Law #3: Don't Fall for the Athlete: Sweet Second Chance Romance (Laws of Love) by Agnes Canestri (black books to read txt) 📗

“Yep, bring it on.” I grin.

“Close your eyes and empty your mind. Focus only on my voice.”

I follow her command, even if it’s hard to rid my brain of disturbing visions after the inkling view of her rosy cheeks. Despite my continuous inner pep-talk, my neurons continue to ignore that admiring Ellie’s beauty is off-limits.

“Done,” I say after I bully the bulk of my inappropriate thoughts into my subconscious. “Now what?”

“Now, I want you to imagine you’re a small, fluffy white rabbit.”

My eyes spring open, and I can’t suppress a laugh.

Ellie gives me a disapproving glance. “Just try it, okay?”

“If I must be an animal, can’t you pick something more masculine? Like a panther or a tiger?”

“Nope. This is how this exercise works. Shut your eyes, please.”

Her kind but determined voice makes me smile. It’s a thrill to watch how her personality transposes into her job. “Fine, I won’t question your expertise,” I groan with feigned resignation.

Ellie lets out a small snort, but I can’t see whether it’s an amused or irritated kind, because she puts her palm over my eyes, forcing me to obey her previous command.

“You’re a rabbit hoping down the road,” she says in a slow, almost hypnotic voice while keeping her hand on my face. “The forest is big, and you don’t know where you are. You can feel all kinds of alluring smells, and one in particular attracts you to a murkier path.”

A hint of coconut titillates my nose, and before I even realize it’s coming from Ellie’s curls, the exotic scent has already made my mouth water. Bounty chocolate bars used to be the treat my mother would sneak into my sports bag, and I’d devour them after each training.

Perhaps it’s this delicious fragrance or the rustling sound of the acacia leaves, but my imagination plays along with Ellie’s absurd exercise.

I’m not sure if I’m a bunny, but I’m definitely now standing in woods that look eerily familiar to the small park where I used to go as a kid, behind our house in Kingman.

“Suddenly, a dark figure comes out of the shadow.” Ellie’s voice becomes grave. “The person is carrying a weapon. You can’t see what it is, but you hear a metallic clinking on the ground.”

The image of my father with his belt dangling loosely from his fist pops into my mind. The sound of the prong hitting against the end tip reverberates in my skull as if I could hear its characteristic jingle right now.

My body goes rigid, and my jaw tightens.

A throbbing starts in my temples, and it must be strong enough for Ellie to feel, because she draws back her fingers from my face. “Did this imagery trigger something special in you?”

“No,” I answer without opening my eyes.

There’s nothing special about a drunk bum who abuses his son. Absolutely nothing.

“You don’t have to tell me what you saw unless you want to…” Ellie waits, but when I don’t answer, she continues, “We’ll just work with your body then, okay?”

“Sure,” I murmur without much listening to what she says.

Ellie touches my hand, and as her fingers close around mine, I realize that it’s rolled into a tight fist.

I open my eyes and find her gazing at me with tilted eyebrows. There’s compassion and understanding in her glint as if she’s sensed the ache twirling in my chest and knows what unleashed it.

But, of course, she doesn’t know.

Nobody does. Not even Devon, Pete, or Joe. I’ve never told anyone what kind of hell I’d survived.

No, not merely survived.

I’d used my past as a jumping board. It’d been the fuel that propelled me into my efforts of becoming the best and had helped me make it to the NFL. I wanted to show my father that he couldn’t break my dreams.

Ellie captures my eyes. “Please tell me what you’re feeling right now. Not why, but what. Just the sensations, but without filtering.”

“Uhm, I don’t know, I guess your rabbit story tensed me up a little.” I opt for a nonchalant tone, but my strained muscles betray my bluff.

“Be specific. Where is it that your unease manifests itself the most? Your neck? Your legs?”

I wiggle my fists a little but not enough to shake off Ellie’s hand from my skin. Right now, her touch is the only thing keeping me from smashing something. “In these, I guess. My hands are clenched.”

Ellie gives me an approving smile. “Very good. Now, I want you to hold on to this feeling and tell me what you would like to do.”

“Punch something,” I murmur without hesitation. “Or someone. Yes, preferably someone.”

“Okay, let’s do that,” Ellie says.

My eyes dart to her. “What do you mean? You want me to hit someone? Who?”

She nods. “Me.”

I yank my hand away from her and step back. “I won’t hit you. Are you crazy? You could die if I did. Besides, I’m not upset with you. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“No, but you’re obviously very angry at someone.”

“I might have some unresolved fury brewing, yes.” I realize that my words speak the truth.

“So let’s unclog that.” Ellie smiles.

“How?”

“When you lash out at someone, it always happens in a fraction of a second. Like when you scream and realize after what you said. Or when you hit that teammate. You acted before you could think, so your mind couldn’t process the emotion. Perhaps you didn’t even want that to happen, but it did. And after it did, you felt shocked and guilty, and tried to deny that it meant something.”

I gape at her.

She’s nailed what went down with Rodriguez.

Ellie flashes an understanding smile. “Don’t beat yourself up for what happened before. You’re here now, working through your issues, and that’s what counts. I’ll teach you to deal with your tension differently.”

She inches to me slowly, as if afraid that I might recoil. She reaches for my hand again. “May I?”

I nod.

She engulfs my wrist in her both of her palms. “Look, I’ll guide your hand toward my cheek in slow motion—very gradually. I