9. Gwen #2
Bash . Looking like he could kill someone. And also looking hot as hell in black jeans, work boots, and flannel jacket, sherpa collar flipped up to beat the chill.
I ignore the nervous flutter in my chest—and the way my stomach flips like one of those dreams where I’m free-falling—and focus on Clyde. “You’re back.”
He shrugs. “Turns out I like yoga.”
Bash groans and rolls his eyes so dramatically that his head practically follows their motion. I can’t help but wonder what he’s doing here—especially since he can barely look at me.
But me? I beam because I knew yesterday’s stretching would make Clyde feel better. “I’m thrilled to hear that. Maybe we can make a more regular appointment?”
“Sure. I’ll make it for right now.”
Bash glares at Clyde. “Whatever you do, you can’t just drive down the mountain yourself like you did yesterday.
Your legs don’t bend well enough after dialysis to push the pedals.
You know this. I’ll slash the fucking tires on your car if you do that again.
First responders don’t need to deal with the aftermath of your stubborn bullshit. ”
My eyes bounce between them as Clyde scoffs and waves a dismissive hand in his direction. “I’d like to see you try.”
“Are you two related?” I blurt, entertained by the grumpy-man face-off.
“Fuck no,” Bash mutters, but Clyde lets out a high-pitched giggle, like he’s amused by the other man.
“Sometimes it feels like we are, though, doesn’t it, Bash?”
“In the sense that I wish I could get rid of you, but I can’t? Yes. Yes, it does.”
My lips twitch.
“How long will he be? I’ll come pick him up,” Bash says to me, but he directs his gaze to the clock on the wall.
“An hour.”
Bash nods, but his eyes don’t move.
It kills me that he won’t make eye contact. I feel like I’m silently begging him to just look at me. To see the way I look at him. To talk.
God, what I’d give to talk the way we did that night. Honest and open and unexpected.
But I also know there’s now an ocean between us.
Two little numbers.
One man.
And not just any man—his son.
Had I known…
I shake the thought away, not wanting to feel guilty over things I couldn’t have predicted. What’s done is done. We’re both grown-ups. I desperately want to bridge the gap, but based on the way Bash addresses the wall, I’m thinking I might be the only one.
It taps straight into every hurt I carry with me. I grew up feeling like I had to bend over backward not to anger my father. Seen but not heard is what he requested of me.
And I was.
It can be my default now when I’m feeling off-kilter. It’s a hard habit to shake. So when Bash starts in with, “Okay, I’ll be back to get you—” I cut him off.
“It’s okay. I can drive Clyde home.”
He looks at me now, but the glance is so fleeting that it’s almost dismissive. Further proof that I don’t need him back here, sullying my good mood with his immaturity. Or this grudge he’s holding. Or whatever this awkwardness is between us.
“He’s way up the mountain. The road’s rough. Not well tended. You probably can’t even?—”
“Cool,” I bite out evenly, more irritated by the second as he stands there acting like I’m some incorporeal voice.
Can’t . That word fires me up. It’s the word that had me walking out of my parents’ house at seventeen and never looking back. My dad told me I can’t live a “proper” life as a yoga teacher, and if I wasn’t going to university or getting married, I wasn’t living under his roof.
And I said, watch me.
“I’m a big girl. With a big truck. And above-average driving skills. You can take your bad energy elsewhere, Bash.”
His head snaps up as Clyde chortles. “Bad energy?”
I lift my chin and wave a hand over him. “Yes. It’s time for you and your fully blocked crown chakra to go.”
Clyde nods. “Oh, you’re right. His crown chakra is fucked.”
Bash glares at his friend. “Why are you pretending you know anything about the crown chakra?”
“Gwen told me about the chakras yesterday. She said one has to do with enlightenment. And you are certainly not acting very enlightened.”
I blink while Bash scowls.
“Well, forgive me for not taking lessons in enlightenment from a guy who believes Tupac is still alive.”
“Tupac is st?—”
Bash barks out a disbelieving laugh as he turns to leave. “You two have fun together.”
I’m a bit stunned by him storming out, but Clyde doesn’t seem affected at all. Instead, he shouts after him, “Go look at something purple! It’ll help support your crown chakra!”
Bash leaves without a backward glance, stomping out into the chilly afternoon air. At first, I’m concerned that their bickering constituted an argument, but when Clyde turns to me with a toothy grin, I’m not so sure.
“All right, let’s go do your weird stretches, followed by that Savasa-whatever-you-called-it. It made me feel a lot better.”
His words warm me down to my bones. Knowing he came hobbling in and left feeling even a little bit better—that’s why I started teaching in the first place.
I may not have any higher education, and I may not be settling down and playing house, but I’ve come to believe what I do has value all the same.
“Savasana?” I gently correct, naming the resting pose we finished with yesterday.
“You say Savasana, I say nap,” he tosses over his shoulder as he marches back into the studio.
And I can’t help but chuckle as I follow him, ready to guide him through my “weird stretches” and nap. I lead him through a similar practice as yesterday, slipping into the headspace where all I focus on is breathing and alignment.
Except my attention is not as absolute as usual.
Because my thoughts keep circling back to Bash.