Behind them, Duke paced, a rolled-up brochure in his hand, as though they were in the middle of a hockey game and he was coaching from the sidelines.
“All right, men, listen to Marlena. You’re going to give this your all because I’m ready to start winning again. Show us what you got.”
Marlena motioned to the mat she’d set out for him. “Duke, take your position on your mat, please. We’re about to get started.”
He waved the brochure. “Oh, no. I’m fine here. Consider me your enforcer.”
Right, yeah, like that would work. She could see it now: boot camp yoga, complete with drill instructors. Nope.
She smiled her sweetest smile. “I wasn’t asking. If you stay, then you’re doing yoga. Quietly and inwardly. Go stand on your mat, please, or show yourself to the door.”
Duke froze, his mental wheels clearly turning as several of the men in the room did their best to keep their snickers and smiles discreet. After a long pause, Duke sidestepped to his mat and placed the rolled brochure on the floor.
“Let’s get started. You were probably figuring that we’d begin in a seated position, but we can center our minds and our intentions as easily while standing in mountain pose, especially since our goal tonight is both to strengthen our mind/body connections and break a sweat. If you thought I was going to go easy on you because you’re beginners, then consider this fair notice that you’re going to get your butts whupped. Let’s begin with a posture check . . .”
An hour into the class, they hadn’t transitioned to many poses because of how long it took to figure out modifications and teach yoga breathing and posture basics, but Marlena was pleased with their progress, and they seemed to be enjoying the challenging poses she’d led them through—even Duke, who was about as flexible as an uncooked spaghetti noodle.
Not that she planned to mention it, but Liam had been wrong about the amputees not being able to strike the downward facing dog pose, a forward bend that turned their bodies into a triangle with the floor—their hands braced on the floor, their arms straight into a straight back, their tailbones reaching back and up, and their legs hip-width apart and straight.
With a little assistance from her, some exercise balls, and foam bricks, every team member was able to stretch into the position. It took her and Will some trial and error to figure out how to activate his stretch without putting an uncomfortable amount of pressure on his prosthetic. In the end, he took off his prosthetic and used foam bricks to prop his arm on. He left the prosthetic off for the remainder of the class, as did most of the amputees. Brandon, who’d lost his right leg below the knee, achieved downward facing dog with the use of a stability ball. No problem.
The most shocking surprise of the entire night was that Liam knew what he was doing. He transitioned into every pose effortlessly, and his stretches were deep, demonstrating tremendous power and flexibility. Often, his posture was a bit off, but he responded well to her verbal corrections.
When he struck a near-perfect warrior pose after she’d merely mentioned that was the next pose she was going to lead them in, it became amply evident that he’d practiced yoga before. A lot and recently. That discovery reminded her that he’d identified the ylang-ylang scent of the candle on the night of his appointment. She didn’t understand how this part of him, the aromatherapy knowledge and yoga skills, meshed with the aggressive, anti-social soldier part of him—the part that had scared her in its power and volatility.
In their final sequence of poses, during a seated forward fold into modified child’s pose—kneeling, their hands palms-down on the floor between their widened knees—she asked them to visualize pressing through the mat with their hands, lifting their bodies, defying gravity with their strength. What she meant only as a visualization exercise, though, Liam actually did, pushing up until only his hands were touching the floor and his knees pushed past his upper arms.
“Damn, Liam,” Brandon muttered under his breath, impressed.
“Round your upper back,” Marlena coaxed. “That’ll help you rest your knees on the tops of your elbows.”
“I was getting to that,” he whispered. “Crane pose is one of my new favorites.”
Sure enough, his back rounded and his knees propped on his elbows as he balanced on his straight arms. Crane pose, indeed.
Admiring his form and strength along with the rest of the class, the dots finally connected for her. She sat back on her heels, shocked into sudden clarity. How many times did Liam need to be thrown in her path before she set aside her ego and paid attention to what the universe was trying to tell her?
First high school, then the silent auction, followed by the opportunity to lead his hockey team in an adaptive yoga class, Liam’s massage appointment, and then Olivia’s offer on the supposedly haunted apartment. How much more obvious could it get that the she and Liam were fated to a linked, cosmic purpose? If this was a spiritual test, then Marlena was failing it.
She moved through the final minutes of class in a cloud, going through the motions while her mind was preoccupied with enumerating the staggering number of ways Liam’s life and her life were intertwined.
After class, she was her typical busy self, helping to roll up mats, bidding students good-bye, and chatting with the various guys who’d lingered with questions or who wanted to share with her which pose was their favorite.
She knew without Liam saying that he was going to linger after everyone else had left. They had a conversation to continue. And now, he wasn’t the only one with questions. She wanted to know more about his yoga practice and his aromatherapy knowledge—the spiritual parts of him he was keeping from everyone around him, including his sister.
She gave Gabe an assist with his prosthesis, then walked him to the door in time to see Liam’s truck pull out of the parking lot. She waved Gabe away in his car and stood staring at the distant horizon, decompressing from the class and the unpredictable, incredible discoveries she’d made that night about Liam. He could slip away from her now without a good-bye or second thought, ignoring the will of the universe, but she, for one, was done fighting the inevitable.
