Page 38 of Thin Ice

“That’s it,” Beck says. “Pretend your body is anchored into your seat, almost like a string is pulling you toward the ground.”

I imagine it, the visualization reminding me of goat yoga I did once with Stevie.

“Good, Quinn,” Beck’s deep voice soothes. His hand on my shoulder moves backward until he’s resting it between my shoulder blades. The pressure is lighter now, and I’d like to say that I imagine it’s Noah’s hand touching me while I’m staring into his eyes, but…

Beck’s touch is so different. Soft yet heavy. Warm and comforting. Noah’s is sweet and familiar, tiny brushes and touches that make me feel safe and at home. Or at least they once did.

Beck deepens the pressure of his hand, and my heart rate picks up, all the moisture from my mouth disappearing. Noah’s gaze remains on mine, but I note his pupils have dilated.

Beck moves his hand down my back until it’s about midway. “Take a deep breath in for me Quinn—that’s it.” His fingers pulse, and I take in another breath, then another.

“I’m going to place my other hand on you now,” Beck adds.

I nod, unable to speak with my dry mouth.

Noah inhales, and I don’t miss how his vision falls to where Beck’s other hand lands on my belly, gliding across the soft fabric of my dress and over the rolls of my stomach until he rests it just under the bottom part of my ribs. I shiver.

Noah wets his lips, and when his eyes find mine again, I’m unable to ignore how his hazel gaze is burning with something new I haven’t seen before. Or how he shifts on his chair in a way that makes me believe he likes seeing Beck touch me—and that maybe if I were to look down, I’d see this excites him.

“Breathe, Quinn,” Beck says, his voice huskier now, as if whatever is going on is affecting him, too.

I don’t dare look at our mentor, wondering if I’m dreaming this whole thing up. But the pulse of Beck’s hand on my back, Noah’s simmering stare, and the air I’m dragging into my lungs tells me this is real.

“Good,” Beck murmurs. “Focus on bringing your breath to the space between my hands.”

I do what he says, dragging more air in. His hand on my back and my stomach expand with each inhale, and he praises me again.

“That’s it, Quinn. You’re doing so well.”

His words shoot another shiver through me, and a pulse between my legs surprises me. I try to ignore it, not allowing myself to move in my chair like Noah had. I keep my focus on my husband, whose eye contact is somehow darker and more intense than before.

“That’s right,” Beck adds. “Good work, you two, keep breathing together.”

Together. We’re doing it. I hadn’t realized we were.

My mouth tips into a small smile, and I expect Beck to pull his hands away, but they stay. I shouldn’t feel this relieved, but his touch has become an anchor. I’m afraid that the moment he lets go, I’ll lose the connection to my husband I’ve been reaching for. And from the way Noah holds my gaze, his knees pressed firmly against mine, I think he feels it, too.

“Quinn?” Beck’s voice is a soft question between us. “Can you tell Noah what made you emotional before?”

I almost stop breathing, but Beck’s hand pulsing on my back is a reminder to stay in sync with Noah.

“Say what comes to your mind,” he urges. “Don’t hold back.”

Noah waits for my answer, his eyes still dark with this new energy crackling between us.

“I was frustrated that we couldn’t breathe together,” I say.

“Why was that?” Beck asks.

“Because if we can’t even breathe together, how do we fix everything else?”

Noah’s jaw tightens, and he closes his eyes. When he reopens them, his pupils have retracted, defaulting back to his hardened gaze from before.

“Noah, can you tell Quinn how you feel hearing her say that?”

“Confused.”

“What are you confused about?”