Page 39 of Unclench Me Softly

“This steam purge,” I continue, “Is about letting go. Deeply. Physically. Energetically. I invite you to release... with honesty.”

I pause, wipe my hands on my towel, and make a mistake.

I look at Jonah.

He’s looking back.

Like he’s waiting for me to say something I shouldn’t.

Like he already knows I want to.

I blink and look down at my notes.

“Let’s go around the circle,” I say, clearing my throat. “Share one thing you’ve noticed unclenching today.”

Jax snorts. “Besides my pants?”

Miles actually closes his eyes like he’s praying for a second chance at life somewhere that doesn’t smell like minty trauma sweat.

“Be serious,” I say. “This is sacred space.”

Jax lifts his hands in mock surrender. “Fine. I guess... my shoulders?”

He shrugs them. They roll like he’s shaking off five years of tension. “Feels weird not being on edge for once.”

He glances at me, almost shy. “I mean. Still on edge. Just... maybe not about everything.”

It’s the closest thing to vulnerability he’s offered all day, and I’m not okay about it.

I nod, swallow, and turn to Asher.

He’s holding his towel like a lifeline. His lips are trembling.

“I think I unclenched... my voice,” he says, then quickly adds, “Not literally. I’m just... not used to being loud. Or honest. Or heard.”

His eyes flick to Jax, to Jonah, to me.

“Today kind of hurt. But in the way you feel when you stretch something that’s been tight for years.”

I nod slowly, pretending I’m not holding back tears. Or a deep desire to hug him until he stops vibrating.

Seb doesn’t wait to be prompted.

“My hands,” he says, voice low. “Didn’t realize how tight I’ve been holding everything.”

He opens them slowly, like he’s letting something go I can’t see.

The steam curls around him like it knows not to ask questions.

I turn to Miles, who is quiet for a moment.

Then he says, “I don’t unclench.” A beat. Then, softer: “But I did...pause.”

It’s more than I expected. Enough to make me blink hard and wish this dome didn’t echo with emotions I’m not ready to carry.

And finally, Jonah.

He doesn’t speak right away. He just looks at me. Long and slow. The kind of look that’s less about staring and more about unwrapping.

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