Just Remember to Breathe (19 page)

My mouth dropped open. First at the idea that our father had just
given
her that kind of money, and second that she’d be willing to give it up for this.

“Dad will have a fit,” I said.
 

“It’ll be good for him,” she responded, her eyes dancing.

“I have to fly back tonight, but I’ll get you as much of the money as I can before I go, okay? If you don’t use it, fine, send it back.”

“And I’ll come to the hearing with you,” Kelly said. Joel nodded. “We’ll all go. You in, Ray?”

Sherman nodded.

I didn’t know what I did to deserve friends like this.

Joel stepped outside to make his phone call to his brother-in-law.
 

Sherman said, “Alex, before we all split up, we need to talk for a few minutes. Alone.”

Carrie and Kelly both raised their eyebrows in curiosity.

“Okay,” I said hesitantly.
 

“Let’s take a quick walk, this won’t take long.”

I nodded, and found myself standing, my limbs feeling numb. What did Sherman need to talk about? Something to do with Dylan, obviously. And it made me afraid. Very afraid. And I didn’t even know why.

Outside, we walked about half a block away, and he turned around and leaned against a wall.
 

“Listen,” he said. “I told you last night… Dylan…he’s like a little brother to me.”

I nodded.

“Well… I’m a little worried. Honestly, I’m a lot worried. About how he’s going to react to all of this. Being thrown in jail, the fight, everything.”

I bit my lip, staring at the ground. “I am, too,” I whispered.

“That guy’s got a martyr streak a mile wide. You need to understand… I doubt he ever told you the details, at least in the right time sequence. But after you guys broke up, and he shot up his laptop, our squad got mixed up in the patrol rotation as part of the punishment.”

I nodded. “I know.”

“That was the patrol when they got hit by the roadside bomb, Alex. When Roberts died.”

I shook my head in confusion. “He told me it was several days later.”

Sherman shook his head, sadly. “No. Now listen, Alex… nobody blamed him. Nobody said it was his fault. It could have happened any time. We were getting hit all the time. But Dylan blamed himself. He and I emailed back and forth about it a lot when he was in the hospital. I tried to get him to see it, but … well… guilt is pretty ugly stuff. And he’s convinced that if he’d just kept his shit together, Roberts would be alive.”

“Okay. So… what does this have to do with now?”

He looked at me, closely. “Think about it, Alex. What else happened to someone he loved after that?”

I felt my stomach cramp. “Oh, no.”

He nodded. “Yeah. I’d bet a million dollars he’s got the idea that it’s somehow his fault that asshole tried to rape you.”

I shook my head violently. “No. It was not his fault. It wasn’t my fault. That was all Randy.”

“Yeah, well… just be careful. Be prepared. Because I think Dylan’s going to be blaming himself, and I don’t know what he’s going to do about it.”

“You don’t think he’s going to break up with me, do you?”

“He might.”

A tear rolled down my face. He reached out and touched my chin, and said, “You and me… it’s our job to try to bring him back, okay? I don’t know if we can, but… well… I love that guy. And I’m not going to let him go off the edge if I can help it.”

“I won’t either,” I whispered.

Just stay quiet (Dylan)

When I was escorted into the courtroom, my hands were still cuffed, in front of me now, and a police officer had me by the left arm.

I was not in the best of shape. My cast had cracked, and most of it had simply fallen off. My fingers were curled, and I wasn’t able to do anything about it. They hurt like hell. My entire hand had the sickly grey pallor I associated with zombie movies. My shirt stank of vomit, though I’d done my best to clean myself in the sink before they took me out for the arraignment.

The vomit happened when I’d had a seizure.
 

From a clinical perspective, the seizures were minor. The doctors said I might have them for a year, or five, or maybe never again. There was no way to know. I’m careful to take my anti-seizure meds on a daily basis. But obviously I didn’t take any that Saturday or Sunday night, and sometime around four a.m. on Monday, I felt it coming. My whole body tensed, a blinding headache descended on me, and the next thing I knew, I was shaking, tiny rapid shakes that were so jarring I couldn’t move at all. I don’t think anyone would have noticed anything at all, except that I aspirated some of the vomit and started choking.
 

