Page 52 of Break The Ice

“Mmm, everyone said to do yoga to relax, but I couldn’t, so, one day, I tried it drunk, and I discovered that everyone was right. Drunk Yoga is the way to go, all the way.”

I blink, trying desperately not to laugh. “You’re serious?”

“Yes.”

I nod. Aw, what the hell, I’ve got nothing to lose. “Okay.”

He takes a swig and then holds the bottle out. “First, we drink, then we put on some soothing creeks or mountain goats and do our salutations.”

I reach for the bottle and drink deeply because I want to forget. I want it all to go away.

I sit beside him, and we pass that bottle back and forth every few minutes, and the buzz hits me fast. I throw the apple up and catch it. Over and over.

“It’s Bailey.”

“What’s Bailey?”

“Bailey coming in here, pissing on my stuff like he owns it.”

“He doesn’t own shit. He’s half the Raider of Raider.”

“That didn’t make sense, but I agree!” Kit shouts and stands up, throwing the rug away from him. “People like Bailey, people who walk in and throw their dicks around, thinking they are all that and a bag, they ain’t shit! Raider’s the bomb.”

I stare at him, only understanding what he’s saying after my brain sluggishly translates it.

“He’s a showoff!”

“He’s a bully!” Kit snarls and thumps the bottle down on the coffee table.

“We hate bullies!”

“Its time to find our calm,” Kit says with a sigh. “We need to forget about the pain and screaming. Forget about the assholes who shoved me into tiny lockers and beat me every day. Forget about how they hurt Callan. Let it all go because it’s in the past!”

His sarcasm reaches even my alcohol-soaked brain. The importance of those words try to break through my drunken state, but they can’t.

I grab his cheeks and pull him close, pressing my lips to his. “Fuck the past. And fuck those bullies.”

Kit exhales and leans into my hold, pressing his lips to mine. He tastes like fruity gum. He pulls back, but I lean forward and lick his cheek.

“I licked you, so you’re mine.”

Kit gives me a lopsided smile that is just adorable. I wrap my arms around him and laugh.

“Come on, let’s do yoga, and then we can cuddle.” He frees himself from my hold, skips down the hallway, and opens a cupboard. He returns a minute later with two rolled up mats.

Kit unrolls them with great ceremony and sets them near each other before stumbling five steps to the left and staggering back. He presses a button on the remote, and the TV turns on. A few seconds later, and we’re listening to the sounds of nature.

I’ve never done yoga like this before, but I can’t take my eyes off Kit. He moves with a grace that I envy, and he’s far more flexible than I am.

Even drunk.

Which adds a whole lot more fun to the experience. I fall a lot and laugh until my stomach aches. By the time Kit finishes, I have to wipe tears away. He crawls over to me and flops down beside me.

We’re both lying on our backs, staring up at the ceiling, when I realise that Kit isn’t okay. Not even a little bit. I don’t know why it took me so long to realise it, but I feel stupid.

I roll towards him on my side and put a hand on his heaving chest. The thin t-shirt is barely a barrier.

“I wanted to be something more for them. I wanted to be braver and better.”

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