"I don't do yoga."
"You did mobility work yesterday and it helped. This is the same thing but sweatier."
His jaw ticks. "Scout..."
"One hour, Silas. Come on. Be reckless with me."
Something shifts in his expression. Maybe it's the challenge. Or maybe it's the way I'm looking at him. He sets down his shake with a resigned exhale and gives in.
"Fine. One hour. But I'm not wearing those tight pants."
I beam at him. "Deal."
When we arrive at the yoga studio, the airy room is already filling up with bodies. We squeeze into two slots in the middle of the class and unroll our mats. Silas looks like a glacier someone dropped into a sauna. He unfolds his massive frame onto the too-small mat. His knees practically reach his ears.
Other women in the class steal glances at him. Pride pricks at me because I'm the one who brought him here. This mountain of a man actually listened when I asked him to do something completely outside his comfort zone.
The instructor starts and Silas struggles immediately. His too-tight shoulders resist the poses. His hips are beyond stiff. Rugged as rebar, he tries to bend into shapes his body actively fights.
"This is torture," he grits out during a particularly deep lunge.
I kneel beside him and adjust his front knee, guiding his arm into better alignment. Hot skin slick with sweat burns under my hand. "Breathe. In through your nose, out through your mouth.Slowly."
He follows my instruction, actually listening to me for once instead of fighting everything.
Something shifts in his body. Not ease exactly, but surrender. He lets it wash over him like a wave and stops struggling against it.
Most people never see this Silas. Vulnerable and unguarded, willing to look foolish if it means he might feel better. His massive frame folds into shapes it wasn't designed for, sweat dripping down his temple, jaw finally unclenched. They call him Ice Man but he's melting right here.
Right now in this humid room surrounded by strangers, he's just Silas. Not the enforcer. Not the damaged veteran fighting to stay relevant. He’s just a man trying something new because I asked him to.
Silas watches me. Heavy and focused, his gaze tracks my movements like I'm something worth studying. Maybe he's seeing parts of me he didn't notice before. I like that idea.
When we move into the next pose, Silas immediately tries to muscle his way through it. His jaw sets. His shoulders lock. He treats the stretch like an opponent instead of a conversation, forcing his body into place with sheer will.
I lower my voice and call to him. “You don’t have to meet every sensation with force.”
He stills. Looks at me, confused, like that idea has never once crossed his mind.
“Try it again,” I say gently. “But don’t fight it. Just… stay.”
He exhales and resets. He wobbles immediately, irritation flickering across his face. For a second, I think he’s going to bail. Instead, he loosens his grip on the pose and stops pushing. Then lets his weight settle where it wants to go.
And his balance finds him.
Silas holds it this time. Not rigid or strained. Merelypresent. His breathing evens out, and something in his posture softens, like his body finally believes it doesn’t have to be on guard.
“That’s it,” I tell him quietly. “See how much better that is?”
He nods once, his eyes focusing on a far-off point on the wall. “It feels better.”
My heart warms. During the final pose, savasana, everyone sprawls on their mats. Silas stretches out with his chest still heaving, eyes closed, looking more at ease than I've ever seen him.
For just a moment, he looks almost peaceful.
I sneak a glance from my own mat and he catches me, cracking one eye open. The corners of his mouth curl up ever so slightly.
"This isn't terrible," he admits, voice low.
