Free

Chapter 35

THIRTY-FIVE

Charlie

I roll up my yoga mat, the smooth fabric cool against my fingertips. The scent of lavender lingers in the air, mingling with the faint salt of the ocean wafting through the open windows. The studio hums with the afterglow of class—a quiet kind of energy, like the ocean after a wave has crashed. Most of the students have already trickled out, their smiles lingering as they said their goodbyes. Only Nick remains, sitting cross-legged on his mat, his gaze steady and fixed on me.

His eyes are the kind of blue that holds secrets—deep, thoughtful, a quiet storm tempered by clarity. I feel the pull of his presence, the awareness that’s been simmering between us since I first walked back into his life. It crackles along my skin, grounding me and electrifying me all at once. Two weeks ago, I woke up in his bed for the first time. That connection between us hasn’t dulled since. It’s only sharpened.

The class has grown, a mix of newbies and seasoned yogis moving together, learning, and stumbling. It’s gratifying to see, like the seeds of something important taking root.

Maybe I’m building something here.

Something real.

Nick is part of that growth too, even if he doesn’t realize it. His progress has been remarkable, transforming from the stiff, guarded man who could barely balance into someone moving with a quiet confidence, a freedom I haven’t seen from him since before the accident. His body remembers who he used to be, and I can’t help but marvel at the ease that’s started to replace the heaviness he once carried.

“I think it’s safe to say you’re no longer a giraffe on ice skates,” I tease, walking toward him with a smile. “You’re looking more and more accomplished with every class.”

Nick chuckles, low and warm, running a hand through his hair. “I’d love to take credit, but let’s be honest, it’s all thanks to the instructor.”

He unfolds himself, standing with a grace that surprises me every time. His presence fills the space, larger than life, yet so much lighter than before. He’s shifting. Healing. And seeing that fills me with a quiet joy that catches me off guard.

I try to brush aside the small echo of Garrett’s words from a week ago, his caution about timing, about whether we’re coming together for the right reasons. Garrett wasn’t wrong to ask those questions, but if he could see Nick now—this version of him, with light in his eyes and strength in his movements—I think even he would see what I see. This, the two of us together, is a good thing.

Maybe the best kind of thing.

Nick reaches for me, his hand warm as it slides into mine, tugging me closer. When he kisses me, it’s not just a kiss—it’s a declaration, an unspoken promise that roots me in this moment. His lips against mine send a warmth curling through my chest, settling into the spaces that used to ache.

When he pulls back, he tucks a stray curl behind my ear, his knuckles grazing my cheek. “Can I ask you a favor?”

“Always,” I reply, leaning into his touch.

He hesitates, his gaze dropping to the floor for just a moment before he looks back up, shy in a way that’s achingly endearing. “I’ve got soccer practice after our coffee date. Any chance you’d come record it for me?”

I tilt my head, intrigued. “Record it? Why?”

He scratches the back of his neck, his lips twitching into a sheepish smile. “I want to see how the girls are reacting, what I might be missing. It’s hard to pick up on everything when you’re in the middle of it. Forest for the trees, you know?”

The request is so Nick—thoughtful, driven, always looking for ways to improve. It’s one of the many things I love about him. “Sure,” I say, grinning. “But only because I want to witness you wrangling a team of pint-sized soccer stars.”

His laughter fills the studio, warm and easy. “You’re in for a treat.”

It’s unseasonably hot, the kind of day where the air clings to your skin, heavy and unrelenting. But from my spot on the bleachers, all I can focus on is Nick. He commands the field with a natural authority, his voice carrying over the hum of the nearby waves. The girls follow his lead, their movements purposeful and sharp, a stark contrast to the chaos I saw a few weeks ago.

He’s pulled them together, not just as players, but as a team. They’re moving with intention now, cheering each other on, playing for something bigger than themselves. It’s beautiful to watch, and it hits me that this isn’t just about soccer for Nick. It’s about connection, about teaching these girls to interact with the world the way someone once taught him.

Nearby, two moms exchange whispers loud enough to reach me.

“He might be the best thing that ever happened to Saturday morning soccer practice,” one mom says, her voice tinged with awe.

“He’s so good with the girls,” her friend replies, a dreamy look crossing her face. “And he’s even better for daydreaming, if you know what I mean.”

I bite back a laugh, lowering Nick’s phone slightly. “You hear that, Nick?” I whisper into the device, knowing full well the recording picked up their chatter. “You’re developing quite the fan club here. And they’re not wrong. You’re good at this. Plus, if only they knew what you were capable of off the field, those daydreams would be off the charts.”

Nick calls for the girls to huddle, his voice steady and clear. The moms fall silent as he speaks, the weight of his words settling over all of us.

“When I first started with you, you couldn’t get through those drills, and now look at you. I told you then, you’re stronger than you think,” he says, his gaze sweeping over the group. “And guess what? You’re still stronger than you think. I see it in each of you. I see talent. Possibility. But strength? Strength comes from digging deep. From pushing through when it’s hard, when you want to quit. It’s not about being perfect, it’s about giving more than you thought you could. And not just for yourself, but for everyone who needs it.”

His voice is rich with conviction, and I feel it in my chest, his words resonating far beyond the girls on the field. He’s not just talking to them—he’s talking to himself. To me. To anyone willing to listen.

“It’s a bright, wild world out there,” he continues, his expression softening. “The more you challenge yourself, the more you’ll get to play in it. And I can’t wait to see what you do next.”

The girls nod, their eyes wide and attentive. Even the moms seem captivated, their chatter replaced with quiet reflection.

I press a hand to my chest, my heart swelling as I watch him. He’s not just healing—he’s growing. And as I sit there, the weight of his words lingering in the air, I know one thing for sure; Nick Hutton isn’t just teaching those girls how to play soccer.

He’s teaching all of us how to live.