Page 18 of Devil in Disguise
As an odd sort of bonding experience, the weekend worked. As a soothing reminder that she would soon be completely on her own at college, with possibly a little too much belief in her coping skills? Not so much.
A week later, he started training camp, and resisting her got easier for a while, even though he was closer. First, because he had exactly one day off a week, and it was never her own day off. Second, because for the first couple weeks of camp, you pretty much had energy for sitting in an ice bath and fixing yourself a steak, and that was it. Eventually, though, he was going to work with her on those self-defense skills. Sort of … naturally, if that were possible.
He got his chance on the evening after the third preseason game against Green Bay, in which he and Harlan both played the full first half, their last outing until the season opener. And knowing that Dyma was in the stands watching? You wouldn’t think you could get a charge out of something like that, not after four seasons in the NFL and about ten more on your school teams, but he got that charge anyway.
If he had sex with her, would it still be this bad? Would it put the fire out, eventually? He had a feeling it would make it burn even hotter.
That evening, though, they were at Harlan’s place—he never took Dyma to his place alone, because he didn’t trust her to hold back, and, all right, he didn’t trust himself that much, either—and he and Harlan were doing a kickboxing session with Dyma and Annabelle.
“Of course,” Owen told them when Annabelle had sent the heavy bag spinning with a solidly aimed roundhouse kick that earned a whoop from Dyma, “this is garbage for self-defense.”
“Why?” Dyma asked. “That kick wouldhurt.Wait. My turn. Hold the bag for me.” When it didn’t land with nearly the same force as Annabelle’s, she said, “All right, I’m smaller, but still, that sucked. I’m trying again.” Which was one reason he loved her.
Honesty was rare. Honesty about yourself? Rarer still.
“The problem,” Owen said, when she was satisfied with her kick and so was he, after some more coaching, “is that all anybody with a little bit of training has to do when you kick like that is grab your ankle, and, boom, you’re on your head. And, worse, on your back. Unless it’s a groin kick, maybe. Or a knee to the groin, even better. Go fast for his groin, and he’s flinching already.”
“Yep,” Harlan said.
“Don’t worry,” Dyma said. “I’ve got the groin kick down.”
“Practice anyway,” Owen said. “Both of you. Dyma, you practice on me. Annabelle, go for Harlan. Knee to the groin if I’m in front of you, or a fast palm to my nose. Or a punch to my Adam’s apple, because I’m too tall to count on getting to my nose fast enough. An elbow to the solar plexus, right here”—he tapped the spot—“just as hard as you can do it. That’ll make you twist, and twisting’s good anyway. Fast twist loosens his hold, helps you get away. Got to hit hard, remember. Don’t try to hit meinthe spot. Hit methroughthe spot, all the way to my spine. You want to hurt me enough to make me let go, not just make me madder. And once you hit the first time, keep on hitting.”
“We can’t,” Annabelle said. “We’ll hurt you.”
He smiled. “Nah. You won’t. We’ve got fast reactions.”
“Maybe mine are faster.” That wasn’t Annabelle, of course. It was Dyma.
“Nope,” Owen said. “Come on. Let’s go.”
Annabelle waited for a signal, or for Harlan to move, maybe. Dyma didn’t. She launched at Owen without warning, and he grabbed her ankle in one hand, got the other one around her waist so she didn’t fall, set her on her feet again, and said, “Good idea, doing it fast like that, but what did I say about kicking too high, from too far away? See what just happened there? Let me get up closer first. Use your knee, and chop me in the Adam’s apple at the same time. Don’t think about my chest or my legs. Too hard to hurt me there. Think about my face and my throat and my groin.”
By the time they finished, she and Annabelle were panting and sweating, but they were also grinning.
Harlan said, “Good idea, Owen. We’ll do another session on Tuesday, before we head out to Vegas.” He looked grim, though, instead of pumped up the way his sister was, and Owen thought,Wait. Was this a bad idea? Why?
Dyma, of course, didn’t wait to ponder the question. Instead, she jumped right in. “Wait,” she said. “Is this, like, making you think about how your mom died? Was it insensitive or something? Owen’s just trying to protect me from all those evil guys up in Seattle, since he won’t be there to do it himself. And yeah, you are,” she told him. “Don’t even try to deny it.Owen.They’re going to be Computer Science majors!”
“I’m not trying to deny it,” he said, but he kept one eye on Harlan.
His friend didn’t answer for a minute, but kept busy wiping down the heavy bag. Finally, though, he said, “Maybe. Doesn’t mean it’s a bad thing to do.”
“Oh,” Annabelle said, looking stricken. “You mean because Dad … because he choked Mom. That’s horrible to think that she could have … that she should have …” She didn’t manage to go on.
“That makes it sound like it was her fault,” Dyma said. “It wasn’t her fault. How are you supposed to know your husband’s going to kill you? Besides, most women are lousy at punching first. At punching atall.Try teaching Mom to kick-box instead of hiding her face and running away, Harlan. Ha. That’ll go well.”
“To be fair,” Harlan said, getting some of his smoothness back, “she’s mighty pregnant. Don’t worry. She’s not going to have to defend herself.”
Dyma sighed. “Harlan. You’re just …” She waved an arm. “Benevolent sexism, anyone?”
“What’s that?” Annabelle asked. “You always know all these things. Where do you learn them? They never talked about this stuff in North Dakota.”
“I do not want to know,” Harlan said.
Dyma, of course, ignored him. “Ideas about gender that seem positive to the person holding them,” she explained to Annabelle, “or even the person who’s the object of them, but are actually harmful, if you look a little deeper. Like that women need to be protected by men, whichalsomeans that women become objects of sexual purity, the whole virginity trap, and that they’re sweet and gentle and designed to be mothers. All of which sort of keeps them in their place, because they’re too fragile to be out there in the world all the way.”
“Wait,” Annabelle said.“Aren’tthey designed to be mothers? I mean, we?”
