Resisting Roots (Lotus House Book 1)

By: Audrey Carlan

Note to the Reader

Everything in the Lotus House series has been gleaned from years of personal practice and the study of yoga. The yoga positions and chakra teachings were part of my official schooling with The Art of Yoga through Village Yoga Center in Northern California. Every chakra fact and position description has been personally written by me and comes from my perspective as a Registered Yoga Teacher, following the guidelines as set forth by the National Yoga Alliance and the Art of Yoga.

If you want to attempt any of the positions within this book or detailed in any of the Lotus House novels, please consult a Registered Yoga Teacher.

I suggest everyone take a yoga class. Through my yoga schooling and teaching the gift of yoga to my students, I have learned that yoga is for everybody and every body. Be kind to yours, for you only get one in this lifetime.

Love and light,


Chapter One

Lotus or Accomplished Pose (Sanskrit: Siddhasana)

To enjoy lotus pose, sit down on your mat with your legs crisscrossed and seat bones grounded into the floor. Straighten your spine, level your head, and place your hands on each knee with thumb and forefinger touching. This is one of the most basic yoga poses that calms and centers one with his body, mind, and surroundings.

* * *


“Wake up, you sorry piece of shit!”

A growling sound accompanied by a searing pain in my leg had me blinking against the too-bright light. My mouth felt like dust bunnies had crawled into it and grown roots. Smacking my chops, I blinked a few times and gripped the top of my good leg for leverage. A knot that had wormed its way into my neck protested as I rose to a seated position.

“Ross?” I shook my head and looked at the gray-haired ticking time bomb who was my agent. His large form blocked some of the light streaming through from the windows behind him—windows I had closed tight in fear of this very moment when I’d have to open them, wake to another day of pain, therapy, and more goddamned therapy. “What are you doing here?” I asked around the furry friends in my mouth. Reaching for the first thing I could wrap my fingers around, I tipped the bottle of orange Gatorade back and almost spit the offending liquid across the room the second the rancid flavor hit my tongue. I regarded the inside of the bottle and gagged. The sight of the black flecks floating around made the previous night’s booze overload swirl and churn unpleasantly in my gut.

Food. That’s what I needed. Load up on some greasy shit to absorb the night’s activities. Patting the table, I searched for the stack of takeout menus.

Ross slapped my hand away along with everything on the coffee table, including the orange drink that, apparently, I’d been using last night to flick my cigar ash in. Would have been good to remember that before I’d I chugged back a huge swallow.

“So this is what it’s come to? Six weeks of recuperation, and what do you have to show for it?” He slapped his thighs as he looked around. “You’re living in filth. Drinking? Smoking?”

“Only cigars, Ross.”

He took his cap off, smoothed back his hair, and put it back on. Not a good sign. He was beyond frustrated and about to blow his lid. After five years on the Oakland Ports, I knew when my agent was going to lose his shit.

“Fox, you’re the best hitter on the team. Hell, you rank in the top three hitters in the American and the National Leagues. So you got hurt. Big frickin’ deal! Get over yourself, and get your head back in the game.” Ross paced the room.

I sat up straighter. Sitting up was a bad idea. The pounding in my head matched the sound of a bat cracking in half upon contact with the ball. I gripped my temples and squeezed, my hammy aching as I readjusted my leg to rest on top of the table.

“Have you even been to therapy?”

Snide son of a bitch. I gritted my teeth and clenched my hands into fists. “Of course I have, Ross. Three times a week. Three other days, I hit the gym and lift weights with Clay.”

He widened his eyes. “Are you supposed to be lifting?”

Shrugging, I peered out the window. “I’m also using the treadmill.” Even I could hear the childlike, defensive tone as I spoke. Ross could bring me right back to the time when I was a lowly rookie again itching for the big time.

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