Page 89 of Dissonance

Glances exchange around us, half-grinning, half-terrified, but Lockie doesn’t look at anyone. Instead, he nods once like he’s been given an order he was already planning to follow. I catch it from the corner of my eye and snort quietly, pressing my lips together to stop from smiling.

“What?” he murmurs, not taking his eyes from Harriet.

“You’re taking this very seriously.”

His gaze moves to mine, tone dry and knowing. “Should I not be?”

I open my mouth, then close it again, a lump forming in my throat. The thing is, I don’t doubt for a second he’s going to be good at this. Not once has he panicked or hesitated or needed time to adjust. He took one look at this new life heading straight for him and just embraced it. Like it was never a question.

“Alright, if everyone wants to grab a mat, we’ll move to the floor.”

There’s a shuffle of movement, a few awkward laughs, couples looking at each other like they’re not entirely too sure who’s meant to go first. Lockie’s already on his feet, pulling a mat from the stack near the wall and shaking it out in a clear space.

By the time I’ve pushed myself up and crossed to him, he’s crouched down, smoothing out the edge. His hand comes up, palm open, waiting to help steady me as I lower down. I’m slower than I used to be, his other hand hovering at my waist the whole way.

“Careful.”

“I’ve got it,” I say, and I mean it, mostly.

He waits until I’m settled before getting behind me, adjusting himself until I’m cocooned in his warmth and his scent, guiding me until I’m leaning back against his chest, his hands coming to rest on my stomach. Around us, people are still figuring out their logistics, but in this small space he’s carved out, it’s like we’re the only two here.

“Partners, I want you to start by helping Mom relax her shoulders,” Harriet says, walking between the couples. “You’d be surprised how much tension builds there without even realizing it.”

Lockie’s thumbs press in immediately with slow, deliberate circles that pull a groan from me, my eyes fluttering shut. My head tips forward as he works through the knots, the number significantly reduced since our week at his cabin, but still there.

“Drop them, sweetheart,” he murmurs near my ear, pulling me out of my thoughts.

“I am,” I whisper back. His fingers shift, finding a spot that drags an embarrassing sound out of me. “Oh— Okay, maybe I wasn’t.”

“Good,” Harriet coos from across the room. “Nice and steady. You’re not trying to fix anything, just helping the body remember how to relax.”

On the mats beside us, a woman glances in our direction, her gaze jumping from my face to where Lockie’s hands move over my shoulders, elbowing her partner.

“Ouch, Jen, what?”

“Like that,” she says, pointing at us. “You’re meant to be helping me get in the mood, not more stressed because my husband’s trying to play chopsticks on my back.”

“That is what I’m doing,” he grumbles, trying to copy Lockie’s movements. “Besides, I’m pretty sure I know how to get you in the mood, Jenny.”

He chuckles as a blush erupts over her face, and she ducks her chin. I bite the inside of my cheek, Lockie’s fingers moving up into my hairline.

“Now let’s try adding some breathing,” Harriet calls out, clapping her hands lightly. “In through the nose, out through the mouth. Partners, keep them grounded, talk them through it if you need to.”

Lockie shifts, one hand on my shoulder, the other sliding lower, spreading warm against my back.

“Breathe in for me,” he murmurs, that low rumble doing things it absolutely should not be doing in a parenting class.

I draw a slow inhale, trying to focus, but it’s impossible not to be hyperaware of him. Every point of contact, the steady rise of his chest as he breathes with me, the way his fingers flex like he’s mapping each breath.

“That’s it.” His hand adjusts as I exhale.

It shouldn’t feel like this—it’s a breathing exercise, goddamnit. Completely innocent, entirely practical, and yet he might as well be whispering dirty things into my ear with how my body’s reacting. His breath ghosts my neck, my shoulders dropping farther, the tightness in my chest easing with each exhale.

“I think we’re making everyone else look bad,” he murmurs as someone to our left breathes too fast, their partner counting desperately under his breath.

“Remember, this isn’t a race,” Harriet says. “Nice, slow breaths.”

Lockie’s chest moves behind me, a quiet laugh vibrating through him and into me.