Page 18 of Puck Sweat Love

As if on cue, the doorbell chimes, sending my heart into my throat.

“Okay, play it cool,” I whisper to my partner in crime, who responds by yawning and plopping his head down on his paws. “Good job, very cool.”

I take a deep breath and hurry to the studio door, which I keep locked after class and during private sessions, so I won’t have people wandering in when I’m trying to concentrate on other things. I fling it open to find Tank almost completely filling the frame, somehow looking even larger than he did this morning. He’s wearing soft black yoga pants and a tight black tee and smells faintly of cedar and something clean that makes my stomach flutter.

“Hey,” he says, voice low and rumbly. “Sorry, I’m a little early.”

“Oh, it’s fine. Perfect actually. I just finished cleaning up.” I step back, motioning him in. “And this gives us a few minutes to talk about your health history before the torture starts.”

His lips twitch. “At least it smells nice in your torture chamber. Way better than the gym I was in with my clients all afternoon.”

“Thank you, I try,” I say, locking the door behind him as he moves to slip his boots into a cubby.

Take that, Mr. Sniffles. Those candles weren’t overkill.

“So, tell me about Tank,” I say, leaning against the check-in desk. “How long have you played hockey? Do you play othersports or have physically demanding hobbies? Any injuries or chronic conditions aside from the torn rotator cuff?”

He stands quickly, his brows shooting up his forehead. “How did you know that it was a torn cuff?”

“The body never lies,” I say, tapping a finger to my cheekbone below my eye. “And I’ve been working with athletes long enough that I can usually tell what’s going on just by looking. Still, it’s good to get the whole story. So, torn rotator cuff about…three years ago?”

“Two years ago.” He rotates the shoulder in question, his forehead furrowing. “That’s the most recent one, anyway. I tore it once before, my junior year of high school. I was out for half the season, but came back strong. It’s easier when you’re younger. This time, the pain has lingered more.”

I wince sympathetically. “Ouch, yeah, that’s a lot of trauma for one shoulder. Is that why you left the NHL before?”

A shadow crosses his face, and I immediately sense that I’m treading on sensitive territory.

“You don’t have to share if that’s personal,” I assure him. “I’m only interested in your physical history, not sticking my nose into your business.”

That’s a lie, of course—the more I get to know this man, the more intrigued I am by everything about Theodore—but that’s my problem, not his.

He props his hands on his hips as he shakes his head. “No, it’s not personal. I mean, it is, but it’s also a matter of public record. A quick google search would tell you everything you ever wanted to know about my habit of fucking up opportunities other people would kill for.”

My chest tightens. “I’m not going to google you. I promise.” I wish I knew him well enough to offer him a hug. Whatever happened, it’s obvious he’s still dealing with the fallout.

And the shame.

“Shame isn’t your friend, you know,” I add gently. “It might feel appropriate to punish yourself, like you deserve it or something, but you don’t. You made a mistake you aren’t proud of, but that’s okay. You’re moving forward in a better, healthier way. Shame is only going to get in the way of that and make it harder to get back to the light.”

His gaze locks with mine, and for a second I can’t breathe, which for a yoga teacher is really saying something. Breathing is kind of my thing. But with his dark eyes staring straight into soul, like he’s trying to decide whether to kiss me or flip me the bird and walk out the door, it’s all I can do not to duck behind the check-in desk to hide.

“You can tell me to shut up,” I finally squeak. “It’s okay. Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“My first instinct was to tell you I wasn’t here for therapy,” he says softly.

I nod. “That’s fair. I’m sorry if I overstepped. I just hate to see people in pain, especially unnecessary pain.” I pull in a breath, forcing my tight ribs to expand, “And I know a thing or two about shame. I’ve made some bad choices, too. But beating myself up about them truly doesn’t help. It just keeps me from loving myself as fully as I should, which keeps me from loving my students and my work and humanity as much as I want to love them. And that’s not good for anyone.”

His eyes narrow, but he doesn’t look mad, just…intrigued. “You really think humanity is worthy of love?”

“I do. And I think love is what I’m here on earth to do. That’s why I changed my last name when I graduated from high school. I never wanted to forget my purpose.”

He nods seriously before murmuring, “So, you really are a crazy hippy.”

I laugh, delighted by the sound of his deep chuckle as he joins in. God, his laugh is like a cat’s purr, like the perfect vibration of“Om” at the end of a transformative practice. It’s deep and warm and so beautiful, I can’t help saying, “Your laugh is fantastic. You should laugh all the time.”

His lips curve in a shy smile that is also delightful. “I could probably laugh more. It’s just been…” He trails off before pulling in a deep breath and letting it out with a rueful shake of his head. “It’s been a hard road that I’ve made harder by beating myself up about it. You’re right. I guess I’ve already gotten my money’s worth before we even get started. I’m paying you, by the way. The more I thought about it, the less a free class sat right with me.”

I press my hands together in front of my chest. “That makes me so happy. About the self-discovery. Not about the paying. You’re not paying me.”

---