Swept Away (Wildfire Lake 3)

I close my eyes and exhale all my air, muttering, “Jesus Christ.”

“Lose that tee too,” Carmen pipes up from the back row, followed by a wave of approval from the others.

Xavier fists the back of his shirt and drags it over his head. The entire class bursts out in whistles and shouts. Some women pull out of the pose to clap. Xavier makes a melodramatic bow, then takes up his position on the mat in front of me and matches my yoga position.

“Switch,” I say. “Left leg and right arm extended.”

Once Xavier finds balance he says, “Hi.”

I sputter a laugh and shake my head. “And switch.”

“Why didn’t we have him here from the start?” one of the women asks. “Talk about motivation.”

The other women laugh and make sounds of agreement.

“I know an apology for what happened at the hospital isn’t enough,” he says. “But as soon as the words were out of my mouth, I knew they were wrong.”

“Switch,” I say. “Engage your abdominals, elongate your spine.”

“When I saw Piper bleeding like that, I was reminded of Keith, and I lost it. You were the closest, safest target, and it was so wrong of me to hurt you like that.”

“Mmm-hmm,” Renee says. “Sing it, baby.”

I shoot Renee a scowl. “Inhale,” I say, “draw your elbow and knee together and exhale on the crunch. Extend, inhale. Crunch, exhale.”

“Jesus.” Within a few minutes, Xavier is panting. “I never realized yoga could be so hard.”

“Tuck the toes of your resting leg, and lift into a one-legged dog, reaching your opposite leg toward the sky.”

Xavier follows, grunting with the effort. “All right, ladies,” he says, “you have my undying admiration for putting yourselves through this.”

Laughter whispers through the room.

“Bending the knee, coming into plank, touching the knee to your chest, for one, two, three. Releasing into your high plank, opening into side plank.”

“Good God,” Xavier moans, “How you could possibly find this relaxing, I’ll never understand.”

More laughter, and, yeah, I’m smiling now too.

“Lifting into that stretch, stacking your feet. If this is too much for you,” I say with sarcasm in my voice, my gaze on Xavier’s, “you can drop your bottom knee to the mat.”

“Fuck that,” he says, challenge in his voice. “I’ve got this.”

I continue to go through the motions of class—push-ups, down dogs, baby cobras—trying like hell not to ogle his body, unlike the other women.

“When Piper woke up,” he says, “we had a long talk. She told me all the amazing things you did for her. She explained how it really wasn’t your fault. And she told me that she went to you because I’m too hard to talk to. So, in a lot of ways, what happened was more my fault than yours.”

He’s making my chest ache and messing with my concentration. “Moving into elbow plank, and hold. Remember to breathe.”

That last reminder is more for me than the class, I’m feeling pretty choked up.

“These last four days have been hell without you,” he says.

“Lift your hips into dolphin pose.”

“If you give me another chance, I swear I won’t ever make that mistake again.”

“And lower back into plank.”