I didn’t know what to expect walking into the courtroom, but this wasn’t it. I’d never been in a courtroom, and I guess I expected some old crumbly building, something like the old Night Court reruns my Mom used to watch. Instead, I walked into a clean, carpeted, well-lit room with lots of lush wood paneling. The police pushed me into a pen with the various other criminals and told me to sit and wait.

That’s when I saw them. Not just Alex, but also Sherman, Joel, Kelly. They sat together, in a group around Alex, as if to support her. And she was staring at me.

I had to close my eyes. I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t hurt her. I couldn’t break her heart all over again. But I don’t know what choice I had. I could hurt her in the short term, like tearing off a band-aid, or I could hurt her permanently, in the long term, by involving her in my fucked-up life.

The hearings went on forever. One right after the other, with the judge basically handing out decisions rapid-fire. So I was a surprised when they called my case.
 

The officer leaned over to me and said, “Come this way,” then led me to a table at the front. A man in a suit came up the center aisle and sat at the table next to me.

I stared at him. “Who the hell are you?”

He leaned close. “I’m Ben Cross. I’ll be representing you. For this morning just stay quiet; I’m familiar with the details of the case. We’re going to get you out of here as quickly as possible.”

“Who hired you?”

He jerked a thumb toward the back of the room. “They did. Your friends. Joel’s my brother-in-law.”

Oh, no.
They were mixed up in this even worse than I realized.

“I didn’t ask for that.”

“Be glad you don’t have a public defender.”

“I don’t want you here.”

He shook his head. “Do you
want
to go to prison? Look, we can settle the details after the arraignment. For now, can we do it my way?”

“Whatever.”
 

I turned and looked away. I didn’t mean to be ungrateful. But what the hell? They went out and hired a lawyer for me? Who the hell could afford that? And why? Jesus Christ.

So Ben Cross went to work for me. Before I knew it, bail had been set, and I was back in the holding cell, waiting. An hour later, the cops came for me again, and led me out to the lobby of the jail.

I was dreading what was coming next.

Let him smell your socks (Alex)

I knew Dylan was going to look rough when he came in to the hearing room. He’d been in a holding cell all weekend. But it hit me, hard, when I saw just how rough he looked. He was obviously exhausted. Dark circles framed his eyes, and after three days without a shave, dark stubble covered his chin. The black T-shirt I had and drooled over looked torn, and a stain ran down the front.
 

His hand. The cast was off, and he held his right hand in his left, as if protecting it. It was washed out, pale, and the fingers were curled up and unmoving. His face had a similar pallor. It was obvious he was in a lot of pain.

But the worst part was his eyes. They looked… faded. Dull. Dead. I grabbed Kelly’s hand when he looked over at me, met my eyes for a moment, the looked away, almost as if he didn’t recognize me. I had to stifle tears. Again.
 

No
. I was not going to sit here and cry. I was going to be strong, because right now, he needed me.
 

Even if he didn’t know it.

The hearing was over quickly. Joel’s brother-in-law was obviously experienced and knew what he was doing, and quickly ran through what had happened the night of the party. He argued persuasively that Dylan was exactly what he was… a wounded soldier who had been protecting someone he loved from a sexual assault. That he should be given a medal, not a trail. The judge told him to get on with it, and the lawyer made a motion that the case be dismissed.

At that point the prosecutor stood up and said, “Your honor, the defendant put a twenty-one-year-old Columbia student in the hospital with multiple skull fractures and possible permanent brain damage. He’s dangerous, and we request that he be denied bail.”

I held my breath.

The judge set his bail at twenty thousand dollars. When the words came out, Sherman grinned, then turned to me. “We’ve got enough,” he whispered.

“He looks awful,” I said, as I watched the bailiffs lead him away.
 

Ben, Joel’s brother-in-law and now Dylan’s lawyer, approached us. He already had the money in his briefcase.

“Okay, I’m gonna go bail him out. You guys can wait in the lobby; it might be an hour or two before we finally get him loose.”

“Thank you,” I said, and hugged him impulsively.

