Chapter Twelve
Briar
I had a new favorite class. More than the sunrise meditation. More than the breathing workshops.
Kids’ yoga.
Those little beasts were hilarious. They came up with questions and chattered on even during quiet moments. They flopped on the floor and tumbled. Wiggles. Goodness, all of them had varying degrees of the wiggles.
And the tiny yoga farts. Okay, some were not tiny at all. And every time, it started a chain of giggles that usually lasted through the class.
There was one kid who took yoga seriously.
Stuck out his tongue while he contorted, grunting, trying to get it right.
Henry was first to class and begged his fathers to buy him a T-shirt and a bag.
This afternoon, we had our first after-school yoga session where he showed off his new yoga mat with a strap.
He made me want a son of my own. Or a daughter.
Foster and I hadn’t talked about it. Not even a hint of it. I didn’t even know if he wanted kids.
“Mr. Briar.” Henry tugged on the hem of my sweatshirt after class.
I crouched down to talk to him. “What’s up, buddy? You did so well today. Great warrior pose.”
He beamed. “My dads were telling me that you have breathing classes. Like for calming down. Are those only for grown-ups?”
It was the first time I’d seen any sign of the wiggles in Henry. His fathers came over and one of them lifted Henry to sit on the counter. Now, he was at all of our eye-levels.
“Henry, are you having some stress at school or home? Do you think breathing would help you manage some of those big feelings?” I asked.
When I started exploring breathing and yoga and meditation, I realized my trouble hadn’t started in college.
Since I was a kid, I’d had difficulty expressing and regulating my emotions.
Feelings weren’t really welcome in my home.
Henry shrugged and, after a quick hug from his dads, he nodded. “Sometimes I feel sad or angry or scared and it hurts in my heart.”
Poor, sweet baby. Education was a wonderful thing but, in my opinion, children needed more teaching about emotions and mental health along with real-life things instead of memorizing facts. But what did I know. I had no kids.
“Would you be comfortable with coming to a grown-up breathing workshop with one of your dads?”
Immediate head shake. Nope.
“Sounds like we need a kids’ breathing workshop, then. Let’s check the calendar.”
While I looked on my tablet at the schedule, his fathers shared a look. “You’re already so busy with classes, Briar.”
I looked up at them. “Breathing workshops are one of my favorite things. And every single person is important. If Henry is having trouble, then some of the other kids are as well. This is what the studio is here for.”
We created the class on the spot. I’d have to do some research about kids and stress management, but it would be worth it. Henry left smiling, booked for a Sunday afternoon kids’ breathing workshop right after the Sunday Scaries meditation for adults.
Clearly, I was working on Sundays now.
Monday had become my new day off, and it worked better now.
What I really needed was to hire someone to handle some of the classes. Maybe I could put an ad up.
Another thing to add to the list.
I was done for the day and texted Foster to see if he was free.
He wasn’t. I decided to pick him up something to eat and bring it over.
The man didn’t eat like he should. Most of the time, he had coffee for breakfast and then waited until he was on the brink of starving before cramming something unhealthy down.
But slowly, I saw the changes he was making. Taking a moment before responding. Sleeping. Kind of.
We hadn’t said the words to each other, but if he was my mate, then I was his. My bear wasn’t mistaken. Still, it would take some work before I could fully accept him into my life.
I stopped by the Dragon’s Breath Smokehouse truck and bought him a huge brisket sandwich on sourdough. Local, of course. And I couldn’t pass up the new shotgun shells. A jalapeno stuffed with brisket and cheese, wrapped in bacon and smoked. I bought a half dozen, some for myself as well.
When I arrived at his apartment, he opened the door, looking better. Not frazzled. Somewhat calm.
Huh. Maybe my methods were really helping.
When we sat down to eat at his round table, he looked defeated. Shoulders slumped.
“What is it?” I asked, digging in. I was starving as well.
“I’m feeling like you are taking care of me. Alphas are supposed to take care of omegas.”
That was kind of an admittance of what we were, but I didn’t want to push.
“There will be a time when I need taking care of, Foster. In the meantime, who cares. We take care of each other. These things…” I almost said matings. “Aren’t ever fifty-fifty. They are give-and-take. And balance. Like everything in life.”
He leaned over and kissed me. “How are you so damned wise?”
I laughed. “Years of fucking up. Making mistakes. Learning from them. I haven’t been wise for very long.”
“Doesn’t seem that way to me, sweet omega.”