Page 19 of Coach
“I can’t breathe into my chest, let alone my stomach.”
I was sounding a little snippy. And I was sure I would regret it later. But in the moment, I was freaking out too hard to care.
“Okay. We’ll start smaller.”
If he was bothered by my tone, he didn’t show it. His voice was as calm as ever.
The hand slid up from my stomach, landing briefly on my jaw, then slipping over to press one of my nostrils closed.
“What?”
“In for eight.”
My chest felt even tighter.
“In for eight,” he demanded again.
I sucked in a breath just to appease him.
“Out through the mouth.”
I let out a frustrated huff.
His finger shifted to my other nostril, pressing. “Again, for eight.”
We repeated the process, two, three, eight times.
Until, little by little, I felt a little less constricted.
Coach’s hand slid away from my nose, pressing to the side of my neck instead.
“Tell me something you can hear.”
“That… clicking.”
“The air hockey puck hitting the wall of the table,” he explained. “What about something you can smell?”
With him so close, all I could smell was that earthy, spicy scent that clung to him.
“Your cologne.”
“Too much?”
“No. I like… no, it’s good.” So good, in fact, that I was suddenly able to suck in a deep breath again, just to get more of it.
“What about something you can feel?”
“Your hand.”
Why did I sound breathless again?
His fingers tightened on my neck. A shiver coursed through me.
“Another thing you can feel.”
“Your breath.”
“Good. Feel a little calmer?”
