,” she added in a quieter voice, and I sensed it was difficult for her to open up about it. But I was proud of her for trying. For trusting me.

“Why do you think that is?” I asked.

“My last competition didn’t go so well. Granted, it was the first time I’d competed since my injury. But every time I think about stepping back onto the track—” she glanced away “—I start to panic.”

I frowned, hating that she was struggling. Wanting to wipe that scared look from her face. Yet relieved she’d told me.

“I’m sorry you’re dealing with that. I’m sure it makes it very…challenging to compete or even mentally prepare for competition.”

She nodded, her expression so forlorn that I wanted to wrap her up in my arms and comfort her. “You have no idea.”

I wondered if her dad knew. I wondered if he’d even care, or if he’d tell her to suck it up. To push through it. The idea that he might encourage her to ignore what she was feeling made me want to punch him in the face.

But that wasn’t helpful to Emerson. Even though my gut reaction was to protect, right now, she needed comfort. Reassurance.

So I decided to tell her something I’d never admitted to anyone else. “You know, when I was filmingDarkness 340, I had to do this scene in a water tank. In the dark. Fucking terrifying.”

“Yeah?” She lifted her head. “I saw that movie. I remember that scene.”

“Well, I can tell you that my fear was not an act.” I chuckled, leaning back to rest my weight on my hands. Thinking back on it now, I could laugh. But it had been intense.

“I had no idea,” she said. “I mean, you always execute whatever scene you’re in. That’s what I love about your acting—you make everyone believe it’s real, even when the scenario is ridiculous.”

“Thank you.” I wasn’t sure accepting my Academy Award could compare to receiving that compliment from Emerson.

“So how did you get through it?”

“Sheer force of will,” I said. But then I added, “Honestly, I had to take a step back and look at the big picture. Filming had been great. The crew was pumped. I was proud of this movie, and I wasn’t going to let one scene ruin everything.”

“Right, but—” She tucked her hair behind her ear. “Most people didn’t even know that happened. There was time for editing before the film came out. My events are live. There is no editing. No room for error.”

“Is that what scares you most?”

She shook her head. “No.” Then she said in a softer voice, “Failure.”

I nodded. “Oh. I feel you there. I used to make myself crazy, wanting to micromanage every detail of the film. Make sure every scene was perfect.”

“Ahh. It makes sense now why you were micromanaging me,” she teased. She quieted then said, “So, what made you stop? How did you move past it?” She seemed genuinely curious.

“I realized that nothing would ever be perfect.”

“I don’t expect perfection,” she said with a touch of defensiveness to her tone.

“You sure about that?” I asked. “You seem to be putting a lot of pressure on yourself.”

“Yeah,” she scoffed. “And now I’ll have even more eyes on me. Even more people waiting to see me fail.”

Because of me.My heart squeezed.

“Fuck them,” I said. She shook her head. “No, really. All you can expect of yourself is that you do your best.”

“And what if my best isn’t good enough?” she whispered.

“Your best,” I said, “has gotten you this far, hasn’t it?”

“Yeah, but that was before. Now I’m not just competing as Emerson Thorne, an Olympic athlete. I’m also ‘Nate Crawford’s fiancée.’”

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