Chapter 2 #3
A clean-cut man in every way.
One she had never imagined herself falling for—but one who had claimed her heart entirely.
She set her glass down, eyes softening as she reached for his hand. "Shower with me."
Braxton’s lips twitched into a slow smile, his gaze darkening as Sevyn stood, the water cascading down her curves, putting every inch of her body on display.
His tongue flicked over his lips, desire settling into his stare as he watched her step out, moving with confidence, knowing exactly what she was doing to him.
She turned on the shower, letting the water heat up before stepping closer, her fingers working to strip him of his sharp gray suit.
Braxton didn’t resist. Didn’t move.
Just let her undress him, his eyes roaming over her skin like she was a masterpiece he could never get enough of.
"Damn," he murmured, shaking his head slightly. "You’re so fucking beautiful."
Sevyn giggled softly, running her hands down his toned chest. "Thank you, handsome."
She slid his shirt from his shoulders, her fingers trailing his warm skin before working on his belt, then his slacks.
By the time he was down to nothing but his briefs, the bathroom was thick with steam, the scent of his cologne still lingering between them.
With one final move, he shed the last barrier between them before lifting her into his arms, carrying her into the large, marble shower.
The moment the hot water hit their bodies, Braxton didn’t waste a second.
He worshiped her—his hands, his lips, his entire being devoted to unraveling her beneath him.
And Sevyn?
She gave him everything in return.
Her moans echoed off the walls, mixing with the rush of the water as they lost themselves in each other, the tension of the day replaced by nothing but pleasure.
When it was over, they collapsed into bed, tangled in the sheets, wrapped in each other.
No words needed to be spoken.
Sleep pulled them under, and for the first time all day, everything felt right.
???
Sevyn stepped out of her car, the soft crunch of gravel beneath her shoes filling the quiet air. Behind her, her client, Jada followed, her hands shoved into the pockets of her hoodie, shoulders slightly hunched.
"Your car is so nice, Ms. Sevyn," Jada murmured, her eyes flicking over the shiny vehicle with admiration.
Sevyn smiled, about to thank her, but the next words out of Jada’s mouth made her pause.
"I wish I could have this one day… when I’m not crazy."
Her voice was small, uncertain, laced with something heavy.
Sevyn turned toward her, studying the young girl’s face. Without hesitation, she reached out, gently cupping Jada’s chin, tilting her gaze upward.
"You're not crazy, Jada," she said firmly, her voice filled with nothing but truth. "You’ve been through something traumatic, something no one should ever have to experience. And yet, here you are—standing, fighting, healing. That’s not crazy, that’s courage."
Jada exhaled shakily, her lip trembling slightly, but a faint smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.
"And Jada, baby," Sevyn continued, her voice softening, "you’re the strongest person I know."
Jada didn’t say anything, but the way her shoulders loosened, even slightly, was enough .
Sevyn finally pulled back, grabbing the soccer ball from the passenger seat and tossing it between her hands.
"You ready for today’s session?" she asked, her tone light, inviting. Jada hesitated.
Then nodded.
Sevyn knew she was skeptical, but that was okay.
They had only been working together for two weeks—this was just their fourth session. Healing wasn’t instant. It wasn’t linear. It was slow, unsteady, and required patience.
Jada had once lived for soccer. It had been her everything. Her passion. Her escape. But she hadn’t touched a ball since the night her world shattered.
That night still lived inside her.
She and her teammates had been celebrating—celebrating—after a major victory, their energy electric, their laughter spilling into the night air. The future had felt big, limitless. Then came the gunshots. The screams. The sound of bodies hitting the ground.
Jada had watched her best friends bleed out, their bodies riddled with bullets, their faces frozen in shock and pain. If it hadn’t been for a stranger—a random guy who grabbed her, pulled her out before the chaos swallowed her whole—she would’ve been one of them.
But survival came with its own scars.
Even now, she could still hear the desperate gasps for air, see the blood pooling beneath them, feel the guilt wrapping itself around her throat like an iron grip.
Since that night, she never picked up a soccer ball again. It didn’t feel right without them. Didn’t feel real stepping onto a field, knowing they never would again. But today, Sevyn wasn’t here to force her to play.
She was here to try.
To remind her what it felt like to move. To breathe. To live.