At home, she fixed herself some tea, then dialed Olivia.
“Hi there,” Olivia said. “I was just thinking about you and wondering how tonight’s Bomb Squad yoga went.”
“Really well. Listen, I’ve been giving some thought to the offer you made me on the apartment that won’t rent.”
“710, the haunted apartment? Please tell me you had a change of heart.”
Marlena smiled. “I had a change of heart.”
“Really? Oh my God, you’re a lifesaver. You’re always talking about challenging yourself and facing your fears. This is the perfect opportunity.”
She was, and this was definitely a chance to do just that, but not for the reason Olivia was assuming. “I already told you, I’m not afraid of spirits.”
What she was afraid of was Liam—of him and of whatever the universe had in mind for them that was so cosmically important that it was doing the spiritual equivalent of hitting her over the head with its plan. Thinking about the sheer scope of the power and energy the cosmos had directed at her toward this one purpose made her shiver in anticipation and dread.
“I know, I know, but still. It’s a nice apartment. You’ll love it. When do you want to come by and check it out? Tomorrow after your morning class?”
Tomorrow, she had a full lineup of massage appointments. “How about Sunday before brunch?”
“It’s a deal. You can pick me up and you can check the place out, then sign the lease agreement.”
She almost laughed at the excitement in Olivia’s voice. “Eager to have me locked down before I change my mind?”
“Hell, yes. Wait until I tell my parents. They’re going to flip, having you rent with us. I bet even Liam will be impressed.” After a pause, she added, “Hey, can I ask you, was he at the yoga class? Did he show?” She sounded hungry for details, desperate for a morsel of information about
him.
It had always irked Marlena how completely Liam shut his sister out. Since he’d joined the army, Marlena had been Olivia’s sounding board on her frustration and heartbreak about Liam’s distance, which had only intensified since he’d been home. As someone who loved Olivia like a sister, it hurt to watch her suffer when all she wanted was to be close to her brother. Liam had to have some idea of what he was putting Olivia through by keeping her out of his life, but it seemed that their twin bond only went one way, and for the life of her, Marlena couldn’t figure out why.
“Yes, he was there.”
Olivia huffed as though flummoxed by the idea. “How did he . . . I mean, he did yoga? What was he like?”
“He was really good at it. Clearly he’s practiced yoga before.”
Olivia was quiet for a beat, then, “I didn’t know that. There was a time when I knew everything about him, or I thought I did. But when you told me a while back that he’d asked you out to prom—on a dare, no less—I realized that maybe I never really knew him. Looking back, he was always distant. I wish it wasn’t that way between us. I wish he’d let me in.” Her voice was shaky and heavy with regret and sadness.
Given the sudden burst of protectiveness Marlena felt about Liam, about his need for privacy and the unexpected, cosmic connection that wouldn’t let go of them, being thrust into the middle of Olivia and Liam’s strained relationship made her uneasy. If Olivia pressed for details about Liam, Marlena wasn’t sure what she was ready to share, if anything. She’d never kept anything from her best friend before, and she didn’t like the seeds of guilt that it planted within her.
“I know how badly you wish things were different between you two, but maybe you’re trying too hard to hold on to him and it’s having the opposite effect.”
“I wonder that, too, but he’s not well and I want to help him. It hurts, not being able to help him when I know he needs me,” Olivia said.
“He’s not as broken as you think he is.”
“I’m sorry if this sounds bitchy, but how would you know?”
It did sound bitchy compared to the sweet, geeky-fun person Olivia usually was about everything else in her life except for Liam. “Because I just do, because that’s my job. I’m a holistic healer and now I’ve seen him for a massage”—technically true—“and a yoga class. I’ve had my hands on him.”
She blushed at unintended innuendo—which was more like a Freudian slip. Massage, yoga, and Reiki touch were utterly and exclusively unsexual, but that wasn’t why she’d had her hands on Liam. Nor why she couldn’t stop fantasizing about him putting his hands on her again, despite everything.
“I know. I’m sorry. I just don’t know what to do but keep reaching out to him,” Olivia said.
“You’re giving him the power to break your heart over and over.”
“That’s kind of the definition of family, isn’t it?”
Marlena thought about the complicated relationships she had with her family, and how often they’d broken her heart and spirit throughout her life. “Touché.”
A knock sounded on Marlena’s front door. Odd. It was ten o’clock on a Friday night. A neighbor, maybe?
“Was that a knock? Are you expecting company this late?” Olivia said.
“No, I’m not.”
“Whenever I get knocks on the door at weird hours, I never know if I should open the door or not, because what if you don’t and it’s a burglar and they think you’re not home, and then they break in?”
Marlena smiled with affection at her friend’s neurotic imagination. “I live on the third floor and my front door is the only entrance point—and it has a peephole and a dead bolt. I’ll be safe. Promise. We’ll talk more soon. Hang in there, okay?”
“See you on Sunday morning.”
“Definitely. I’ll be there.”
