Just Remember to Breathe (Thompson Sisters)

sports store. Our practice had become rough more than once. But I needed that. Among other things, Randy Brewer was out of the hospital, and the police didn’t seem to be interested in pursuing charges against him.
    Dylan had his right arm around my waist, left arm around my neck, and he started pulling me back. I relaxed for just a second, then kicked straight back, in the same direction he’d been pulling.
    For just a fraction of a second, he teetered, losing his balance. I kicked straight back at his knee, and we went down, Dylan losing his grip and crying out.
    I was free! I scrambled away, out of reach.
    “Great!” Sherman shouted.
    Dylan lay on the ground, eyes shut in pain. Then he opened them, and looked at me, and a huge smile grew on his face.
    “You did it,” he said.
    I shifted on my feet, then smiled back. “I did, didn’t I. Are you okay?”
    “Yeah, I’ll be fine,” he said. “Trust me, it’s not nearly as bad as the other day.”
    I flushed a little, looking away, and said again, “Sorry about that.”
    I’d kicked him between the legs the other day, hard enough that he hadn’t been able to move the rest of our session. That had prompted the purchase of the padding.
    Dylan laughed. “It’s okay. What we’re here for.” He paused for a breath, then said, “I bet you’ve been wanting to do that for a while anyway.”
    I raised an eyebrow and shook my head, then let out a low chuckle. “Maybe you’re right at that.”
    I dropped to the ice-cold ground, and said, “No practice or running for the next two weeks. I’m going home for the holidays.”
    Dylan nodded, and Sherman said, “Yeah, vacation’s over for me too. Headed back home Sunday. I might be able to drop in and visit around Christmas, though. And Dylan… let me know when it goes to trial. I’ll be there. Understand? You call me.”
    Dylan nodded. “Yeah, I will, man. Thanks.”
    I looked at him. We’d not talked, not even once, about the events at the party that night. My knowledge of it extended to several interviews with the police, and a deposition with Dylan’s lawyer. They’d listed me as a witness for the defense, but outside of that, I didn’t know anything at this point.
    “What’s going on with that?”
    Dylan shrugged. “The lawyer says I’ve got a strong chance of going free. The law is pretty clear; you can use deadly force to prevent rape or sexual assault.”
    He looked at the ground, and I could see the difficulty he was having, the shame he felt. “The problem is that I kept hitting him after he was down.”
    I nodded. There wasn’t much to say to that, because it was true. Even though simple facts didn’t capture everything.
    Quietly, he said, “He says they’re probably going to offer some kind of plea bargain. I accept a conviction for assault or something, and they drop the charges otherwise. I don’t know if I’m willing to accept that. I don’t like the idea of having a felony conviction. I’d lose my VA benefits… I’d have to drop out of school. I’d lose… everything.”
    I looked at him, sitting there, obviously miserable, and I wanted to take his hand. I wanted to put my arms around him. But I couldn’t.
    Sherman spoke up. “Dude, we’ll support you, whatever you decide. Put me on the stand; I saw most of it. Yeah, you went too far, I’ll agree. But you also rescued her. Don’t forget that and go wallowing in guilt.”
    Dylan nodded. He looked deeply unhappy, and it was driving me crazy that I couldn’t do anything about it. I leaned forward and spoke. “Can we try one more?”
    “Yeah,” Dylan said.
    “I got this one,” Sherman said. “You’re getting beat up enough.”
    So we stood, and Dylan coached. Sherman was harder than Dylan. I think Dylan was holding back. The emotional connection between us, the history, made it impossible for him to go after me aggressively. Sherman had no such compunctions, and he came in blindingly fast, grabbing me around the waist and knocking me to the cold ground.
    I kept rolling with the momentum, and managed to roll most of his weight off of me, but he recovered quickly, grabbing my right arm and twisting it up behind my back. I cried out, and froze.
    “Crap,” Sherman said, letting go, then rolling off of me.
    “We’ve got to work on that one,” I said.
    “Yeah.”
    Dylan came forward, reached out and gave me a hand up. “We’ll work on that when you get back from San Francisco. You’ve got to practice using