Swept Away (Wildfire Lake #3) - Skye Jordan

Prologue

The intensifying wind whips stray strands of hair across my face, making it difficult to drop into meditation.

“Breathe deeply,” I say to the women sitting in the circle, using my most serene voice. I inhale the warm, humid, ocean-scented air and count to three before releasing the breath. “Exhale completely.”

This is our fourth day of a ten-day retreat with over one hundred participants. It is by far the largest event at which I’ve been invited to teach, and I want the participants’ parting reviews to be stellar.

I continue the slow, deep breathing exercise to prepare the other seven women in the circle for a therapeutic meditation. I’m still catching chaotic energy wafting from Laiyla where she sits directly across the circle.

I open my eyes just enough to see through my lashes. Laiyla mirrors the other women: eyes closed, legs crossed, hands resting on her knees, palms to the sky. She appears serene enough on the outside, but she’s kicking off so much emotion, it’s hard to silence the reverberation inside me.

I’ve tried to connect with her during meals and workshops to see if I can figure out what’s bothering her, but she’s so guarded, I can’t get a deeper read. She’s about my age, with long light-brown hair and big whiskey-brown eyes that seem to soak in everything and everyone. She also holds on to her brittle veneer like a life preserver.

Just before I close my eyes again, Laiyla opens her own and glances at the empty meditation pillow beside her where KT, another retreat participant, should be sitting. Then Laiyla’s gaze drifts to the ocean and its rough surf.

I inhale and close my eyes to ground myself again. “Bring up an image of the person with whom you’ve been harboring resentment.” I picture the subjects of my own turmoil—my two older sisters who abandoned me as soon as they were old enough to bail, leaving me to take care of my alcoholic father. In the last year, since I returned to the States, I’ve had the opportunity to reconnect with them both and begin healing that deep wound. “Accept any emotions coming up. Just breathe into the feelings and let them go.”

Of course, that’s easier said than done, but I know from experience that when done often enough, the pain and anger and resentment do, in fact, fade with time and acceptance.

Another burst of wind whips through the group, disturbing the peace. I mentally scan the spaces inside the resort available for this session, but this facility is as small as its South Pacific island, and booked to the brim. By the time I get everyone inside and settled again, the session will be over.

“Imagine this person is sitting across from you. Collect all your frustration, anger, and hurt into a glowing orange ball.” I allow a long pause to give the visualization time to form in the mind. “Now offer that sizzling globe up to your inner—”

“Excuse me, Chloe.”

The interruption makes my teeth clench. Bad yogi. Nothing is going as planned today—not the weather, not my instruction, and now, not even my students. Patience, I remind myself. Patience.

I open my eyes and find Laiyla’s nervous gaze darting between me and the angry ocean. “This is more than a tropical storm, and it feels much closer to us than the experts predicted.”

I take stock of our surroundings, the very space I’ve been trying to block for meditation. The tall palms arc in the wind; the ocean pounds the tide pools surrounding the island.

The other women in the circle open their eyes and glance between me and Laiyla.

Just as I open my mouth to instruct everyone on how to let distractions around them pass by like clouds in the sky, a gust of wind picks up a wicker chair from the deck of the main resort and tosses it over the railing.

A collective gasp zips through the group.

“You’re right.” I push to my feet and gesture for the others to do the same. Everyone grabs their meditation pillows. “Let’s head inside.”

I herd the women toward the concrete stairs traversing the rocky cliff leading up to the resort. Once everyone is headed that direction, I count heads and realize I’m missing someone.

Laiyla.

I turn and find her staring out at the ocean, one meditation pillow tucked against her chest and the one that would have been KT’s hanging from her other hand. Not what I expected from the woman who nervously pointed out this was more than a tropical storm to begin with.

“Laiyla.”