Swept Away (Wildfire Lake #3) - Skye Jordan Page 0,71
when he stands and holds his arms open, I hug him goodbye.
“Forgive Xavier, Chloe. If you can find it in your heart to forgive me, forgiving Xavier should be a no-brainer. You deserve true happiness.”
I squeeze my eyes closed and nod against his shoulder.
Bodhi kisses my forehead and walks away at a brisk clip, as if he needs to put distance between us so he doesn’t do something stupid, like try to kiss me.
My heart is both lighter and heavier. He was such a big part of my life for so long, and part of me still misses the man he was at his most amazing. But that level of superhumanness isn’t sustainable day in and day out. We all falter, make mistakes, say things we shouldn’t have, do things we shouldn’t have. We’re human, after all. All just trying to live our best life. I know it took a lot of inner strength for him to let me go, and I’m pleasantly surprised and grateful he took the high road this time around.
Everyone needs boundaries. Everyone needs to know where to draw that line in the sand, no matter how much it hurts. I’d done that with Bodhi, and I did it well.
Xavier, on the other hand…
I slide my laptop into my bag and head toward my boat to change into yoga clothes. I’ve been sleeping in the apartment unit above the conference center, so I didn’t have to worry about Xavier just showing up—which he tends to do—and to get the space I need to think, but I feel ready to move back to the boat. To face Xavier. Or, as ready as I’ll ever be.
Making my way down the dock, I take a deep breath and open Xavier’s text message.
Please don’t make me apologize in text. I want to look into your eyes, so you know how serious I am and how bad I feel. I miss the hell out of you. Throw me a bone, baby. Even KT can get behind that. I’m dying here.
My heart softens, and the text makes me smile. His messages over the last few days have grown lighter, more teasingly melodramatic and self-deprecating, but no less heartfelt. In truth, they’ve been ripping me apart because I’ve been having a hard time finding a way to forgive him while retaining my emotional safety and self-respect. Regardless of what happens between us from now on, it’s about time I made my own apologies for my contribution to this mess.
I change into a workout bra and yoga shorts and head toward the conference center, playing with words in my head, trying to figure out what I want to say. There are already a handful of women lying quietly in the yoga room, and I set up at the front, cue my music, and light a candle. It’s a new candle. A new pink candle. I stare at it, wondering if I want to forgive Chamuel or not. Undecided, I take a seat in lotus. Time for a little meditation on that apology for Xavier.
I can’t say I’ve made much headway when the room fills and it’s time to move. Teaching yoga is like breathing for me. Yoga is a form of meditation, a place where I feel confident, connected, and calm. Where I feel all my sharp edges soften, all my tight muscles ease, and all my problems fade, even if just a little.
After welcoming everyone and offering my gratitude for their participation over the last nine days, I lead them through an easy warmup, which is when I notice all their mats are pink. And that’s beyond weird, because when I purchased mats for the yoga center, I purposely chose five different colors.
“Am I seeing things, or is eveyone’s mat pink?” I glance at the basket by the door that holds rolled-up mats, and the few that are left are also pink. “Where did those come from?”
“Don’t know,” Renee, one of the participants who’s been here every day says, “but I saw Laiyla in here earlier moving things around.”
I exhale. Yes, Chamuel. I hear you. I know what I have to do.
Now I just have to decide how and when.
“Starring in child’s pose,” I say, moving along with the class, “open your knees nice and wide and allow your chest to come down right in between the legs. Reach out in front of you and feel that luscious stretch in your arms, shoulders, and back.”
I guide their breathing for two minutes in this