Page 23 of Scarred

“Since I was two.”

“Are you any good?” I ask and quickly regret my question as his eyes meet mine. Heat flashes across those greens, and a playful smirk appears on his handsome face, making my stomach do a double flip as the air shifts between us.

“I’m the best,” he says in a low voice that has my insides clutching with an unspoken desire. His eyes hold mine, and you can almost hear the energy around us crackle and hiss, ready and waiting for the moment to ignite us both.

He finally pulls away, breaking the connection, and I slowly let a breath out before painfully trying to let some oxygen in.

“I’m going to guide you through some breaths,” I finally say, finding my voice and needing to remember I’m here to do a job. The last thing I want is him telling his coach I suck at my job, and it getting back to my mom. These extra yoga sessions help me put money back into my dance studio, and I need a good review from him in case his coach has other players who need help.

I don’t know anything about hockey. I mean, I know the Bolts are a big deal in Bayside, but I have no clue how many local teams are in the area. It’s actually cute to think of him in some dad league having a hobby he enjoys.

I smile at the thought as I get back into teacher mode.

“I’m going to have you lie down, so you’re more comfortable.”

He eyes me warily, but does as I ask. Grabbing a bolster, I slide it under his knees to release pressure on his lower back and hips, instructing him to bring the soles of his feet together, allowing his knees to fall open at the sides, opening him up where he is tight.

“Does that feel okay?”

“Yeah, it’s fine,” he grits out, his jaw clenched and turned to stone.

“Good,” I smile. “Now close your eyes for me and try to relax.”

“Easier said than done,” he mutters, as his eyes slowly close.

“Just trust me,” I say, softly.

His body tenses slightly, and I can tell he’s hanging on tight to that control.

“I want you to breathe deep for me through your nose and exhale through your mouth.”

I watch his body rise and fall with each breath, studying his subtle body movements. Even as his body settles, there’s still tension threaded through him. His fingers twitch at his sides like he’s fighting the instinct to pull himself back together—his jaw tight and determined.

He doesn’t know how to let go.

Or doesn’t trust himself enough if he does.

“Slower,” I instruct, placing my hand on his lower abdomen. The sudden contact of his skin sends tiny jolts of electricity through my body as heat rushes up my arm. I almost pull away from the extreme intensity of it all, but I remind myself I have a job to do.

He flinches beneath my palm, and I don’t know if it’s from me or everything he’s trying so hard not to feel. His skin is warm beneath my fingers, but slowly starts to relax into my touch.

“Breathe deeper this time and slowly release, filling my palm as you exhale,” I quietly murmur, feeling his body let go more, but still not completely. “Clear your mind, and just focus on the sound of your breathing. With each inhale, you are breathing life back into your body, and with each exhale, you are letting go of anything that no longer serves you.”

My voice is calm and soothing as I feel him sink deeper into relaxation. I notice his shoulders drop slightly and the lines on his face soften, letting himself go just a little bit more.

“Good,” I encourage softly. “Just like that.” I feel his stomach expand more as I watch the rise and fall of his chest. My eyes drift to his tattoo, and it’s then that I notice the faint glow of a small star seeping through the jagged crack between the wings.

“A star.” The whisper comes out before I can stop it.

My hand raises by my side and hovers over the intricate drawing, tracing the blurred lines seared into his skin of pain and destruction. It’s so beautifully haunting, pulling me into its sadness.

My throat tightens, and I sense his eyes on me before I shift my gaze to meet his. The green depths of the ocean are focused on me, and my throat constricts in a tight vise as I struggle to make sense of it all.

“Not for who I lost,” he says quietly.

My eyes shift back to the star before lifting to meet his gaze again.

“It’s for who I didn’t.”