Chapter Sixteen
Braden
Tuesdays at the stadium were my favorite.
Most of the other players took full advantage of our one day off, spending time with their families or resting at home.
But a few of us used the quiet, empty stadium to get in extra work.
We hit the gym, watched film, ran drills — or, like me, punished ourselves for our performance the week before and did whatever we had to do to get out of the funk.
Presently, I was tucked in the small studio at the back of our team gym, sitting on a mat in the middle of the room with the lights off.
My eyes were closed, my breathing long and slow, hands resting easily on my knees as I tried to clear my mind.
There was a reason they called yoga and meditation a practice. It didn’t matter that I’d turned to these forms of stillness as a young adult, when my world stopped spinning the way I’d come to expect and I had to find a way to stay present when all I wanted was to disappear.
Years and years, I showed up on this mat. I moved through sun salutations. I breathed through flows. I stretched and reached and pushed. And, like right now, I sat. I sat in silence and breathed and tried to let my thoughts drift away like clouds in the sky.
Sometimes it was easy. Sometimes it was hard. But one thing remained constant — it was always helpful.
My sanctuary of silence was briefly interrupted by the opening of the door.
It was quiet, just a little whoosh of cold air from the gym seeping in before the door shut again.
I did my best to ignore it. Someone else was here to use the space and that was fine.
Part of meditation was grounding yourself even in a world full of distractions, staying present when everything around you tried to tempt you otherwise.
Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.
I focused on my breaths as the sound of a mat unrolling right in front of me drifted through the peace. Then, there was a rustling like someone was taking off their shoes, and the warm presence of a body no more than a few feet from mine.
I resisted letting out an annoyed huff, but did creak my eyes open, ready to ask whoever it was to give me a little space.
Any and all words died in my throat at the sight of Emily staring back at me.
God, being there with her in that dark, intimate space cracked something open in me.
She was dressed down in a way I’d never seen before, an oversized sweatshirt swallowing her frame, the sleeves pushed up just enough to reveal her wrists and the ink there, matching sweats slung low on her hips like she hadn’t thought twice about what she put on this morning.
Her hair was pulled back, her curls piled into a loose puff like she’d done it in thirty seconds and didn’t care who saw — except she’d taken the time to lay her edges, those soft swoops framing her face.
It was like even on her most casual day she couldn’t help but be art.
She looked cozy and warm. Soft, yet dangerous.
Because it was a different kind of beautiful than I was used to from her — not the glittering, high-impact version under stadium lights, not the sharp, untouchable kind she wore like armor. This was stripped down. Real. The kind of look that made a man forget himself.
The kind that made me want to reach for her.
My spine straightened without permission, every ounce of calm I’d fought for slipping through my fingers like sand.
Yeah.
I was fucked.
“Hey, Boss.”
I shook my head, fighting the smile threatening to break on my lips. “Hey, Trouble.”
She waved her hand over my mat. “Please tell me there’s more to what’s happening here than you just sitting in a dark room all alone, which is pretty bleak.”
“What are you doing here?”
“Coming to save you from your sulk, obviously.”
I frowned. “I’m not sulking.”
“So you’re just hanging out in a dark room by yourself because you’re full of joy?”
“I’m meditating.”
“Wow. This is bleaker than I thought.”
I barked out an unbidden laugh. “Damn it, woman, I’m trying to concentrate.”
“Oh, so I’m woman now?” She tongued her cheek and curled a finger over her ear like she was brushing hair back. “Kind of hot, actually. Say it again. More growl this time.”
“This is serious.”
She huffed. “Fine, Mr. Serious. Have it your way.” She folded her legs to mirror mine, hands delicately draping over her knees as she straightened her spine. “Teach me.”
“Teach you what?”
“How to sulk — er, I mean, meditate.”
“It’s kind of a solo thing.”
“Oh, stop trying so damn hard to get rid of me for once. It’s quiet. We’re practically alone and no one cares if we’re in here meditating, so shut up and tell me what to do.”
I opened my mouth to point out how that statement contradicted itself, but when she lifted a brow in warning, I found myself laughing instead.
Damn her for being so beautiful, so persistent, so fucking cute.
“I don’t think you’re going to like it,” I warned.
“Try me.”
“You asked for it.”
“Not yet, but probably by the end of the day.”
She winked, wetting her lips until I caught on to her insinuation.
I flattened my lips, but chose not to open that door even in a joking manner. We were already alone in a small, dark room — I didn’t need to flirt with the line we were already dangerously close to crossing.
