Page 24 of Scarred

My breath catches, the air in the room shifting in a way I don’t know how to steady.

Scarlett.

She’s his star. The promise of light that keeps him going.

I look back at the ink splayed across his chest and see it for what it truly is.

It’s not about a memory.

Or even grief.

It’s about survival.

She isn’t just his reason to keep going—she’s the only reason he didn’t stop.

And for the first time since he walked into this room, I understand exactly how much he’s been carrying, and it hits me harder than it should.

Somewhere between his breath beneath my hand and the story carved into his skin…he’s becoming more than just another body I’m trying to fix.

“Were you and Scarlett's mom married?” I’m unable to stop myself from asking, feeling a deep need to know more about him. The silence stretches between us before he finally replies.

“Yeah,” he sighs.

An ache settles deep in my chest, weaving its way around my heart.

He lost his wife.

The four words sink in, and suddenly, the impenetrable walls around him all make sense.

“How long has she been gone?” I ask softly.

“Almost three years.” His throat bobs as he swallows hard before his brows draw slightly together like he’s feeling something he doesn’t want to acknowledge.

Not wanting to overwhelm him on his first session, I remove my hand that’s still touching his stomach and reach for the straps.

“I’m going to have you hold a few poses that are good for the hips,” I say, quietly, giving him a moment to come to terms with what he’s feeling. “Our bodies keep score of every emotion we have. When we hold onto grief, anger…guilt, it’s stored deep inside,” I explain, slipping the strap under his lower back to anchor it before securing it around the bottom of his feet, “it can manifest into physical pain in our bodies.” I pull it tight enough to open his hips more before sitting back.

“I never knew yoga was so BDSM.” He touches the straps I have him in, and I almost get a smile.

A blush creeps up my neck, and I avert his gaze.

“You’re blushing,” he observes, feeling his eyes still on me.

“It’s ninety degrees in here, of course, I’m flushed,” I quickly defend myself. I’m not about to admit that his little comment made me want to trade places with him and let him be the one to take control.

“Whatever you say,” he softly laughs.

“The hips and lower back tend to be where we store energy associated with fear and trauma,” I reply, ignoring his comment and focusing on what I’m here for.

“So, my hip pain is because I have some unresolved shit that I haven’t dealt with?” He practically rolls his eyes, clearly not believing me.

“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying. I’ll make a deal with you.” I get his attention immediately as he furrows his brows.

“What kind of deal?”

“You keep an open mind for the next thirty minutes while I work on you, and if you don’t feel any different from when you first came in here, I’ll call your coach personally and tell him I can’t help you. I was told you don’t want to be here anyway, so I’m your out,” I shrug, giving it to him straight.

He rolls his bottom lip between his teeth as he contemplates what I just said.