Page 32 of Scarred

Needing to keep busy, I pull out two waters and set them next to the two yoga mats I have set out. I barely slept last night as thoughts of seeing him again kept me tossing and turning. He’s gotten under my skin, and I’m not sure what to do about it.

I’m turning on my playlist and adjusting the volume to low when I feel him behind me. The air in the room changes suddenly, my hand instinctively going to my stomach as if I could somehow stop the sudden butterflies that have taken flight.

The soft click of the door being shut has me taking a deep breath and slowly turning around.

Our gazes collide, his jaw hard and set. He’s unreadable as I try to look past his barriers.

“I didn’t think you would be back,” I finally say, breaking the silence.

“Neither did I,” he admits, setting his keys and phone on the table. He removes his shoes and socks, but keeps his t-shirt on this time, choosing black gym shorts over sweats. Instead of removing his hat, he pushes the bill further down, shielding more of his face from me. His hair curls around the edges, giving him a softer, almost boyish look—a complete contrast to the serious man in front of me.

“Why did you?” I ask, wanting to understand him more.

“Frankly, I have no fucking idea,” he answers truthfully. “I’m hoping to get some answers to that today.”

I nod, not wanting to push it further. Gesturing toward the mat, he follows my lead and sits down next to me. “We’ll start it off again with some breathwork before really working deeper this time to open your hip flexors.”

“Sounds good,” he states, lowering onto his back and getting comfortable as I slide the bolster under his knees. His eyes close, allowing me a moment to study him without abashment. I notice he has more stubble today on his face, like he’s gone a couple of days without shaving.

My fingers suddenly itch to rub my palm against it, wanting to know what it feels like against my skin.

His eyes flutter open, and if I didn’t know any better, I would swear he could read my mind. The greens of his eyes deepen in color, a swirl of desire and need aiming directly at me.

“Cayden,” I whisper, swallowing hard and not wanting to break the spell just yet.

“Yes?” His voice is low and restrained, sending a delicious quiver through my body.

“I hope you get some of the answers you came for today.”

“And what if I’m not ready to face them?” He asks so quietly, like he’s afraid to voice it out loud. His chest rises and falls under his shirt, the air thick and heavy between us.

“Then we take it one breath at a time,” I say softly.

Even if it destroys us both.

ELEVEN

CAYDEN

I told myself I was going to keep my distance. Scarlett’s dance class could be controlled—easier to distract myself from what I feel when I’m around her.

Here, though, every movement, every breath…every slight touch of her hand can be felt a thousand times over. I wanted to stay away—even canceled my appointment, but I needed to see her before I left for Chicago’s away game this week. That alone should have me running in the opposite direction, but here I am, tethered to her and unable to fully sever the tie.

She’s invaded my thoughts all weekend. Soft at first, like a whisper in the background, quietly calming the storm inside me. For the first time since Jules’s death, I don’t feel like I’m suffocating.

The last few nights, though, are what have my head in a tailspin. The whispered thoughts have become louder and more intense as I lie in bed at night.

Dreams that were once of violent car crashes and a death I couldn’t escape, no matter how hard I tried, are now replaced with urgent touches and the sound of my name being moaned from soft, pink lips.

Instead of waking up in a cold sweat from the horrors of a nightmare, I wake up in a ferocious need to sate the hunger coursing through my body. My dick straining against my sheets, begging for her touch, ending with me giving in to her image, as I bring myself to a violent release that can no longer be controlled.

Then the guilt comes as if I’m cheating on a ghost, starting the vicious cycle all over again. The constant war raging inside of me, making me doubt every single thing I thought I knew and wanted.

Taking a deep, controlled breath, I force myself to relax and trust that I made the right call showing up today.

She works quietly, adjusting my posture when needed, letting me sit in silence. Her touch is steady and strong, relaxing parts of me I never knew were coiled tight until I feel the unseen chains break free, allowing me to lean more into the pose—more into the light.

“Did you feel that?” She asks softly, her hair brushing against my arm. She’s wearing it in a ponytail again, the brunette waves cascading down her back. The pull to sink my fingers into it is almost unbearable, but I resist the urge.