“All right. You want to learn? First rule — you actually have to be quiet.”
She zipped her lips dramatically, then pressed her palms together like she was about to pray.
“Second,” I continued, settling back into position, “you don’t have to do anything fancy. Just sit. Spine straight, shoulders relaxed. Hands wherever they’re comfortable.”
She adjusted, rolling her shoulders back and lifting her chin just slightly. For once, she didn’t crack a joke.
“Close your eyes,” I said.
She blinked one eye shut, then the other, a smile on her lips like we were playing a game.
“Now just breathe,” I went on, keeping my voice low and even. “In through your nose, out through your mouth. Slow. Controlled. Don’t try to force anything. Just… notice it.”
Silence stretched between us, soft and fragile.
I could hear her inhale — a little uneven at first — then exhale, longer this time.
“Inhale,” I murmured.
She followed.
“Exhale.”
A few beats passed. Maybe thirty seconds.
And then —
“It’s not working.”
My eyes opened to find her squinting at me, already halfway out of position.
I huffed a quiet laugh. “You’ve been doing it for five seconds.”
“It’s been at least a minute.”
“It hasn’t.”
“Well, it felt like an hour,” she muttered.
“Hard to be quiet and still when you’re so used to movement distracting you from the present moment, isn’t it?”
Her eyes widened, a softness washing over her. “Damn. You don’t have to yell.”
I chuckled. “Let’s try again.”
She groaned but got back into position, crossing her legs again and dropping her hands to her knees. “If I fall asleep, I’m blaming you.”
“You won’t fall asleep.”
“How do you know?”
“Because your brain doesn’t seem capable of being quiet for that long.”
Her eyes snapped open. “Rude.”
“Accurate.”
She narrowed her gaze at me, but after a second, she sighed and closed her eyes again.
“Okay,” I said, softer this time. “Try this. When a thought comes up — because it will — don’t fight it. Just imagine placing it on a log floating down a river.”
Her brow furrowed.
“Just… picture it,” I went on. “The thought shows up, you set it down on the log, and you let it drift away. You don’t chase it. You don’t hold onto it. You just… let it go.”
She was quiet for a beat.
“Okay,” she said finally, her voice less sharp. “I can do logs.”
“Good,” I murmured. “Now breathe.”
Inhale.
Exhale.
This time, the silence settled deeper.
Her breaths evened out, syncing slowly with mine. The restless energy she’d carried into the room softened, quieting in increments I could almost feel without touching her.
I let my eyes close again, grounding myself in the rhythm of it.
Inhale.
Exhale.
A thought surfaced — the game, the catch I’d missed, the weight of it pressing in.
I placed it on a log and let it drift.
Another thought came right on its heels. This time, it was about Emily sitting in front of me. The way she’d walked in and unraveled every ounce of calm I had.
I dropped it on a log, letting it go.
My body loosened, my mind following, thoughts coming and going without sticking.
The game came back in flashes, but the more I brought myself back to my breaths, the less power those intrusive thoughts had.
The tension in my chest eased, my shoulders dropping as I sank deeper into the stillness I’d been chasing all morning.
Time blurred.
Minutes stretched and folded in on themselves until they didn’t feel like minutes anymore.
When I finally surfaced again, it was gradual — like rising from deep water.
I drew in a slow breath, then another.
“Okay,” I said gently. “Start to come back. Bring your focus back to your breath. Wiggle your fingers. Your toes.”
I did the same, grounding myself.
“Take your time.”
Emily inhaled softly, and as my eyes opened, I took a stolen moment to watch her sitting there. She moved — fingers flexing, shoulders shifting. I traced the angle of her jaw, the slope of her smooth neck, the curve of her lips.
Fuck, I wanted to kiss her.
“Whenever you’re ready, open your eyes,” I said.
Her eyelids fluttered open.
And her gaze landed on me.
For an extended breath of time, neither of us moved.
The air shifted, the floor melting beneath us, everything in that dark room warm and weighted like something had changed in the space between us while we weren’t looking.
Her lips parted just slightly, her throat working as she swallowed.
“How do you feel?” I asked, my voice quieter than before.
She blinked, like she was still catching up to herself. “I…” Another swallow. “I don’t know. That was—”
She let out a soft breath, shaking her head once.
“It stirred something up.”
I nodded slowly. “Yeah. That happens sometimes.”
Her gaze searched mine, like she didn’t know what to do with this discovery.
“Want to talk about it?” I asked.