Marlena ended the call, then peered through the door’s peephole. Liam. He stood in profile, staring down the hall with pinched brows, concentrating, as though there were more to look at than a series of closed, cream-colored doors and brown carpet. Her new awareness of the limitless force of the cosmos pushing them together, tangling their fates, kept her calm and focused, rather than flooding her with an electrical storm of nerves and arousal. This was supposed to happen. This was part of a plan.
She looked away and took a breath. Inhale, and exhale, two, three, four. Then she unlocked the dead bolt.
Chapter Four
Liam waited until the door was open before he swung his attention her way. “I didn’t think I’d like yoga in a group setting, but I guess this wasn’t just any random group, it was my brothers.”
“Hello.” The greeting sounded superfluous to her ears, as though he existed beyond the realm of small talk and as soon as she got a clue, she’d join him on that higher plane. She opened the door wider and stood aside.
He brushed past her, pressing his hand to her hip as he passed. “It was nice having a teacher to show me when I was doing it wrong. You’re a really good teacher.”
Even a thank you seemed unwelcome in their ongoing conversation. She shut the door and followed him into her living room. “Where have you been practicing yoga?”
He stopped walking when he reached the center, standing next to her favorite reading chair. “DVDs. Which has been fine, you know? It’s been what I needed, but tonight was nice.”
“How often do you practice?”
“Every morning and every night for the past year or so. It started off as a way to work on breath control, but I like it. It helps me not go crazy.”
Oh, wow. She hadn’t been expecting any kind of answer, and his honesty was disarming. “If you came for my advanced yoga class on Mondays or Wednesdays, we could do head stands together.”
He nodded at her meditation space in the far corner, where a television might have gone if she’d had one. “We could do headstands together right now, if you’re into that kind of thing.” Then he cocked his head to the side and smiled.
Her breath cascaded out in a whoosh as she drank in the sight of Liam McAllister—her high school crush gone horribly wrong time and time again—standing in her living room, making a joke, propositioning her with yoga.
“Yes, we could,” she replied.
His pocket chimed, so he pulled out his cell phone and glanced at the screen, his smile fading. “You’re going to rent the creepy apartment?”
Olivia must have texted him.
“Yes. Is that okay with you?” She bit her lip, annoyed with herself for asking that question. It didn’t matter if he was okay with it or not. Fate had put them on a collision course.
His attention shifted back to her meditation corner. Stuffing his phone back in his pocket, he walked to the corner, then picked through the collection of aromatherapy oils in the wooden box on the table, opening vials, sniffing them.
“Stranger or family?” he asked as he sampled the scents.
Her insides clenched. They were back to that? “I’d rather do headstands or talk about the creepy apartment.”
He didn’t answer, just rummaged through the vials.
She cleared her throat. She really didn’t want to talk about it. She went months without thinking about the attack, and she thought it a piss-poor pickup technique if he was there hoping to seduce her by pressing about the details of the worst day of her life. But if this was where he needed to go—if this is where the universe needed her to go—then she had to remember that she had nothing to hide. Not even from herself. Maybe, if she kept reminding herself that, she’d start to believe it.
“Family,” she said. “My older brother is schizophrenic. Before he was diagnosed and put on the right medication, he attacked me.”
He brought an open vial to his nose. “How badly were you hurt?”
“Pretty badly.”
He glanced sideways at her. “Bad enough to be hospitalized?” The tone in his voice was as dispassionate as his questions.
“Yes, I was.”
“Wh
ere is he now?”
“A group home near Rochester,” she said.
He pressed his finger to the vial he’d just smelled and tipped it to coat the pad of his finger with oil, then set the vial and the lid on the side table next to the box. He settled his gaze on hers as he walked her way. The scent of bergamot preceded him.
Instead of stopping in front of her, as she’d expected, he continued past her. When she tried to turn, he said, “Stay like that. Please.”
Then he stood behind her, his body touching hers from his chest to his hips. With slow, purposeful movement, he touched her hip again.
“I’m going to lift your shirt a little bit. With your permission.” He said it with the detached tone of a doctor.
“Why?”
“Just say it’s okay.”
She was getting conversational whiplash, and after the way she reacted the last time he touched her intimately, she would’ve rather told him no, but her curiosity got the better of her. “Okay.”
He slipped his hands up under her shirt.
She tensed and held her breath, but his clinical touch didn’t evoke the same panic as the night of his massage. His hand grazed her stomach, then he pressed his bergamot oil-coated thumb to her solar plexus—the survivor energy chakra. He swirled the oil in a tight circle directly over the point, a small move, but one that spoke volumes about him. In response, she felt a whoosh of energy, calming, steadying.
“You’ve studied chakras,” she whispered.
His closed lips touched the back of her head, acknowledging her comment without words. With his thumb on her chakra, he splayed his hand over her belly, his fingertips nudging her breasts. It was such a powerful sensation, standing there in the middle of the room with him, his hand on her bare skin, connecting his energy with her personal power chakra.
His power flowed into her, centering. Solid. She closed her eyes, embracing the sensation. He’s still a healer. Maybe not a medic anymore in any official sense, but still possessing the touch and power of a healer. Like her. He understood what it meant to be a survivor and to harness that energy into something transcendent.
Undefeated Page 6
