Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 76381 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 382(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76381 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 382(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
She looked dressed for the latter, wearing fewer layers than usual.
“You ready, cariño?” Coach asked, coming in from outside, shrugging out of his jacket.
“Ready for what?” I asked, freezing.
She didn’t hang out directly with any of the guys. Sure, she was sometimes in the kitchen when Detroit was cooking, or sitting in the living room reading a book when Sway, Colter, Rook, or Crow were also hanging out, but she didn’t make plans, one on one, with any of them.
But, fuck, I was supposed to be happy about that development, wasn’t I? Not something that felt suspiciously like jealousy.
“Yoga and meditation,” Coach supplied for her as she shuffled her feet guiltily, like she felt weird about not telling me herself.
“Dr. Swift said they are good practices to take up,” Vienna said as Coach discreetly moved away to give us some privacy.
Dr. Swift had all sorts of techniques she’d taught Vienna to help her in moments when she was stressing out. She especially had to use them when she woke up panicked, likely from nightmares that were actually memories. She would sit there, deep breathing and tapping each of her fingers to her thumbs five times each, then four, three, two, one. Usually, by the time she was done, she was relatively calm again.
There was another one she did that involved tapping different spots on her face, collarbone, under arm, and wrists. EFT, I think she called it.
I didn’t know shit about it, but I knew it helped her.
So if the doctor was telling her that yoga and meditation would too, who the fuck was I to feel weird about it?
“Meditation for, you know, obvious reasons,” Vienna said. “And yoga as a… a way to reconnect with my body. She said the self-defense was good for that too, but that this might… have more to offer.”
“That makes sense,” I agreed, watching as Coach spread out two yoga mats in the hallway, like he knew she wouldn’t want to be fully alone with him. “Go easy on her,” I called to Coach. “She’s still building muscle back,” I added.
“Gentle yoga is the name of the game today,” Coach agreed as Vienna moved over toward the mats.
Not wanting to seem like I was intruding, I moved into the kitchen, quietly unloading the dishwasher, so I could be nearby for her, but not bothering them.
I could hear the low, soothing sounds of Coach’s voice as he coaxed her into different poses, reminding her to breathe and fix her posture.
Everything seemed to be going well.
Finished with the dishes, I silently made my way back to the living room, finding them equally as quiet as they both moved to lay flat on the mat, legs slightly parted, arms at their sides, palms out.
“Deep breath in,” Coach instructed. “Now let it all out.”
I imagined it was the releasing phrase that got that reaction out of her it did, a loud sniffle escaping her, making me tense as I looked over to find her eyes squeezed closed, but tears slipping out below her lashes.
Nonplussed, though, Coach held up a hand to me when every instinct told me to rush toward her, that she needed me.
“That’s it,” he said in that same soothing voice. “Let it out. Feel where it is all stuck, and breathe into it, release it.”
Vienna cried quietly as Coach kept talking her through whatever release ritual he was doing until, eventually, she seemed to purge all the tears she had at the ready.
“Now let’s shift up into a cross-legged position,” Coach instructed, “hands on knees, palms up, back straight, and eyes closed,” he told her.
Vienna moved to do just that, then deep breathed while Coach talked her through some sort of guided meditation that involved a long walk on the beach before sinking into the water, and then inviting the wounded version of her to join her, then hand over her pain, and let the waves take it and float it away to where it could never hurt her again.
It ended with some deep breathing.
And when her eyes opened, tears were falling lazily down her cheeks again, but there was a slight smile on her lips as she looked over at Coach.
“Thank you,” she said.
And, suddenly, I felt like the biggest dick for being jealous for even a second. Because her doctor and Coach had clearly been correct. She’d gotten a lot out of that.
“We can practice anytime you want,” Coach told her as they both stood from their mats. “And you can do that meditation anytime you need to by yourself,” he added, bending to roll up the mats.
Once alone, Vienna turned to me, giving me a sweet smile, the kind she was a lot more ready with these days. “I have a question.”
“I might have the answer.”
“Well, I’ve been looking around online, and I found that there’s a bookstore just, like, half an hour away. I was wondering if—“