They walked toward the large, empty soccer field, the wind blowing gently through the air, lifting Sevyn’s ponytail as she took in the peacefulness of the moment. The park was quiet—just the two of them, the open space, and the ball at Sevyn’s feet.
She started dribbling effortlessly, her movements smooth and controlled, the ball rolling with ease beneath her feet.
Jada watched, her lips tugging into a small smile.
"You played soccer?" she asked, a bit of excitement slipping into her tone as she observed Sevyn’s skillful footwork.
"Yeah, among other sports," Sevyn said with a light chuckle. "My mom put me in everything growing up."
Jada laughed softly, shaking her head as Sevyn passed the ball to her.
The moment the ball reached Jada’s feet, something shifted.
Her body moved instinctively, muscle memory taking over as she maneuvered the ball with ease, her footwork still sharp despite the years of neglect.
Sevyn watched, noting the way Jada’s posture changed—the way her shoulders relaxed, the way her expression softened, the way her love for the game peeked through even if she didn’t realize it yet.
"Alright, let’s start with something simple—just a few passes," Sevyn coached, keeping her voice light and easy. "Don’t overthink it. Just move."
Jada nodded, dribbling the ball back toward Sevyn, her movements growing more fluid with every touch.
For the first time since their sessions started, Jada looked like herself.
Like the girl who used to love this sport.
But then, her expression shifted, her shoulders tensing slightly as she passed the ball back.
"I’ve been feeling heavy this week," she admitted suddenly, her voice quiet but strained. "My chest, my head… everything just feels like too much."
Sevyn caught the ball with her foot, controlling it before she started doing small tricks of her own, keeping her focus on Jada.
"Like you’re carrying a weight that won’t let up?" she asked, careful with her words, knowing how fragile these moments were.
Jada nodded, swallowing hard. "Yeah… it’s like I can’t outrun it."
Her voice wavered slightly, thick with emotion, but she kept her chin up, refusing to let the tears fall.
Sevyn kicked the ball back to her gently.
"You don’t have to outrun it," she said softly. "You just have to keep moving."
Sevyn could feel her emotions.
That was what made her so good at her job—she wasn’t just a therapist, she was an empath.
She could sense people’s pain without them ever having to say a word. Could feel the weight of their burdens as if they were her own.
When she was younger, it had been overwhelming.
Before she even understood what it was, she had moments where she would walk past strangers and suddenly feel an ache in her chest, an invisible sadness clinging to her until she broke down in tears. It wasn’t until she was a teenager that her mother finally sat her down and told her the truth.
She was an empath.
It was a gift, but one she had to learn how to control—how to use, rather than let it consume her. Now, she used that gift every single day in her career.
And right now, standing on that empty soccer field, she felt everything Jada was too afraid to say out loud.
Sevyn let the silence stretch for a moment before speaking, her voice soft, grounding.
"Then let’s not outrun it," she murmured. "Let’s move through it."
Jada’s gaze flickered to hers, something unreadable behind her eyes. But she nodded.
They continued passing the ball, finding an easy rhythm, their movements flowing with silent understanding.
Sevyn motioned for Jada to dribble down the field, and without hesitation—without fear—Jada took off.
And for the first time in a long time, she moved.
“Tell me what happened that night,” Sevyn said, her voice steady yet gentle.
They moved down the field in sync, Jada’s feet controlling the ball as they worked through different drills.
At first, there was no response—only the sound of the ball meeting the grass, the rhythmic tap-tap of each touch.
Then, Jada’s body tensed.
She kept dribbling, her eyes locked on the ball, focused—or trying to be.
“We were just… having fun,” she finally murmured. “Dancing, drinking. It was loud, but we didn’t care.”
Her foot stuttered slightly over the ball, but she recovered, exhaling sharply.
“And then—”
Her breath hitched. “The shots started.”
Sevyn nodded, keeping her movements fluid, keeping her voice calm.
“Good. Keep going. Breathe with every touch.”
Jada obeyed, exhaling deeply as she pushed the ball forward with more force, her body moving, but her mind slipping into the past.
“I hit the ground so fast, I couldn’t even think. But I saw them… my friends.” Her voice cracked, but she didn’t stop moving. “They were right there, and I couldn’t do anything. I just froze.”
Tears streamed down her face now, but she didn’t wipe them away. Sevyn motioned toward the goal, her nod firm yet encouraging. “Set up for a shot,” she said, her voice steady, guiding. “Let that weight out through the ball.”