“I got to tell you,” he said, looking mostly at me. “Dylan is … not exactly cooperative. He as much as told me to go to hell.”

I sighed.
 

“I had a bad feeling,” Sherman said. “We’ll talk him around. He’s pretty screwed up right now.”

Would we be able to talk him around? What was he going to say when he came out of that holding cell? What was he going to say to me? About us?

I was terrified. I walked out of the courtroom feeling numb, and found myself pacing in the lobby of the courthouse. I thought of all the things we could have done differently, to arrive at a different place. If we hadn’t gone to the party. If we hadn’t met again in September. If I hadn’t called him, drunk, from my room last February. If he hadn’t freaked out, and been sent out on that patrol. If we hadn’t met and fallen in love in the first place.

It was too much. There were too many paths that could have been taken, and no way to know what would have led here and now. What I knew was, I loved Dylan Paris. And I was going to fight for him.

I sighed. Pacing around wasn’t doing any good. And I was probably driving the others crazy. I walked over to the bench where they sat, between Sherman and Kelly.

“So, Sherman… What are your plans? I know you came to visit Dylan, and that’s not exactly turned out how you expected.”

He yawned, looked up at the ceiling.
 

“Not sure yet,” he replied. “I spent a couple weeks with my mom and dad when I got home, but we were driving each other crazy. So I floated down here, thinking to hang out with Dylan, check out Columbia. But… I’m going to finish college. Somewhere.”

He gave me a speculative look, then said, “I was thinking about Texas, maybe.”

“Oh really?” I asked.

“Yeah. Rice seems like a good university. And I met a PhD candidate there who worked really hard to sell me on the place.”

I grinned. “You two really hit it off.”

“I wasn’t expecting it,” he said.

I let out a short laugh. “I’m sure she wasn’t, either.”

He chuckled. “Carrie says the guys in her graduate program are terrified of her.”

“I’m not surprised,” I answered. “I always have been.”

He gave me a puzzled look, eyebrows kind of scrunched together. “Why?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. She’s always so… together. School, life, clothing. Carrie’s always been bigger than life. I’m a little more down to earth.”

“Well, you can’t go through life thinking people are better than you. Look at Dylan—”

He cut himself off.
 

“What do you mean, look at Dylan?”

He frowned, then said, “Look, I shouldn’t say anything about all of this. He’d kill me. But you’ve got to realize, he’s never felt like he was good enough for you.”

What?
No. “That’s not true.”

He nodded. “Yes, it is true. God, you have no idea how much he talked about you over in Afghanistan.
Constantly.
No offense, but it was pretty damn tiresome. But he’s always said, since the moment that you met, you were way out of his league. And he’d tick off the reasons. You’re rich, he’s dirt poor. You come from some kind of crazy successful family. Your father’s an ambassador or something, right?”

I nodded.

“That’s the kind of thing he’d talk about. His dad’s a drunk, and he was always half afraid he’d end up just like his Dad. So he puts all this together, and concludes that he’s not good enough for you. He’s
always
believed that. And Afghanistan only made it worse.”

I shook my head. “It’s not true. I mean… yeah, so our families are different. But that doesn’t mean anything. It’s not about who your parents are, or how much money you have. It’s about what you do with who you are.”

“Well, try convincing him of that. I never could.”

“I will, if he gives me a chance.”

Kelly said dryly, “Let him smell your socks. Then he’ll get it.”

Joel suppressed a laugh, and ended up giving an unconvincing coughing instead.
 

“Thank you guys for coming today,” I said, very quietly.

“Don’t start that,” Kelly said. “This is what friends do.”

I smiled at her. She could talk all day about what friends do, but where I grew up, that wasn’t true. I didn’t have friends who would go to court for me. Or jail. Or anything else. I was only then starting to realize just how special the bonds I’d formed here were.
 

Without a word I reached out and took the hands of my friends. There really weren’t any words for what I felt.
 

That’s what war is (Dylan)

Getting out of jail was kind of a reversed process of going in. They didn’t search me on the way out, but otherwise, it was scarily similar. I signed paperwork, collected my phone and wallet and keys, and then I was free to leave.